Words Within the Letter. (1)
I climbed to the top of the island's lighthouse and surveyed the entire lake.
Snow fell over the lake. The pure white paint overlaying the deep green was mystical.
Premien, who had followed me diligently, spoke up.
"If your inference is correct, Professor, then it's quite remarkable."
My thinking was simple.
This book was interfering with reality.
"Is that even possible?"
"It is not impossible."
Of course, one book alone would be absurd, but if countless people read it, the "story" could become an origin in itself—a miracle-like magic manifesting in the present.
"Then the male mage 'Damian' who was fishing here becomes Professor Deculein. Congratulations; sounds like a lead role."
The problem, however, lay in the book's ending.
······She told the mage everything she knew.
And plunged a blade into his heart.
The end of volume 1.
A preview leading into volume 2, described only vaguely.
"And who 'she' is will be the key, won't it."
Here, "she" was the protagonist.
No name. Referred to only as "she" throughout the pages.
Nor was it clear which "mage" she stabbed in the heart.
"Premien. Have you never wondered why this book is so inexplicably popular?"
"What do you mean?"
"Even Her Majesty, in her boredom, read it cover to cover."
How had a book of barely 150 pages become a bestseller?
To my "Aesthetic Sense," the book itself had no flaws, but to spread so far in such a short time required more than that······.
—There is mana in this book. Precisely, in the sentences.
Sophien had been right when she gave it to me.
These sentences literally contained "mana." That power had captivated the readers.
"This phenomenon is unprecedented."
The story absorbs mana, that mana compels people to read it, the read story gains existential power, and ultimately interferes with reality itself.
A cycle of amplification.
Premien asked,
"The work of a demon, perhaps?"
"No. If so, my bloodline would have reacted."
Not a demon. But who, why, and for what purpose—I did not yet know.
Not yet.
"I'm curious how this will unfold."
"Leave that aside. You will monitor the lakeshore from here."
"Understood."
Then it happened. A single boat appeared from across the lake.
I looked that way, and Premien recited from the book.
"······Damian gazed at the lake from the lighthouse. A boat carrying a mage was approaching."
Two people disembarked from the docked boat.
Ifrin and Drent.
"Two mages. One of them, the foolishly walking mage, slipped."
—Ah!
Ifrin plunged face-first into the lakeshore mud.
—Ugh······ Ptoo!
Having eaten sand, she spat and rose.
Premien said,
"Those two are characters as well. One of them could have a blade plunged into their heart."
"Not Drent."
"May I ask your reasoning?"
"He is not a named character."
"······Meaning he is not exceptional enough for a lead role."
"Something like that."
If this was a sudden event, the target would be a named character. Thus, the prime candidates were the mentors who had come here, including myself—or Ifrin.
"Shall I inform everyone?"
I shook my head.
"No need."
"Why?"
"A mere story cannot manipulate me. I will resolve it myself."
"······Such confidence. Do you know where 'she' is?"
"She is here."
I tapped the book's cover.
I did not yet know who "she" was, but chronologically, it should be right after crash-landing on the island.
I stood.
"Where are you going?"
"To 'her.'"
"Hm. If a sword gets plunged into your heart, Professor, let me know."
"I shall."
As soon as I stepped out of the lighthouse, I spread Mukgangcheol first.
* * *
······Sylvia had crash-landed on an island near the lake. Her body was drenched in sweat, her mana exhausted.
From the Floating Island's nameless isle to the Yukline territory. She had flown thousands of kilometers.
"······."
Sylvia trudged along and sat on a random rock.
"······Haa."
Mana squeezed to its limit needed time to recover, but her stamina was still ample.
Never neglecting exercise, Sylvia possessed physical abilities near a knight's average. Far too exceptional for a mage.
"······."
But as the sweat dried, her body grew cold.
Snow was falling, even.
"······."
Sylvia used her last drop of mana to create a small fire. She warmed herself by it, waiting for her mana to refill.
Half a day would suffice.
Hide until then, then confront Deculein at full strength.
"······?"
But then.
Whiiiiiing───!
Suddenly, a gust mixed with snow blew.
The campfire flickered out, and Sylvia panicked.
"Ah."
No time for sighs. A blizzard soon surged in. The ground filled with snow in an instant.
"······."
Sylvia hurried to move, but step by step.
With each step, snow piled up.
From feet to ankles, ankles to knees, knees to waist······.
Eventually, turned into a snowman, she closed her eyes briefly.
Her whole body so cold it felt warm. A sensory error, perhaps—she had pushed too hard.
So rest a little.
Rest adequately.
Then walk again······.
······.
Thud— Thud—
The footsteps of someone watching her moved.
Long legs strode through the snow wall like a barrier, scooping up the gold-haired mage buried in it.
There, he manifested Transmutation. With the world's snow and earth, he created a cozy dwelling.
* * *
······15 minutes earlier.
Snow fell on the lake. Great snowflakes drifted down softly.
"Wow······."
Ifrin forgot her recent splash at the water's edge and wandered, gaping at the scenery.
The lake was surely summer, pure summer, yet snow fell. It felt like an entirely new world.
"Ifrin, your lodging is here."
"······Pardon?"
Then, the Yukline attendants stopped.
Ifrin and Drent were briefly flustered.
"There's······ nothing here?"
The spot the attendant indicated was barren.
Midst a snowy forest.
Bare ground.
No buildings, lodging or otherwise.
"Drent, follow us."
"Ah, yes."
Perplexed, but something must be there.
Drent nodded to Ifrin and followed the attendant.
"······What the."
Left alone, Ifrin first used Transmutation to make a chair. But the snow was thickening.
From pretty to annoying.
"Ah, ptoo."
A large snowflake entered her mouth. Snow pierced her eyes.
"Ugh, this won't do."
Ifrin used Transmutation for a small earthen house. Crude, but she liked it.
"Hm hm."
A space of about three pyeong. She even made a door that opened and closed.
Then.
—Ah. Ah.
A voice echoed in the air over the lake island.
Ifrin knew who it was the moment she heard.
—A bit disorienting? I am Yeriel of Yukline.
Yeriel. Deculein's sister, proxy lord of Yukline.
—This is the first program of our training.
A pleasant tone.
A bit clichéd, but like jade beads rolling.
Having grown close to Yeriel, Ifrin rested her chin on her hand, savoring the voice.
—As you know, famous mentors await you. Elder Ruhkar of Verhert, Court Mage Ihelm, Professor Ruina, Ether Longdalp, Ether Roserio, Chief Professor Deculein, and so on······ one per the eight series.
Hearing it listed, their lineup seemed even more dazzling and immense.
Each held sway in the field, beyond mere prominence.
—But the island itself will aid you. Everything helpful to mages is here: leaves, fish, dew, and this mysterious snow.
Ah~ Use nature, got it.
Ifrin smiled faintly.
—So, stay in nature for a day first. Nature is the root of magic.
"Yes~"
—Yukline always supports the path of magic. With blessings of mana more ancient than the sea, more radiant than the sun.
Yeriel's mana transmission announcing the training's start.
"Alright then~"
Ifrin sprang up and opened the earthen house's door, stepping out.
Whiiiiiing────!
"Bleurghblep!"
A mad gust whipped her hair. Snowballs assaulted and dirtied her face.
"Pueh!"
Ifrin slammed the door shut.
"Wh-what?"
She brushed snow from her face.
"Sudden blizzard······ no, avalanche?"
An avalanche poured from the sky.
* * *
Sylvia opened her eyes.
Crackle— Crackle— The stove's warmth was cozy, her back soft.
It felt like lying on a bed—and she was.
A gentle, soft atmosphere. A snug space.
Sylvia slowly looked around.
"······."
Someone sat in a chair by the bed, reading a book. Its title: Blue Eyes. Sylvia stared blankly at the cover.
At length, he spoke.
"Awake?"
The voice.
The voice.
The voice.
That short voice was enough.
Sylvia bolted upright. And glared venomously.
Deculein.
She immediately preheated her internal mana. Or tried to.
"Krrgh."
Pop-! Circuits snapped, pain surged. Her skin flushed purple.
Deculein said calmly,
"Mana exhaustion. You pushed too far from a distant island to here."
"······."
How did he know? Had he been watching me too?
To that doubt, Deculein answered.
"It is in this book."
He indicated Blue Eyes.
"Your book interferes with reality, Sylvia. What wish did you harbor while writing it?"
Sylvia said nothing.
A wish? A hope? Or resentment?
Crackle— Crackle—
Staring blankly at the flickering stove flames, Sylvia murmured lowly.
"I know everything."
Deculein countered with one word.
"What."
"That you killed my mother."
"······."
No reply, so Sylvia turned to him.
Deculein nodded belatedly.
"Indeed."
He felt that day's memory. The moment he killed Cielia, the torrent of emotions in Deculein's heart transferred to him vividly.
This "implantation of heart" connected more surely as he conversed with the girl.
Sylvia said,
"Because of the demon's letter."
She had heard most of the truth from Idnik and investigated her own way with Wind magic.
So even if Deculein stayed silent, it mattered not.
She had much to say.
"When that letter swept the continent, Yukline and Karla stepped forward."
"······."
"One of the victims—"
Deculein cut her off.
"Was my fiancée."
Those words stirred his heart. The imprinted emotions surged and churned.
The woman named 'Yuarra.'
The sole commonality between Deculein and Kim Woojin.
"Someone sent the demon's letter to my woman, and she died."
"······."
Sylvia showed no emotion. Merely fidgeted her fingers. Seeing it, Deculein said,
"Worry not. Your mother was not involved."
Sylvia shook her head.
As if to say he had misunderstood her action just now.
"That is not my worry."
"······."
She met Deculein's eyes. His impassive expression, cold gaze—no different from before.
It hurt greatly.
And was utterly strange.
I hate and loathe that man, yet why.
Why does it hurt for reasons I cannot fathom······.
Hiding that doubt at her heart's depths, Sylvia said,
"I know what happened that day."
"······."
"Who did it. Who sent the letter to your fiancée."
Deculein regarded Sylvia. Sylvia regarded Deculein.
She hesitated briefly.
This truth might wound him.
"I see."
······No, I want to wound him.
I must wound him.
Why this hesitation.
"You already know, do you not."
Sylvia asked thus. In her usual flat tone, rise and fall absent—unclear if question or soliloquy.
"······."
Watching such Sylvia, Deculein nodded.
It meant he was fine. Sylvia closed her eyes briefly, then opened them slowly.
And said,
"Dikailen and Kaigan Luna."