Kala's Burning Secret

In the shop at the Ashes Heap, the group ran into each other by chance. Ifrin, the magic tower mage, and Rose, the prosecutor from the Grand Prosecutor's Office.

Al Ross guided them to his adventurer party base.

In the space decorated like an ordinary office, Ifrin and Rose shed their robes and stared at each other in surprise.

"You're the professor's disciple, right?"

"You're the bodyguard, aren't you?"

Rose narrowed her brows slightly at Ifrin's words.

"Not a bodyguard. I'm a prosecutor. From the Yuren Magic Grand Prosecutor's Office."

"Ah~"

Grand Prosecutor's Office prosecutor.

Of course, she had no idea what that was.

"More importantly."

Cutting her off abruptly, Ifrin turned to Al Ross. More precisely, to her 'doll'.

"Do you know who stole the transformation formula?"

Al Ross shook her head.

"No idea, but it's obvious. One of these wanted criminals."

The corkboard on the adventurer party's wall was plastered with wanted posters. Ifrin scanned the faces with a long geeeeng stare, then flinched and pointed at one name.

"Authority Kala? Kala's here?"

Authority Kala. Once hailed as a super-genius and a leading candidate for archmage.

But at some point, whether she fell to corruption or grew disillusioned with the Floating Island and the world's ways,

she suddenly hid her tracks and achievements as a mage, ultimately degenerating into a criminal who frequented the Ashes Heap.

"Yes. She's here."

It was Rose's answer. Her face was distinctly displeased.

"She's a massive headache in Yuren and the Ashes Heap alike. Her brother Jakal goes without saying, but she's committed far too many crimes herself."

Saying this, she stared intently at Authority Kala's wanted poster. But there were no detailed features. Just the name "Kala" written beneath a robed figure.

Fitting for the world's most mysterious mage.

"It was five years ago when Kala was first spotted in Yuren. We were thrilled. Yuren lacks magical talent, you see. We expected her to nurture the next generation."

"And?"

Ifrin asked. Rose scoffed.

"Nurture my ass. She just steals, conducts weird magic experiments in the Ashes Heap, and her brother Jakal's a murderer. But he's ridiculously strong—no Yuren authority could catch him."

At that, Drent and Julie nearby, along with the two potted plants in the greenhouse, swallowed hard with terrified faces.

"Luckily, Jakal headed to Hadekain. No idea why, but Kala went quiet too... until this incident."

Rose clicked her tongue with a tsk tsk and turned to Ifrin, her tone tinged with worry.

"Assistant. That research is really worth 10 billion elne, right?"

"Yes. But I'm not an assistant—I'm an assistant professor."

"And I'm not a bodyguard—I'm a prosecutor."

Rose donned her robe again.

"Where to?"

"Gotta check the volcano. Someone's tracking Dikailen's traces there."

"I'll come too. Drent, Julie. You?"

The two scratched the backs of their necks and shook their heads.

"We have that errand... think we need to head back to Yuren."

"Fine, go ahead. What about you, dollmaker?"

Al Ross chuckled. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠She slung a massive duffel bag over her shoulder.

"I'll tag along. Lots of dangerous folks in the Ashes Heap. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠And I go way back with Deculein—escort's on the house."

...The volcano in the Ashes Heap lies deeper than the village or commercial district. The further down you go, the redder-black everything gets, volcanic ash seeping into the air.

Those who traverse this depths are miners, criminals, drug addicts—the dregs of society.

Souls without purpose in life, who’ve abandoned even their own worth. Pathetic, repulsive.

I stand at the volcano's heart.

Gazing at the magma roiling within the earth's crust.

"This is the bottom. Nothing below."

So said the guide who brought me.

"Uh..."

"Take it and scram."

I tossed him a pouch of gold coins.

"Whoa! Thank you! Heh heh heh!"

He grinned ear-to-ear and backed away. I peered silently into the volcano.

"..."

Beneath ripples an aura.

Mana's unmistakable presence, visible to my Naked Eye.

Without a word, I levitated steel rods. Four of them woven like a platform; I stepped atop.

Slowly sinking into the volcano.

Silent as an elevator, enduring the magma's heat, pursuing the 'aura' downward.

Then, I spot a shelter carved into the volcano wall.

A long passage.

A cave scorched hot by magma's blaze.

Thud.

I step inside and survey the surroundings.

Furniture first—sofas, desks, and such. Magical paper, of course.

But none of that registers in my eyes.

"...So you're here."

A bed at the cave's end. A figure lies motionless atop it.

A woman I'd seen once before—one of this world's strongest.

"Kala."

Authority Kala. I approach slowly and gaze at her.

Sprawled on the bed, sweating coldly. Black hair soaked through, body burning like a fireball.

"..."

Kala stares at me wordlessly. By her lore, her body is already as good as dead—terminal from the start.

Overwhelming talent. A body unable to contain it.

"...You're Deculein."

Kala's tiny voice calls to me. Its timbre drags me into Deculein's past.

Quite a distant memory.

From childhood, she displayed her great mage talent without restraint. Once, under Dikailen's patronage, she came to tutor me. The memory is vivid even in my mind.

In a word, Deculein's teacher before Rohakan.

—Why don't you understand this?

—Why can't Deculein learn?

But the talent gap was overwhelming. Baffled that Deculein couldn't grasp even one bit of her knowledge, she left the estate.

Her innocent question was a massive setback for Deculein.

"Yes. Deculein. First time since Ghost Isle."

"...Is it?"

Kala smiles faintly in response.

Meanwhile, I examine the magical papers by her bedside, Understanding the spells inscribed.

A harmony-series magic: embed a magic circle at the volcano's base to trigger an artificial eruption.

"Kala. Why try to blow this volcano?"

An independent quest overlapping a main one.

Right now, Kala's appearance signals the episode's latter half.

She's a named collaborator with the Altar.

"...Here to stop me, Deculein?"

Kala asks, propping herself up against the bedframe with effort, gazing at me.

"Here to ask why."

"..."

She bows her head silently. Sweat drips from her face to her chin. Breathing ragged, she forces out words.

"I... don't want to die."

A choked, tearful voice.

With little life ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠left, mana erupts like a volcano within her. Raging hot.

Her own mana devouring her heart and vessels.

I asked.

"So you allied with the Altar. Because you don't want to die."

Everyone desires life. Game world or not, few embrace death willingly.

It's natural.

We're all human, after all.

"At first, I begged Dikailen. Was he researching immortality? But..."

"He died. Dikailen."

Kala nods. Her gaze shifts somewhere. I follow it.

"Did Dikailen leave a legacy? But was it too insufficient to sustain my life?"

There lay a Mana Core.

A grotesque organism. Like a massive heart sprouting tentacles—now dead, limp and sagging.

"So the Altar told me: cooperate, and they'd grant life?"

Cough-cough.

She stops, coughing softly. Mana-mixed blood trickles from her mouth.

I called her name.

"Kala."

"..."

She looks up at me.

"Do you crave life? Enough to slaughter tens of thousands for your own."

Kala's face twists in rare anger.

"...And you? You don't want to die either!"

Sharp, biting words—like gnashing teeth. Her first real shout, not a question.

"No, you wouldn't get it. You're alive."

Her declarative tone. But I shake my head.

"I know."

"..."

Kala frowns at me. I meet her eyes with a faint smile.

"I'm dying too."

Memories from the Imperial Palace. Absorbing Deculein's century-plus of turmoil—no way I'd emerge unscathed.

I told Sophien it was fine, but I know her better than she knows herself. I lied.

Confessed falsehood.

"..."

Kala stares silently at my heart. I take her hand and place it on my chest.

In the quiet, she nods.

"But I have a theory to save you."

"...?"

Her eyes widen as she looks up.

"An artistic organism. Implant an artificial heart to handle your mana, extending your life. Of course, you'd never use advanced magic again."

Kala's affliction is simple: body overload from mana. Far easier to cure than Julie's.

The problem is clear-cut.

"Possible?"

"If my theory completes."

"My time's short."

"Enough. So scrap your massacre spell."

She ponders my words, staring blankly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠into space.

Watching her, I grit my teeth inwardly. Secretly preheat my mana.

"..."

If she rejects this, my response is simple.

Kill her.

"...Deculein."

Then Kala points behind me. Toward the cave's shadowed depths.

"Look there."

I turn.

Step—step—

Something moves in the darkness.

Casual, step by step.

I narrow my eyes at it.

It smiles at me.

"Nice to meet you, Deculein."

The intruder calling my name resembles Sophien but leans more androgynous. In appearance, at least.

Beautiful.

"It's me."

Introducing himself as 'me'.

But I suspect who this 'me' is.

"...You're that self-proclaimed god."

He smiles.

"Yes. Borrowing a doll's body for a brief descent. Not incarnation or advent— just experiencing the world like you mortals. The continent's state, firsthand."

My Naked Eye scans him.

Nothing special. No great mana, no divine aura.

He simply says, gazing at me.

"Deculein. Spare some time. Travel with me. So much I want to show you..."

Meanwhile, Ifrin is eating.

Squid skewers, pork skewers, octopus skewers, crayfish skewers... countless skewers in her hands. Vanishing nonstop into her mouth.

Not that anyone on the continent knew—but the Ashes Heap was a street food paradise!

"Assistant professor. What're you doing with volcano crayfish?"

Al Ross chuckled dryly at her.

"Too good. Just a sec. Oh, buy one of those too."

Ox tongue skewers.

Al Ross and Rose shake their heads at her devouring every stall.

"Let's talk among ourselves. What does the volcano explosion mean?"

"Word is 'Kala' lives near it. No one's seen her, but rumors abound. So maybe she foresaw it—or plans to cause it. And..."

Al Ross sighs, pulling a wanted poster from her bosom.

"This. My creation—a doll."

Rose read it and nodded casually.

"Famous thief lately. But a doll?"

A criminal's sketch: stealing valuables and inventions from Yuren's capital.

Thirty crimes recently—Rose knew it well.

"Yes. Not an ordinary thief. I made it... as God's vessel. A masterpiece."

"..."

Al Ross's big reveal.

But Rose shows no reaction.

Too unbelievable?

"Whoa, this is good! Nom nom—hey, what's that? Huh? Roahawk?! Roahawk here too?!"

Behind, only Ifrin's munching echoes.

How does a magic tower mage love Ashes Heap grub so much?

Rose said.

"Ah, yes. Sure. You're a talented dollmaker, I guess."

"Talented? I can create life itself."

"...You're a cultist too, huh?"

"Tch. Believe me or not, your call."

Al Ross rubbed her temple.

"If that doll now holds God's will."

She pauses, scanning the Ashes Heap.

A city-state buried in ash. Scorned and ignored by the continent, yet proudly forging their pride—a sanctuary of the insulted.

She shakes her head, handing Rose a 'bible'.

"This is the scripture the Altar believes in."

"Scripture."

"Yes. There, the first sign heralding God's descent is this 'volcano explosion'. Read it."

At Al Ross's words, Rose nods but pockets it unread.

Duty calls—no time for cult nonsense.

"Roahawk! More Roahawk. No, pack ten—"

"Assistant professor. Time to go?"

She calls to Deculein's assistant professor, lost in Roahawk bliss.

"Huh? Oh~ Prosecutor, try some. Sorry, I hogged it~ Here, aaahn~"

Lips glistening with grease, Ifrin grins and offers a skewer.