Illusory Peace on the Island
The island remains peaceful. Daily life continues just as it did yesterday.
Sylvia tours the island with Deculein, shows him the paintings she's made, sketches his portrait, and shares dinner with him.
Scrape, scrape—
The knife slicing her veal steak for her in his stead. The refined pour and sip of red wine.
She takes in his habits, his movements, his speech—everything—with keen eyes.
"A life lived amid fakes is meaningless."
Of course, Deculein spouts whatever comes to his arrogant mind.
His words are no different from those of the Deculein she painted yesterday, yet they feel so real—stirring both irritation and longing.
Back in the days at the tower.
The short, young mage receiving his tutelage.
The girl who admired and adored him.
"Whether tomorrow or the day after. I'll come until you're ready to leave. This journey won't be long."
Deculein departs the restaurant coolly now, but Sylvia doesn't cling. Half a day is plenty of time for paint to dry—it's safe.
Creak—
As the restaurant door closes, Sylvia murmurs softly.
"Goodbye."
"...How long do you plan to keep this up?"
Idnik emerges from the kitchen.
Sylvia turns to her. Idnik raises an eyebrow wordlessly.
"I told you to go whenever you want, Idnik."
"No mentor abandons their disciple."
Idnik sits across from her, then picks up the steak Deculein barely touched. Sylvia stares at it intently.
"Besides, opportunities to study a magical space like this don't come often."
Idnik spears it with her fork.
Sylvia reaches out to stop her.
"...Why?"
Idnik furrows her brow.
"That's what Deculein was eating."
"Pfft, doesn't matter. I—"
"No."
Sylvia shakes her head firmly and swiftly pulls his plate toward herself.
Idnik lets out an incredulous chuckle.
"Ha. So you're eating it?"
"Eat mine instead."
"Watch your manners."
"Please, have some."
She slides her own plate over. Idnik chews grudgingly.
Sylvia spears her steak with a fork.
Gulp—
She swallows hard, staring at the meat. The piece Deculein just ate...
"Kid. You're acting like a perv. Just eat it."
"..."
Sylvia clears her throat awkwardly. She pops the steak into her mouth casually and asks,
"What do you think, Idnik?"
"About what?"
"About painting Deculein."
"No particular thoughts."
"...No thoughts for five whole years?"
Time flows differently in one's voice. But slower or faster isn't inherently better.
She has grown as much as the five years spent here, but her lifespan has shortened all the same.
Idnik smirks.
"You'll end up persuaded by Deculein anyway. Why bother?"
"Hmph."
"The reason you're even asking is because you know you're veering off course, isn't it?"
"..."
"Disciples can stray. But it's the mentor's duty to set them straight before they fully derail."
Idnik finishes the steak, wipes her mouth with a napkin, and stands.
"I'm off. Time to catch up on yesterday's magic research. Say hi to Ciel for me."
"Idnik."
Sylvia grabs her as she turns to leave. Idnik pauses with her hand on the door handle.
"Ciel isn't fake."
"..."
"Ciel knows. That she's already dead."
All the revived islanders from the Voice don't realize they're the undead.
Not Ciel.
Idnik's expression hardens briefly. But she soon chuckles and shakes her head.
"...Deculein would probably say something like this."
She clears her throat dramatically and mimics his voice.
"Even if that's true, she's still fake."
"...Out."
Idnik laughs as she opens the door and heads down the slope—
"..."
Her heart stops for a moment.
Deculein stands leaning against the wall around the corner. His blue eyes gleam like an owl's even in the night.
He glances at her and asks,
"Why the surprise?"
"Were you eavesdropping?"
Idnik is genuinely flustered. Sylvia's routine was predictable, but this Deculein acts differently from yesterday's.
His memory should have been reset.
"I heard. But I figured it out before that."
"...Already?"
Deculein nods.
"Idnik. Am I fake right now?"
Idnik can't bring herself to speak.
A fake aware of its falseness. An existence conscious that it doesn't truly exist.
What could she say to such a pitiful soul—
"It matters not."
"...Hm?"
His unexpected calm reply tilts her head. But Deculein remains utterly composed.
"Lead me anywhere. I have words for you."
* * *
I arrive at Idnik's home.
It's some kind of cave.
"...Stuffy."
On the island's outskirts, far from the village. An underground outpost hidden beneath. A single lamp for light, a creaky wooden bed, a wooden table, a wooden desk—that's it. Dust motes dance in the air.
Idnik says,
"Valuables. Handle with care so they don't break."
"These scraps are valuable?"
"Scraps? These are the real ones. Untouched by Sylvia's power or the Voice. Genuine articles. Hard to come by even this much."
I eye the worn desk and ask,
"Any reason you stay in a place like this?"
"Erosion. Varies per person, but one to two days. You lose your memories. Sit."
I brush the dirt off a chair.
...I hesitate to sit.
"If you lose memories..."
"You end up like the villagers outside."
"How many villagers are there?"
"Hm? Oh right~ I did a rough census once."
Idnik pulls a crumpled paper from a drawer.
"The island's area is 1,500.2 square kilometers. Still expanding, population around 500,000."
A vast expanse. Comparable to Jeju Island's 60-70,000 residents—no, wait, area-wise it's huge.
"Of them, continentals—outsiders—number 300,000. Among those, 290,000 think this island is home. The 'forgetful' ones."
"...Leaving just 10,000."
"Voice-based survey from two years ago. Probably half or more have forgotten by now. Holding on like this is tough."
"Voice."
I'm baffled.
"Yeah, Voice. Time differs from the continent. And this? My home. Looks shabby and shitty?"
Despite her words, Idnik strokes the desk fondly.
"No one lives better than me. I'm nobility here. Most 'real' resources are smashed or worn out."
"Where'd these 'real resources' come from?"
Idnik hangs her robe on a hook.
"There was an island here originally. 'Dehren Island,' home to about 10,000. The Voice swallowed it whole. We're still using its resources. Food too."
"How do you distinguish real from fake?"
"Mana, what else? Sylvia's Tri-Color perfectly recreates texture and color... no, creates them, but it's incomplete. Peer with mana, and you see the 'oil painting' quality. It's paint in the end. Hey, why aren't you sitting?"
I say,
"It's filthy. You don't clean? A Cleanse would fix it."
"Magic at night gets you caught."
"...By whom?"
"The vigilantes."
She answers with mock fear.
"Voice zealots. Monster freaks. They grab adventurers and wipe their memories."
"..."
I pity her for some reason.
"What're you looking at me like that for? Gross."
"How did Rohakan's disciple Idnik end up like this? Pathetic."
"...You're insane. And I told you, not disciple—equals. What'd that old man tell you? Never mind. I'll set it straight..."
Idnik rants heatedly about her past with Rohakan. Missions together. Without her, he'd have died a hundred times. She tolerated his 'master' act because it amused her...
She recounts it all.
"I believe you. You're no fake."
I concede. Idnik smirks, arms crossed.
"You doubted m—"
Her words cut off. She stares at the cave ceiling.
At the same time, an eerie sound seeps in.
Hee-hay, hee-hay, hee-hay...
A chalk-scratching echo. A chilling draft sinks in.
"...Gone."
About five minutes later, Idnik says.
She adds sheepishly,
"Ahem. Hate to admit it, but they're scary. Faces like total assholes, and they outnumber us bad."
"Enough. No island map?"
"Map?"
I nod.
"Why?"
"You called me fake."
Idnik's face hardens. She looks at me with pity now, but a smile curls my lips.
"If I'm fake, shouldn't you help the real one arrive?"
* * *
Pre-dawn, still in cramped Idnik's cave.
Deculein sits at the lone desk, studying the island map. Pondering magic theory.
The theory for a grand spell to briefly nullify the Voice's waves, letting the 'real' Deculein's projection reach here.
"So, draw a magic circle on the island?"
Idnik asks.
Deculein replies,
"Indeed."
"It'll be spotted and ruined immediately."
"You're not spotted."
"...Fair."
Idnik nods in agreement, then probes casually.
"If Sylvia catches you, you're scrapped."
"Then she'll make another me. He can take over."
"...Ha."
Such casual talk, like grabbing a drink.
Idnik chuckles dryly.
"You're something else. Not scared you're fake?"
"Why fear?"
Deculein draws a circle on the map. Encompassing most of the island.
"My goal is merely to exterminate the demons and take Sylvia away."
Words laced with conviction. A vow steeped in belief.
Idnik scratches her neck.
"...Lucky for you. Anything I can do?"
Deculein's pencil pauses. He regards her impassively.
"If I die or vanish, pass this map to the next me. That's all."
"..."
Pass to the next me—tossing his death aside like trash, devoid of expression or emotion.
Idnik finds his attitude irritating.
"Forget it. Rohakan's disciple can't be this spineless. Shut up about dying. Your memory resets each death. Charge in thinking one slip ends it all..."
* * *
...Back to the empire's capital, whipped by cold winds.
Late night.
Julie joins the palace secret room right after her audience with Her Majesty. A hidden chamber prepared by the palace's secret ally.
"Thank you, Ahan."
The ally is Sophien's personal maid, Ahan.
Julie extends her hand. Ahan responds gravely.
"...I must return to Her Majesty soon. Here's the key—use the chamber anytime. Tell me if anything comes up. I'll help as much as I can. The palace maids aren't as weak as people think."
...Ahan was ordered to pretend to aid Julie.
By Emperor Sophien, naturally.
Julie inhales deeply, visibly moved.
"Thank you. I won't disappoint you."
"...Yes. Professor Deculein is truly vile, so even I..."
With innate acting prowess, Ahan bows her head as if unable to continue.
Portray Deculein as the world's greatest villain.
Sophien's command.
"I understand. You've seen that man in the palace all this time."
Unaware, Julie comforts her knowingly.
"...Yes."
Ahan suppresses her rising emotions. Guilt and pity, severed.
To aid Her Majesty, she must be cold and cruel.
"Also... this."
Ahan pulls a sealed envelope from her bosom. Julie tenses.
"What is it?"
"Evidence for your investigation."
"...Evidence."
Julie's eyes widen. Ahan beckons her closer. She leans in eagerly.
—The mastermind behind the poisoning attempt... might be Yukline.
The whisper in her ear.
Julie's fist clenches; a harsh breath escapes.
"...Is that so."
She steps back.
Her knightly eyes harden like a battlefield warrior, but soften endlessly upon Ahan.
"I'll repay you."
"Toppling the professor is repayment enough. It's just palace maid rumors tied to minor proofs— you'll need a thorough probe."
"Yes. Thank you."
Genuine gratitude. Undeniable knightly loyalty.
Even Ahan struggles to meet her gaze now.
"...Then."
Lingering might arouse suspicion.
"Yes. Be careful. If surveillance—"
"It's fine. I have guards."
"Guards...?"
"Yes. The professor's ambushed me more than once. He hates me getting close to Her Majesty."
"...Still committing such shameless acts."
Julie's eyes chill. Her white hair undulates like frost.
"Shh. Go now."
"Yes. I won't forget. Definitely."
Ahan sows final discord before turning. Julie joins her 'team'.
"..."
The anti-Deculein alliance gathers in the secret room.
Ahan glances at them sidelong.
Izac, Gawain, Beorad, and more... all lamenting Deculein's tyranny.
No—gathered deliberately by Sophien.
Spreading Deculein's ill repute, making maids curse him day and night, leaking that the emperor despises him—all falsehoods.
Thus, Her Majesty desires Julie's purge. The Phairden clan's annihilation.
Irreversible ruin.
Ahan knows the scenario. Told by Sophien herself.
...If Julie tentatively pins the poisoning on Yukline, the shocking claim spreads across the continent in moments. Then,
Sophien reveals the 'fabricated evidence,' correcting the truth.
The true culprit is Phairden.
And Julie is the shameless perjurer framing Deculein.
Their bond shatters irreparably.
A quagmire where they can only kill or be killed.
"...Farewell."
Ahan murmurs softly, closing the secret room door.
A brief prayer for Julie, pushed—not approaching—toward hell.