The Eighth Deculein
In the dark night of the island, within the guild room that felt as eerie as if ghosts were brushing past, Idnik was conferring with Jukaken and Al Ross.
"For now, catching Gerik is the top priority. Regardless of his intentions, if he keeps killing Deculein like this, not only will the magic circle never complete, but Sylvia's mental state will shatter too."
She hadn't shared her 'deductions' with Jukaken and Al Ross. They weren't confirmed yet, and above all, if Deculein's method truly was the 'best' way to protect the continent...
As a desert mage, Idnik would choose that path.
Sacrificing the few for the many was the basic creed of any mage.
"Okay. What about the scarecrow?"
"We need to make another one. The one we had guarding Deculein is already smashed. Gerik's doing, no doubt..."
Creaaaaak—
At that moment, the guild room door swung open with an unnaturally chilling groan. Al Ross, Jukaken, and Idnik all turned toward it simultaneously.
Soon, goosebumps prickled across their skin. The napes of their necks stiffened.
"Uh..."
The eighth Deculein.
There, beyond the threshold, he stood shrouded in shadow, gazing at them.
In the silence that gripped them all, he approached wordlessly, sat at the desk and chair, and calmly began reading his own book of magic theory.
Watching him, Jukaken muttered blankly.
"...Who showed you the way?"
"...No one."
"Then how'd you get here."
"No idea."
Jukaken and Al Ross whispered in shock, their eyes darting wildly. The tension in the air thickened unbearably.
As if annoyed by it all, Deculein turned to them, furrowing his brow and asking in a low voice.
"You look as if you've seen a ghost."
"Well, yeah, 'cause you're... supposed to be dead. Gerik got you."
"Gerik?"
Deculein echoed. Al Ross quickly replied.
"Yeah. Gerik's targeting you. You're in danger right now. Stay inside for the time being."
"..."
But Deculein shook his head. Idnik watched him intently.
Al Ross frowned.
"Why? Gerik's after you, I said."
"Three o'clock in the afternoon."
"..."
He silently held up a single sheet of paper. Idnik saw it too.
An employment contract.
Bearing the signatures of Deculein and Sylvia.
"I have a contract to uphold."
"..."
At that, Idnik ground her molars in secret. Al Ross sighed and shook her head.
Jukaken spoke up.
"Fine, whatever. Do what you want. You come back to life anyway, even if you die."
* * *
...You come back to life anyway, even if you die.
Whether it was Jukaken's damnable optimism—that bastard—that had led things to this point, Al Ross still pondered it now and then.
Of course, a single offhand remark couldn't have caused all this, but perhaps she just needed someone to blame.
Thud—!
Al Ross slammed a crumpled wad of paper onto the guild room desk.
It was a tracking map marked with every spot where Deculein had died. Countless 'X's dotted it.
Based on this, she'd tirelessly tried to pinpoint Gerik's location, hideout, and movements, but no answers emerged.
"Sigh..."
Her exhale formed a plume of white breath, spreading like cigarette smoke.
This place, the Isle of Voices, was locked in winter. Its first anniversary of endless nightly snowfalls.
The island's landscape mirrored Sylvia's psyche, so in Idnik's words, it was in a 'very dangerous state.'
"...Gerik. Where the hell are you."
Deculein revived even after death—no help from Sylvia needed. When his time ran out, he simply respawned somewhere on the island.
Thanks to Deculein's unique mental fortitude.
His resurrections were infinite, but killing him immediately upon revival rendered it meaningless.
Infinite lives, infinitely ended—effectively eternal death.
"..."
Al Ross silently eyed the box containing magic theory.
Deculein's magic theory, untouched by his hands for two years. Al Ross occasionally dusted off the accumulated grime. It felt pitiful, abandoned by its owner.
"Three years and three months, huh."
Three years and three months.
Time passed since Jukaken's optimistic quip.
Of that, Sylvia's home tutoring lasted only three months.
For the remaining three years, Deculein met death repeatedly. Slain by Gerik before reaching the guild room or Sylvia's house.
"...All that tough-guy act, and he just keeps dying."
Al Ross muttered, picking up a crumpled sketch. A portrait Deculein had drawn her long ago.
Gazing at it stirred faint nostalgia. Even the professor's repulsive praises surfaced occasionally.
Mysterious, beautiful, artistic...
Creak—
Someone opened the door. Al Ross hastily hid the sketch.
"Hey, Al Ross."
It was Jukaken. Brushing off no snow from his body, he spoke.
"Idnik's waiting. Says she has something to say."
"...Where?"
Al Ross hesitated to go out. Gerik had just wrecked their latest scarecrow.
With food coins scarce, materials for another were nonexistent.
"To Sylvia. At the central lighthouse."
"..."
Al Ross frowned. Jukaken wore a similar expression but shrugged.
"Says it's very important."
* * *
...A fairy tale in fairy language.
On a hazy day long ago, Sylvia showed Deculein a fairy tale she'd written herself.
In fairy language learned from Deculein, crafted for him.
...A fairy tale.
He echoed briefly.
...Yes.
A story with perfect grammar. Her tutor Deculein nodded silently, scanning the lines as if savoring them.
...What do you think.
Sylvia eagerly sought his thoughts. Deculein offered the faintest smile.
...I haven't read it yet.
...Ah. Right.
Sylvia waited. Fingertips fidgeting in anticipation. Tension swelled with every second, her eyes fixed on his lips.
Until, at last.
...Well done.
Deculein's praise.
A smile blooming on her face.
And...
"...Ah."
Sylvia opened her eyes.
Another dream of the past.
A memory she yearned for desperately.
A scene that clawed at her heart.
"..."
She rose slowly. Long hair swayed, nearly brushing her waist.
Her gaze fell on the calendar.
Year 8 of the Voice Calendar.
Since her first meeting with Deculein... no.
Far too long without him.
Knock knock.
A knock. Sylvia turned.
The door opened first.
"...Sylvia."
Idnik, calling her name in a low voice.
Sylvia clenched her teeth unwittingly, hardening her expression.
"Idnik. Why are you here."
"Elesol called for you. She's worried about you. The island too. Winter's dragged on a full year, Sylvia."
"..."
Sylvia said nothing. Wouldn't meet Idnik's eyes.
She cut to the chase.
"Did you find Gerik."
Sylvia knew Gerik was killing Deculein. She'd tracked him with Wind before, even brought 'ghosts' along.
But Gerik's superhuman senses far outstripped her Wind.
Idnik shook her head.
"No."
"Then why come."
Sylvia resented Idnik. Resented her for not stopping Gerik sooner. Resented the entire Voice.
"...Sylvia."
Idnik's voice grew grave. Sylvia shook her head, unwilling to hear it.
"Get out."
"Deculein—"
"Get out."
"—is not someone worth missing this much."
"Get out!"
To the thrashing Sylvia refusing to listen, Idnik thrust forth a paper inscribed with magic. She roughly seized Sylvia's pushing hands and forced it before her eyes.
"Look. The magic circle Deculein drew on this island."
Watching Sylvia crumble in agony for three years, Idnik had uncovered how Deculein planned to kill her.
Comprehensible as a mage, unforgivable as a human.
"You made a bet, right? First to complete their magic withdraws without regret."
At this rate, Sylvia would surely die.
No need for spells or blades.
"See for yourself. This magic circle."
Deculein had given Sylvia the emotion called love. That 'emotion,' above all, would kill her.
"Deculein intended to kill you from the start."
And the mana overflowing from Sylvia's dead body would activate Deculein's magic circle.
"My research on Deculein's magic circle. Even I took three years to fully grasp it..."
Sylvia stared at it. Shook her head blankly.
"This circle activates upon your death, submerging the entire island. Gathering all of the Voice into one and erasing it completely. Residents be damned—he doesn't care who lives or breathes here."
"...No."
"No it's not! Look straight at it. Gerik's actually stopping him. He remembers the past when the whole village drowned."
The village had drowned under Yukline once before, in Gerik's memory.
He didn't want history repeated.
That's why he killed Deculein endlessly.
Even if Sylvia died, to prevent the circle's completion.
"..."
Sylvia's face was impassive. But her eyes scanned Deculein's circle. Her tightly pressed lips trembled.
Idnik released Sylvia's wrists, gripped so fiercely.
Sylvia was clever. She'd grasp the circle's purpose and requirements.
"...Hey, Idnik."
Another voice calling Idnik.
Two figures peering from outside Sylvia's door.
Al Ross and Jukaken.
"Is that true?"
They asked with blank faces.
Idnik met their eyes and nodded.
"It is."
* * *
...Three months later.
Crunch crunch—squish squish—
Footsteps echoed outside the guild room. Al Ross, studying at the desk, glanced at the door. It soon opened.
"You're back, Jukaken."
"Yeah."
Jukaken. Fresh from scouting Gerik, he hung his coat on the rack and bolted to the fireplace.
Al Ross asked.
"Gerik."
"No luck. Obviously. Nothing but snow... You're still glued to that theory?"
"Yeah."
Al Ross adjusted her glasses perched on her nose bridge.
"Checking if Idnik's right myself."
Deculein's magic theory—the one left in the guild room. Al Ross pored over it diligently.
Idnik had taken three years, so it'd be tough, but better than nothing.
"Studying won't tell you shit."
"I'm not a know-it-all like you."
Hmph. Jukaken snorted, leaning back in his chair.
"But Al Ross. Even if it's true, isn't it the right call? Better we go down than the Voice spreading across the continent and dooming it all."
"..."
Al Ross turned to him with genuine surprise.
What's with this guy.
"You really Jukaken of the Four Corps?"
"Yeah."
"Then why say crap like that?"
"...What. I told you—I trust myself."
Jukaken pulled roasted sweet potatoes from the fireplace. Al Ross's mouth watered despite herself.
Those were mine, you prick.
"Better to die a continental hero who saved it than forget myself living in the Voice."
"...Save dying talk for later. Where was Deculein's trace today?"
Al Ross spread the map, handing him a pen. Jukaken jabbed a spot.
"Here."
"Hm. Weird spot again today...?"
Suddenly.
Scratch—!
Like a spark igniting, a match struck— a thought blazed in Al Ross's mind.
"..."
Snowfall patter... Snow piling on the guild room ceiling.
Whoooosh... Cold draft seeping through wall cracks.
Amid it, Al Ross fell silent.
Jukaken, devouring sweet potatoes.
"Want some?"
He shoved one into Al Ross's mouth. She chewed unconsciously, thoughts connecting.
"...It's different."
Finally, Al Ross spoke.
She overlaid the map on Deculein's magic circle. Precisely, the 'tracking map' of death points.
"Different..."
Comparing the two positions.
Something Idnik had missed...
No, something even Idnik couldn't know.
"...Pfft, like studying that tells you anything."
Ignoring Jukaken's dumb jab, Al Ross focused.
More earnestly than crafting any doll, she pondered the circle, the deaths, their connection.
And...
"...I get it."
"Pfft. Bullshit."
Jukaken snickered through sweet potato, but coughed at Al Ross's dead-serious face and asked again.
"Ahem. Get what?"
Al Ross.
She got it.
No, she was certain.
"The next place Deculein will die."
With that, she bundled map and circle, stuffed them in her bosom, and bolted up.
Bang—!
She flung open the door and dashed out.