Rest. (1)
The first agenda item at the Verhert conference concerned the demon sighting—that is, the demon I had slain on the grounds of the Magic Tower. Drent first demanded my testimony.
"Darkness Mountain has long been an area insufficiently purified. It could harbor anything, but on that day, a demon appeared, so I killed it."
I said only that much and caught my breath. To my vague explanation, the young head of the Bran family, Essensil, added her thoughts.
"The appearance of a demon in the capital carries grave implications. Moreover, lately, beasts have been swarming the northern frontiers—that is, in Mieolji. We must issue directives to each school of magic or collaborate with the Cathedral to dispatch mages to suspicious regions."
Her hair shimmered with a mysterious green hue; she was a named character, the trustworthy head of a reliable house, steadfast in her convictions.
At that moment, I lacked the strength to interpret or judge anyone's message, so I decided to agree with the messenger.
"Well said."
Essensil's eyes widened in surprise.
Of course. Deculein was the type to nitpick even correct statements first.
The other mages offered no particular criticism on this agenda either.
—First, once the Cathedral selects suspicious regions, select mages from each school of magic and dispatch them.
It was the first agenda to pass.
"The Rinnel School, which follows destruction magic, showed the most zeal for demon extermination..."
There were many agenda items.
Which school to dispatch, how to handle mines infested with beasts, how to revise the magical laws on dungeons and demon hunts, and so on...
For nearly four hours, the round table buzzed without cease.
I said nothing during that time. I left my three speaking turns unused.
—We shall take a brief recess.
After a full five hours, I was finally able to escape the round table.
I stepped out to clear my head, only to find a small, dainty brown-haired figure stamping her feet anxiously beside an elder at the exit.
It was Allen.
"...Ah, Professor!"
Allen cried out loudly and came running.
"A-are you okay? I'm so sorry for being late! They said I couldn't join during the meeting, so I was waiting, and waiting... I'm sorry..."
I shook my head at her flustered state.
"It's fine."
In truth, it wasn't. I'd experienced mana exhaustion several times today alone. A normal mage would be bedridden with fever or already dead.
The aftereffects of exhaustion lingered; during those five hours of meetings, I'd recovered only a measly 300 mana.
"P-professor... I heard you saved me..."
"I told you not to cry."
Allen fought back tears and bowed her head.
"...Hic!"
—But I...
Could no longer view this child with pure eyes.
That innocent face now felt utterly alien.
"From now on, just stand quietly by my side."
"Y-yes? Ah... Y-yeees..."
Of course, I couldn't expose her here.
If my suspicions were correct, I needed to keep this child close instead.
I must show no sign of it.
...To survive.
[Verhert 4th Wing Rosary Hotel Night Rules]
All these rules apply only at night.
1. If you find an open door while wandering the hallway, do not enter the room or peek inside under any circumstances.
2. If someone knocks on your door from outside the room, do not respond. Make no reply whatsoever.
3. Corpses are occasionally found in the bathrooms. Do not panic; simply close the door.
4. The Rosary Hotel is a single-story building. Even if stairs appear, do not go down or up them.
5. Once you lie down in bed, refrain from walking until morning. You may suddenly find yourself in another space.
6. Do not make noise in the hallways. Do not use magic either.
A thirty-minute break.
The heads retreated to their respective lounges. They seemed intent on exchanging views or making deals if needed, but I simply stayed with Allen.
I did nothing.
Once the break ended.
I returned to the round table, seating Allen by my side.
Drent announced the next agenda.
—What shall be the stance of magic toward Altiegue?
In that instant, the atmosphere at the table shifted dramatically.
No one had even been granted speaking rights, yet heated debate erupted from the start.
Altiegue truly was magic's Achilles' heel.
"Altiegue are vermin like cockroaches. They lay eggs among themselves, breed endlessly, and gnaw away at society."
Betan of the Beorad family spat his vitriol.
Essensil responded with evident discomfort.
"Yet there is no way to distinguish Altiegue from other races, is there?"
"Invent one. The hint lies in Blood Demon. If the empire's university towers unite, what could we not achieve?"
Betan was fervent. Ihelm, gauging his mood, seemed about to speak but was cut off as Betan pressed on.
"Moreover, Altiegue somehow recognize and gather among themselves. They have a 'leader' who unites them."
Altiegue was a peculiar tribe. Though few in number, many developed talents on their own.
Among those talents, surely some existed who gathered and commanded Altiegue in safe havens.
Betan had pierced the core—but...
The leader of Altiegue must never be killed.
In the setting, he was akin to Buddha or Jesus—a saint.
"That leader hides underground, gathering and exploiting Altiegue. Doesn't it disgust you to imagine what plots they hatch there? It is treason in itself!"
"Betan, that's mere speculation."
"Sixty years ago, such complacency killed countless mages!"
Betan nearly retched his retort at Essensil's counterargument. She said no more.
As the boiling table began to quiet.
Gilteon, who had been watching me, finally spoke.
"What thinks Deculein of Yukline?"
All eyes turned to me.
Yukline.
From ancient times, the vanguard in demon extermination, masters of exorcism.
A position brimming with influence and responsibility.
"..."
As a modern man, I knew these events well. Even setting that knowledge aside, delaying persecution of Altiegue was the right call.
That way, the 'common enemy' of this world would not be Altiegue, making the main quest far easier later.
"In ancient times, Altiegue were foes."
I continued calmly.
"But if one examines the records one by one... all stemmed from misunderstandings."
"Misunderstandings?"
Betan interjected. I glared at him and pressed on.
"It began as misunderstanding. In the 'Lordran Witch' incident 237 years ago, the accused Lordran was in fact innocent."
I cited a specific event.
"That sparked widespread persecution, and Altiegue shed blood. Naturally, they resisted, that resistance drew more blood, blood begat blood, until a brief truce."
I'd seen it in the setting sheets. I'd read similar records.
The broad strokes were already sorted in my mind.
"The sixty years you mentioned. Around then, it turned political. Mana stone mines were discovered on Altiegue lands."
Mana stone mines in this world held far greater importance than oil and natural gas combined in the modern era.
"Ha, politics?! What politics!"
Betan slammed the table.
I knew much, as it spanned the mid-to-late story, but persuasion was another matter.
"They bear the unmistakable bloodline of demonic energy! As Yukline, slayers of demons, you must know this!"
Betan shrieked like a madman. I shook my head.
"Yukline's tradition is hunting demons, not killing Altiegue."
"Altiegue are demons!"
His shout echoed through the chamber.
The fallacy that would one day lead to massacre.
"..."
After Betan's outburst, silence descended on the table.
An unusually long hush in a space rife with words and spittle.
In the quiet, tension amplified...
I looked at Betan and said,
"Can you take responsibility for those words?"
Labeling a race as demons was tantamount to making them humanity's enemy.
No one, not even Betan, replied.
"Do not carelessly deem humans demons. The one who speaks such words may become the demon."
With that, I concluded my statement.
The house heads regarded me with evident surprise.
Soon, Drent's voice rose.
—Betan, moderate your tone. At this rate, we reach no conclusion. We shall end today's meeting here.
* * *
The first session ended without clear resolution. It was no great matter. I'd prepared for three nights and four days from the start.
Sylvia descended to the "Rosary Lodgings" in the 4th Wing. Night had already fallen dark, and she was alone in her room there.
These lodgings followed the custom of one person per room.
"..."
Sylvia examined the paper given by the lodging elder.
After reading all, Sylvia blinked. The rules were eerily frightening, but she'd heard them from her father until her ears blistered.
She wasn't some impulsive child eager for adventure. Exhausted, she planned to sleep immediately.
Sylvia lay on the bed. Her "Swiftblade" stood watch by the bedside.
"Good night."
Speaking to Swiftblade, Sylvia closed her eyes.
Soon, she sank into quiet slumber...
......
......Thirst woke her. Glancing at the clock, she'd slept about three hours. Swiftblade watched her as she stirred in bed.
Reassured, she said,
"Sleep easy."
Swiftblade closed its eyes. Sylvia rose contentedly, taking water and cup from the shelf.
The moment she drank and turned.
She was in the hallway.
Not her room, but an endless corridor.
"..."
Chills ran up her spine, a cold prickling at her throat.
Belatedly, rule 5 surfaced.
[5. Once you lie down in bed, refrain from walking until morning. You may suddenly find yourself in another space.]
Sylvia looked at her feet.
Barefoot.
The floor was cold.
Whiiiiiing...
Wind blew from somewhere.
Sylvia surveyed her surroundings. Nearby stairs appeared.
But she must not use them.
[4. The Rosary Hotel is a single-story building. Even if stairs appear, do not go down or up them.]
Stay calm.
It's just a bit of wind so far. Nothing will happen.
Walking on, an open room door appeared. Sylvia halted.
[1. If you find an open door while wandering the hallway, do not enter the room or peek inside under any circumstances.]
Sylvia walked past without a glance.
Heart pounding, tension mounting.
She walked and walked.
Stopped before a closed door.
Knock knock—
She knocked.
No answer, no matter how long she waited.
Whiiiiiing...
Wind blew again from somewhere.
Sylvia walked farther to another door.
Knock knock—
No opening.
She gripped and rattled the knob, but it held.
No choice; next door.
Knock knock—
Then the next.
Knock knock—
Sylvia hurriedly knocked on doors.
Perhaps those inside would think her a ghost.
No—they surely would.
Kiiiiieeeee...
The hallway wind morphed into a horrific wail, a tearing shriek.
Sylvia hated scary things. Her knocking hand gained force naturally.
Knock knock—! Knock knock—!
Yet no one opened.
Kruuuuuuuh...
The sound grew clearer.
Knock knock—!
The final knock.
Kaaaaaaa...
Cold breath grazed her ear that instant.
Creak!
The door opened.
The eerie, ear-numbing sensation vanished at once.
Thud.
Her strength failed; she collapsed.
"..."
The room's warmth bathed her. Panting, Sylvia slowly raised her head.
"Sylvia."
The one calling her name was Deculein.
"Lost, are you?"
He glanced at her dismissively, as if it were nothing, and flung the door wide.
"Come in."
"..."
Sylvia hesitated.
Whiiiiiing—
Eerie wind blew from the hall. No need to hesitate. She shuffled inside.
"...Thank you."
Sylvia bowed and looked around. As expected, a house head's room was spacious and cozy.
"Sit."
Deculein sat in a rocking chair by the fireplace; Sylvia took a small chair by the bed.
"I'm sorry."
"It's fine."
"I got up from bed, and suddenly I was in the hallway."
Deculein picked up a book from the table. Eyes on the page, he spoke to Sylvia.
"The mana density in Verhert's air surges dozens, even hundreds of times that of the lowlands. Unexplainable phenomena arise naturally, mana taking form and ego. They are called ghosts, and this hotel teems with them. You should have read the 'rules' carefully."
The reason only Deculein could—and would—open his door.
He was nearly immune to all mental interference.
"Ah."
Sylvia nodded. Then she glanced around, lips twitching.
She felt terribly indebted.
Lips fumbling, she asked,
"Why were you late today?"
Deculein replied while reading.
"No need to know."
"..."
Fidgeting with her fingers, Sylvia asked,
"Do you like books?"
Deculein replied while reading.
"A second-best option."
He'd never particularly liked books. But given Deculein's personality, reading was the most comfortable hobby. A 'good trait' needing no overcoming.
"..."
Sylvia fell silent again. Staring at the fireplace flames, she suddenly rubbed her palms and manifested magic.
"Scorching Flame."
She showed it off proudly to Deculein. The soundless, colorless Scorching Flame clung to the fireplace, fanning the embers.
Deculein glanced sidelong and said,
"Well manifested."
"I can add color too."
Adding two lines turned Scorching Flame blue. Deculein nodded approvingly.
"Even better."
Glancing at his face, Sylvia manifested another spell. Clouds this time.
"Storm Cloud."
"Well manifested."
"I can make it bigger."
The storm cloud swelled to cover half the ceiling.
Deculein replied,
"Even better."
"..."
Sylvia manifested yet another. Leaves sprouting like blades.
"Metallic Verdure."
"Well manifested."
"Combined with destruction magic, the leaves fly and attack enemies."
"Well learned."
Sylvia demonstrated various techniques from Deculein's lectures.
Since he only praised, she first thought his responses perfunctory.
But when she showed immature spells,
"The circuit flow is off. You misunderstand one part. Unfold the circuit again."
"The attributes lack harmony. For fire and water to blend, neither must dominate. Perfect balance is required."
He corrected her earnestly. His advice solidified several spells, but... greed stirred.
"Then, what is my weakness?"
"You must discover it yourself."
Sylvia pouted.
"You taught Ifrin."
Deculein shook his head.
"Ifrin learned on her own."
Unthinkingly, Sylvia clenched her fist. Deculein still gazed at his book, but his pupils paused briefly.
"Do not hurry."
Sylvia's shoulders trembled.
"Sylvia, you have time. Time is your ally, and growth will come with your effort."
Mana refinement. Spell advancement.
Even without the system, through raw talent alone, Sylvia would become this world's most perfect mage, surpassing all others.
"...In this world, your talent ranks among the top three fingers."
Deculein spoke based on the system. This was nearly 'fate.'
His words rang with such certainty that Sylvia nodded blankly, face dazed.
Then.
"Hush."
Deculein raised a finger suddenly.
"Stay still."
The sharp iron piece by the bed moved. Almost simultaneously—a grotesque form burst through the ceiling.
A ghost.
A cruelly twisted face of mana. Sylvia felt immense terror in that instant, but it was fleeting.
Deculein's magic tore and pierced the ghost from all sides.
Ending it swiftly, he muttered calmly,
"It must have come because I opened the door."
"..."
Sylvia clutched her chest, gazing at Deculein—or rather, the iron fragment on his table.
"You killed a ghost with that?"
"Yes."
"Impressive."
At Sylvia's pure admiration, Deculein chuckled.
"No need for awe. It is a weapon and spell specialized solely for killing."
The Main Quest allowed no balanced growth.
Thus, Deculein's magic was specialized. Utterly combat-focused, concentrated on lethality.
Even so, he'd lost to Veron.
"What is truly useful in this world, Sylvia, is a mage's talent like yours. Magic is not made to kill people, is it?"
"..."
Only then did Sylvia understand Deculein at today's round table. Why he hadn't pressed Altiegue—his words made it clear.
"Ask no more. Sleep."
Sylvia looked up at him with wide eyes and asked,
"Shall we take turns keeping watch?"
"Unnecessary. Time's flow here is peculiar."
"I know. Mana phenomena—"
"Highland nights are long. At least ten hours, yet those ten might become two, twelve, or twenty-four. No one knows. It varies with the day's mana. Say no more and sleep."
"..."
Deculein's tone was firm yet gentle.
Did he see her as Ilayde's assistant, a Magic Tower student, or just a fool who couldn't follow rules?
Confusing.
So she lay on the bed.
Rustle... Rustle... The sound of turning pages.
Crackle crackle. The fireplace's warm blaze.
Listening lulled her to sleep. Comfortable.
Sylvia gazed drowsily out the window.
In the darkness, a shooting star streaked.
Beautiful.