Hadekan. (3)

Charlotte watched the assassins being literally ground to pieces. Deculein's steel blades spun dozens of times per second, pulverizing everything in their path, leaving chunks of what had once been human flesh scattered in a gruesome tableau.

Charlotte covered Maho's wide eyes with her hand. When Maho tried to peek around it, she simply bound her arms and blocked her view completely.

"Hey, why are you doing this? Come on!"

"You mustn't look, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Princess."

The situation remained dire.

A dozen or so assassins had safely escaped the kill zone, and above all, the most dangerous one—the Dianant—had yet to reveal itself.

"......"

Charlotte drew her sword. The mere act of gripping it sent pain shooting through her right shoulder. It was the injury she'd hidden from the princess, bound by the curse.

"Charlotte."

Deculein spoke. He clutched his cane, eyes fixed on the enemy.

"Depart with the princess. I shall follow shortly. Lingering here endangers her as well."

"......Can you manage?"

"Depart."

Charlotte hesitated but nodded in the end. This was no time to stubbornly insist on staying together.

She scooped Maho into her arms, and a single steel blade shadowed them. It seemed assigned as their escort.

Ron spoke up.

"Captain. I'll stay and assist the professor."

"......Very well."

As Charlotte turned away with Maho—

The demonic energy surged clearly. Not far off, the Dianant was finally showing itself.

It was humanoid as rumored, but its silhouette was hazy like a fading sunset.

A hybrid of demon and ghost.

A troublesome bastard with the properties of both solid matter and fluid.

Charlotte ran, keeping the Dianant at her back. She moderated her speed, though. Going too fast risked the princess succumbing to demonic poisoning...

......Whiiiiiist.

The Dianant whistled mockingly.

"How far can those two women flee, I wonder."

Deculein forcibly reined in his rationality. Instinctual hatred and contempt bubbled up from the depths of his consciousness, but it was bearable.

The Dianant laughed.

"Steel devoid of mana cannot slay this body."

Its voice rasped like something charred in the throat.

"Of course, nor can mere magic."

As the creature said, ordinary steel couldn't kill the Dianant. Magic that manifested only for an instant couldn't annihilate something so fluid-like either.

It was akin to failing to slice or burn air.

To eradicate it required magic of extraordinarily high caliber, but here in the Crevasse Canyon, any grand spell would dissipate under the demonic energy.

The creature knew this all too well.

"......"

Deculein closed his eyes.

Accounting for his mana amplification and recovery speed, he devised the Mukgangcheol's trajectory. He designed the process of tearing the thing apart. He predicted and gauged the battle's flow for the next thirty minutes or so.

Grooooowl......

The Rokelok's Cane heated with his mana. Infused with exorcism blood, it raged alongside its master.

At last, Deculein opened his eyes. They gleamed blue. Across from him loomed the Dianant still.

He traced an imaginary line on the nearby ground.

The moment the Dianant crossed that line—the steel swarm would faithfully execute his plan and design.

Step.

The Dianant took one step forward.

Sweat beaded on Knight Ron's palms.

Step.

The creature trusted in itself.

But Deculein knew how to kill the Dianant.

Step.

It advanced another pace.

With that, it crossed the line.

A cold flash erupted from the Dianant's right.

Ron couldn't even see it. Not even Deculein perceived its execution.

The Mukgangcheol moved not by Deculein's will, but by the pre-designed blueprint.

Time froze for all but the steel, which danced alone.

Shrieeeeeek—!

The Dianant felt its throat pierced. Yet no blood dripped from the wound.

The first Mukgangcheol severed its neck, then plunged sharply, slicing precisely from collarbone to groin.

The second swept horizontally, cleaving from right hip bone to left armpit.

The third, fourth, and fifth tore out each vertebra.

The sixth and seventh severed the wrists.

The eighth and ninth amputated the legs.

The tenth and eleventh spiraled around the flesh, carving it up.

Thus, countless straight lines etched the Dianant's body. Smoke leaked from the cuts.

Soon, the Dianant felt its vision invert. The world spun wildly, revealing its own body shredded by steel.

A headless torso.

The twelfth steel arrived leisurely. It pierced the eyeballs and crushed the brain.

The thirteenth and fourteenth rampaged inside the remains.

"......"

Seizing the opening, several assassins lunged past Deculein toward Charlotte. He extended his steel, slaying them.

They retreated nimbly. Ron could see their bewilderment and panic.

"Professor! There—over there!"

Ron pointed frantically and shouted. The Dianant was reforming, oozing back into shape.

Deculein remained composed.

"Cease your clamor."

He knew how to kill the Dianant.

It was simple.

"Strike it until it dies. That is all."

Dozens of Mukgangcheol surged anew.

The steel repeated the exact process of dismantling it—infinitely. Ron stared in dazed awe at the destructive might.

Charlotte and Maho broke through the canyon unscathed. Emerging from the Crevasse, they raced across the plains.

They didn't stop until Yuren's border, but it was never going to be easy to the end.

Enemies.

Assassins swarmed from the shadows. Charlotte swung her sword one-handed, cutting them down.

The curse's pain binding her right arm surged through her body, but she ignored it.

"—!"

Sword aura rippled from her thrust. The released energy mangled their flesh and bone.

Just in time, shouts erupted from somewhere.

"There!"

The archduke's knights.

They couldn't enter imperial territory, but they'd arrived as reinforcements at the Yuren route Charlotte had promised.

The knights charged nimbly, hacking down the assassins.

The tide turned instantly. Charlotte exhaled in relief. She looked down at Maho gazing up from her arms.

"Are you alright, Princess?"

"......Yeah. My stomach's a bit queasy, but I'm fine. Bleurgh—"

"Early symptoms of demonic poisoning, but it's mild—fortunate. You'll recover soon."

Craaaaaack—!

The knights let not a single assassin escape; the captured one chose suicide.

Shlick—!

The quieter the surroundings grew with each slash of steel through flesh.

Soon, the duchy's interior minister and Maho's great-uncle, Gilrand, appeared.

"Maho."

"Ah! Little Grandpa!"

Maho ran to him, shouting gleefully. Gilrand gazed at his approaching great-niece with deep regret.

"It's been too long. Forgive our plight—we had no choice but to wait here."

"It's fine, it's fine~ I get it. I'm grateful, actually. Thank you for coming."

Maho remained bright. Gilrand stroked her head, then turned to Charlotte, who clutched her stiff shoulder.

"Charlotte."

"Yes."

"Well done. Are you the sole survivor?"

"......No."

Charlotte shook her head.

Deculein had said he'd pursue them, so he'd arrive with Ron.

"We'll wait here."

Gilrand nodded.

They tended wounds, buried bodies, and awaited their comrades.

Time dragged dryly.

The wind chilled.

Thus, thirty minutes passed.

Then an hour.

Two hours—far too late.

"We return now."

As Gilrand placed a hand on Charlotte's shoulder—

"......Ah! There! Over there!"

Maho pointed. All eyes followed.

In the achromatic evening where earth and sky blurred.

On the distant horizon, two men approached on foot.

Charlotte sighed in relief.

"You're safe!"

Maho ran first to greet them.

Deculein still carried the battle's afterglow. His expression was rigid. But he soon smiled, bowing courteously.

"My thanks for your concern, Princess."

"I'm so glad, so glad. Whew. Thank you, Professor—truly—"

"Princess."

Deculein leaned to her ear and whispered softly.

Maho's face stiffened slightly.

He knew her true nature.

Of course, this fairy-tale tomboy act wasn't entirely false.

But the airheaded innocence was.

She knew precisely which facets evoked pity, which actions maximized her survival odds.

"......"

Maho stared at him with her large eyes. Deculein returned a quiet, low smile.

Charlotte approached.

"Hey. You..."

"The task is done. Hear the details from this Ron. Ron?"

"Yes, sir!"

Ron straightened at Deculein's words.

Just a day ago, he'd brimmed with suspicion; now he was like a loyal retainer. Admiration and respect filled his gaze toward Deculein.

Charlotte nodded.

"......Thank you. This grace—no, this deal—I shall never forget."

Deculein turned without reply.

No rest, not even a hint of fatigue.

He brimmed with dignity, as at their first meeting.

"Charlotte."

Gilrand called. He too watched the man's retreating back.

"Yes."

"Is that one from the escort team?"

Before she could answer, Ron spoke.

"Yes. Professor Deculein, chief professor of the Imperial Tower. He slew dozens of assassins alone and killed the Dianant."

"......The Dianant? In that Crevasse Canyon?"

Ron nodded proudly.

"Yes."

"Is that possible?"

"I saw it with my own eyes. The professor's magic transcends ordinary mages in trajectory and caliber."

Enraptured, Ron gazed into the distance. Maho looked there too.

"The professor toyed with the Dianant like a plaything. No attack pierced him. Peerless prowess, the pinnacle of combat magic......"

At Ron's rapt praise, Gilrand and even the archduke's knights regarded the horizon anew.

Against the dark skyline, a scion of Yukline rippled.

Exiting the Crevasse Canyon, my ordered red-maned steed awaited as instructed. I mounted to return, but glanced back at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the entrance.

Mana recovery inside had been enough to bestow Midas' Hand on every Mukgangcheol.

In fact, during the six-hour trek out, I'd granted traits to four more.

Yet purifying and absorbing the demonic energy burdened my body, especially my mental stamina. It felt like my personality was growing more contagious.

I had no desire to linger in the canyon bearing that load.

"To Hadekan."

The red-maned steed galloped fiercely.

I dozed in the saddle. Sensing my fatigue, it moderated its pace and jolts.

I closed my eyes briefly, then opened them—

To Hadekan's lord's castle.

"......Hm."

No intention of coming here.

Might as well inspect Deculein's room while I'm at it.

"Hey."

"......Ah! Greetings, Lord!"

I handed the steed to a nearby guard and entered the castle.

A servant guided me to Deculein's quarters.

"This the place?"

"Yes, my lord."

"It's been ages—easy to forget. Rest easy."

I opened the door. The room was tidy, nothing special. But a notebook on the shelf caught my eye.

I pocketed the notebook and left.

"......"

Next, the lord's office.

Knock knock—

One knock, then I gripped the handle and flung the door open.

"What the—?!"

A shrill voice rang out immediately. Yeriel.

Yeriel scowled fiercely, glaring at me.

"Knock at least!"

"I did."

"Wait for a response!"

I approached Yeriel. She sat at the desk with pencil and notebook, solving something.

"What're you doing."

"......This issue's Wizard Academic."

Wizard Academic was a magic journal. Calling it a 'magic puzzle book' wasn't far off—they published problems for each other to enjoy.

Occasionally, solving yielded insights, so it wasn't pointless. Plus, the Millennium section recorded puzzles by past archmages.

I'd never bothered. Time was too precious, naturally.

"Let me see. What were you solving."

"......"

Yeriel handed over the journal wordlessly. I deployed Understanding to solve it.

For reference, Understanding shines on problems with solutions. The more niche the field, the more direct the query, the less mana it costs.

Still, one puzzle drained 2,000 mana. I jotted the magical solution in the answer field casually.

Then—

"......Hm?"

"What."

Yeriel asked indifferently.

"......Nothing."

Mana up by a whopping '2'.

No big deal, truly. I returned the journal silently. Yeriel's eyes bulged at the correct answer.

"Ah! What'd you write it for?!"

"Tired today. Retiring."

"What? Hey! I'd been at it two hours—!"

"What took you two hours, I solved in one minute."

"So what! Bragging?!"

I chuckled and left the office. Damn, that guy's—insane! drifted after me, but my mood was fine.

Even a mere '2' mana was precious to me now...

The Yuren Duchy was nominally a duchy, yet free from any king or emperor's meddling.

For it inherited the ducal title of a 'long-extinct kingdom.'

Bordered by sea to the southwest and mountains to the northeast, its geography fostered a unique culture. Commerce thrived, birthing advanced banking; the academy Artlan nurtured artists in literature, painting, music—distinct to the duchy.

Late night in Lukanzel Castle, seat of the archduke.

Gilrand, the archduke's brother and interior minister, summoned Charlotte to his office.

"Yes, Minister. What is it?"

"......How is Maho?"

Gilrand's face was grave as he asked.

"She just retired to her chambers."

Charlotte answered, weary. Gilrand sighed lowly.

"Sit. I have words for you."

He indicated the chair, brows furrowed in reluctance.

Charlotte sat, unease stirring within.

"What might it be?"

Was the duchy refusing Maho too? She asked, maintaining composure.

"Don't be too shocked."

......But the next words from Gilrand were beyond imagination.

"The archduke wishes Maho to succeed him."

"......Pardon?"

Charlotte's jaw dropped. She stared at Gilrand, unblinking. Exhaustion made it feel like a dream.

"What do you...?"

"He seems to have felt this way even before her letter. His grandson inspires little confidence, it seems."

"B-but, I don't understand. You mean... the princess could inherit the archduchy...?"

"Precisely."

Gilrand smiled bitterly. Charlotte gasped.

"Is that possible?"

"Of course. Maho's direct kin to the archduke. Three years ago, she rose to second in succession."

"But the princess cannot bear the crown's weight."

Gilrand shook his head at Charlotte's words.

"You have a naive side too."

"Pardon?"

"In any case, it's top secret for now. Only the archduke, I, and you know."

"Ah, yes. Naturally, but..."

Charlotte nodded despite the headache.

Soon, however, a furrow creased her brow. A thought flickered at the edge of her mind.

"Why so?"

Gilrand prompted.

In that instant, a spark flashed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in her mind.

"......Ah!"

"!"

Gilrand flinched at the sudden cry.

"No way."

She thought of Deculein.

He'd known Maho could only survive by reaching Yuren.

And he'd called this alliance a 'deal.'

She'd accepted it then, trusting his grudge against Leoc, but 'deal' made no sense.

Deals presupposed mutual benefit.

Yet a princess abandoned by her kingdom offered him nothing.

"Why?"

Gilrand pressed, curiosity piqued ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠by her shift.

Suddenly serious, Charlotte asked:

"Minister. Truly no one else knows?"

"Of course not. Even the archduke told me only today."

Chills prickled Charlotte's skin.

Deculein's past words echoed in her ear.

Then.

Had he foreseen the entire situation—guessed the archduke-Maho dynamic, calculated kingdom-duchy tensions—and predicted 'Maho can inherit the title,' thus proposing this deal?

If so...

"Monstrous bastard."

How deep did his thoughts run? How intricate and precise his strategies...

"What. Calling me a monster?"

Charlotte snapped to. Gilrand eyed her suspiciously, squinting.

"No, not at all."

"Your inner voice slipped out. Sorry. We didn't lift a diplomatic finger to save Maho, yet dump this bombshell on arrival—monstrously cruel, eh?"

"No, that's not—"

"Enough."

"No—"

"Go."

"No. Hear me out..."