Signatures from the Grave
The world's exterior. In other words, the space beyond the system. The sky bled red like crimson while dark as pitch black, life withered and twisted, formless spirits and ghosts wandered aimlessly—Gucheon, the Nine Springs.
"To think the imperial palace hid a place like this."
It was an event absent from the scenario.
Sophien chuckled lowly.
"What of it? If there's a door connected to the underworld, it would naturally be a place of utmost importance. And where else should such a thing reside but the imperial palace?"
"I see."
"Indeed. So take care. Ghosts may differ one from another like people, but they are beings steeped in all manner of emotions."
"......"
I gazed silently at my teacup. The half-remaining black tea swelled up.
Gurgle— It overflowed blood-red, spilling out. A fishy metallic tang spread through the air.
It was blood.
"Hmph. Let us enter. It seems the fiends around here take a dislike to us."
At Sophien's words, I nodded. Rising from the balcony, I stepped back into the guest chamber.
"Professor."
Sophien spoke as she perched on the bed's edge.
"Moreover, I intend to seek a certain soul here."
"......"
I furrowed my brow ever so slightly.
Ghosts and phantoms were no demons, yet as spectral existences akin to them, they stirred an instinctive revulsion.
"A soul, Your Majesty?"
"Yes. The emperor's study holds a tome describing the legends of this old mansion. It opens but once every six years. Precisely, every six years, six months, and six days."
666. A number deemed ominous in the modern world and this one alike.
"A place that opens only once in such a long span—would it not be unjust to leave empty-handed?"
Yet numbers held no displeasure for me.
"Do you still possess that book?"
I wished to read it.
"Haha. I knew you would say as much, Professor."
Sophien laughed aloud, then proudly produced a single volume.
Visible to the naked eye, a precious artifact steeped in mana.
"However, answer me first."
"......"
I regarded the emperor and asked.
"What soul do you seek?"
I had a vague inkling.
Sophien's mother. The one publicly slain by Rohakan.
"A certain person and memory lingering in my mind—a soul thereof."
Sophien tapped her temple.
"A ghost that may or may not dwell here. Yet if you see it, you shall know at a glance."
"Understood."
I nodded.
"Your Majesty's request is my duty."
"......Hmph. A request? I have never once made such a plea."
"Have you not?"
I looked up at her, questioning.
"......Tch."
Request.
A trivial word, yet a single utterance from the emperor bound with more force than imperial law.
Moreover, Sophien was one to honor her every word, fully aware of that fact—thus, a request equated to political justification.
"Damnable professor."
I pledged loyalty without being swayed by the emperor.
I would be the sharpest sword, yet never debase my worth to kindling. I would not become a sycophant parroting empty approvals.
After all, a true retainer was one 'trustworthy yet difficult to handle.' Thus, I would demand justification from Sophien in all things, and safeguard my own.
"Yes, indeed—a request. I beseech thee. Satisfied?"
The emperor grimaced, handing me the book. In response, I offered the blue-eyed remake.
Sophien let out a hollow laugh, her face paling noticeably.
"......Professor. My retainers claim every one of your actions reeks of politics."
"Is that so."
"Indeed. Quite certain. So, in recompense for my request, you offer this book—this novel?"
"Perish the thought. Pray, read it. The progression has changed quite substantially."
Sylvia's masterpiece. The words bore the heart of that child, enlightened on the island.
A more mature stance, markedly grown.
"......Very well. I shall. Step aside for now. Your face wearies me after so long......"
Sophien waved her hand dismissively.
The next day.
Sophien summoned all to the grand hall of the old mansion.
The hall was, by design, where emperor and retainers convened to deliberate state affairs—and this mansion replicated it faithfully, scarcely differing from the palace proper.
"I trust you rested well last night. I brook no feeble complaints of sleeplessness. Not even one week of the eight has passed."
Not only the 58 event participants but also palace retainers had gathered here come safe morning, swelling the hall to some two hundred souls abuzz.
Of course, one could not abandon state matters entirely for eight weeks under pretense of revelry.
"Thanks to my dispatching the next eight weeks' affairs in advance, no needless debates need detain us here."
Thank goodness, Ifrin muttered unwittingly.
"However, a special petition has arisen. To think one bold enough to request an audience with me, the emperor, stands among us."
Special petition. Ifrin's face hardened. The entire hall mirrored her.
For a moment, even the emperor's presence faded amid the murmurs.
"This petition forgoes a petitioner, naming crimes instead. It vows to reveal the culprit at the hearing. And oh, the crimes are legion—yet the gravest three are these."
Sophien, hand propping her chin from the throne, continued.
"First, instigation to murder."
Ifrin instinctively sought Deculein. He stood nearest the emperor.
"Next, murder itself. And......"
Sophien swept her gaze about. Then, with a scoffing smirk.
"Attempted regicide by poison."
Silence crashed down.
Not a breath stirred.
As if the world had frozen entire.
"......Hm. As this concerns the past, 'attempted princess poisoning' suits better. In any case."
Snap!
The emperor flicked her fingers. Retainers advanced with a massive placard.
"This broadsheet shall be posted in the mansion's central plaza. Those wishing to attend the petition, inscribe your names thereon."
"......"
Then, Deculein's head turned. He stared somewhere. Ifrin followed his gaze.
......Julie.
The knight in purest white met Deculein's eyes steadfastly.
"From this day forth, for one full day, signatures shall be taken from attendees. The assembly stands adjourned. Though this petition sows unease amid our harmony, it may yet pave the true path thereto. When at rest, forget such trifles and revel freely."
Sophien chuckled lowly, scanning the hall before rising from her throne.
......Post-assembly came the banquet.
What sorcery in this cursed mansion—a socialite soiree amid classical strains in the party hall.
Current powers like Deculein, Ruina, Betan drew throngs, while commoners or foreign royalty like Premien, Lia, and Mahor languished ignored.
"But don't you have a boyfriend or somethin'? Call."
Thus, Ifrin had retreated to her room for cards. Players: Lia, Mahor, Premien—four total.
The event's true aim—at least in Ifrin's eyes—was 'harmony amid terror,' yet haughty nobles snubbed Lia and Premien over status, bonding solely among themselves.
"Nah. What about you, Mage Ifrin? No boyfriend? Call from me too."
Lia tossed in 10 elne, inquiring. Ifrin shook her head.
"No time for that. But guys hit on me nonstop. Saw it this time too, right? Even nobles chatting me up."
The title 'Deculein's disciple' carried weight; famed mages inviting her to dine included Betan, Delpen, even elder 'Gaellon' and more.
"But why skip dinner? Even a Round Table elder was there."
"Dunno. They treat people so differently. Same with Maho, and Vice Director Premien."
"Right, right~ I was this close to tears~ A princess treated like a baroness~ All in, boys. Fold or call~"
"......"
Mahor mock-sobbed theatrically; Premien silently revealed her hand.
"Three of a kind. I win."
"Ah!"
The former security vice director swept the piled elne into her lap—evidently relishing the gamble.
"Three of a kind? Lame~"
"Tell me about it."
Ifrin flung her cards, slumping into her chair. Lia sighed wistfully.
"Heh."
Premien smirked faintly, shuffling anew.
"Lia. Why'd you become an adventurer so young?"
"Got goals, y'know."
Goals.
Ifrin paused at the word.
My goal... what is it?
At first, surely—revenge on Deculein.
Revenge.
Just revenge...
And now?
Ifrin eyed Lia again.
"Adventuring means lotsa injuries, right? Doesn't it hurt?"
"Pain's old hat. Most stuff doesn't even register anymore."
"......"
Ifrin and Maho sobered awkwardly, but Premien dealt the cards.
"Call."
And as she called first—
Bam bam bam—!
Sudden pounding—not a knock, but fists battering the door.
"What? Who's—"
Bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam—!
"......"
"......"
Ifrin, Maho, and Lia instantly huddled behind Premien, clutching one another, staring at the door.
......
The barrage ceased abruptly at their silence.
But then—a voice.
—Ifrin. Are you in there?
Ifrin's ears perked.
Deculein's voice.
—Open the door.
Command to open.
Ifrin swallowed, replying lowly.
"......Professor?"
As she approached, Lia grabbed her.
"Shh. Check outside."
Lia pointed to the window. All peered out.
"Sun's already set."
Sun veiled by thunderheads.
And a rule surfacing in mind.
[Do not leave your room after sunset]
"Not Professor Deculein. He follows rules."
"Then—"
"A ghost mimicking his voice."
Premien's verdict. Bravely, she peered through the peephole.
"......Professor Deculein?"
She muttered, brow furrowed.
"Hey. It's the real Deculein."
"Huh? For real?"
Ifrin dashed over, peering too.
"Whoa, it is!"
Indeed, Deculein stood there.
He spoke from before the door.
—Doubt is a virtue. Good. But heed this: Not all rooms are safe. Especially when the sun lingers not in the sky. Then, even rooms falter. Seek me, or Her Majesty the Emperor, or Julie.
"Huh? Oh, yes, Professor. But what was that just now? You knocking?"
—No. A ghost's doing.
"Whoa."
—I take my leave.
Footsteps receded: thud, thud.
As if come solely to say that. Sunlight filtered in anew—thunderheads vanished.
"......Safe to go out now?"
No—wait—hold on— the other three protested, but Ifrin flung the door open.
Creeeak—
It swung harmlessly.
She glanced both hallway ways, then stepped cautiously.
"Oh right. That petition hearing. Gotta sign up."
Ifrin turned back.
"You all done?"
But they clung wall-hugging, terrified as gum.
"You go first. We'll follow."
"......Pfft. Total scaredy-cats."
Lip pursed, Ifrin nodded and headed to the plaza.
[Igiris von Krail Phairden]
[And countless more names, filling the sheet—over two hundred signatures, all told.]
The massive placard affixed plaza-center.
Ifrin approached casually to sign, then narrowed her eyes, muttering.
"......Why so many names?"
Easily over two hundred. Names crammed the paper—far too many.
Tilting her head up, realization dawned.
"......Hold on."
[Deculein von Grahan Yukline]
[Igiris von Krail Phairden]
Deculein was fine.
But below—Igiris von Krail Phairden.
"This......"
Ifrin knew that name. Gooseflesh erupted across her skin.
Famed enough for fairy tales, even.
"Eek, ugh—chills!"
"What so shocks you."
A voice from behind. Ifrin whipped around, face ashen as if fainted.
Deculein.
"P-Professor! Professooor—!"
"Have you lost your wits."
Ifrin lunged to hug him, halted by Telekinesis.
"No, look at this!"
She jabbed at the placard. Deculein glanced.
Igiris's name.
And below—a litany of the dead.
Reading calmly, Deculein furrowed at a passage—then nodded, convinced.
"What issue?"
"These are dead people!"
"Indeed. All below Igiris."
"That's the problem......!"
"This is a cursed mansion. Threshold to the underworld, no less."
"Wha—underworld?!"
Ifrin's jaw dropped cartoonishly, gaping to her knees.
"When night falls, ghosts may meddle with us."
Deculein recited calmly, like quoting a tome.
"Here."
He pointed to another etched name.
"Dikailen's as well."
Rumble—!
Thunder pealed untimely. Ifrin startled, glancing skyward.
"......Gulp."
The scene forced a swallow.
The sun, shrouded in thunderheads, drowned the world in gloom......