The Wasteland's Table
The wasteland's table. An endless desert of nothing but pitch-black soil stretched as far as the eye could see. Normally deserts formed from sandy soil incapable of retaining moisture, but this region had simply turned to desert because every last plant had died from pollution. Proof of that lay in the fine dust that scattered wildly on the wind whenever a breeze rose, clouding the view. In the middle of that ruined land, Neromeltia and her companions sat at a table enjoying a light meal.
They set a pot over a magically kindled fire and poured in water conjured by magic. Then they added ingredients grown beneath Under Barkus's artificial sun. Every step of the meal was performed through magic. In this devastated land where clean firewood, pure water, and untainted food were nowhere to be found, survival without magic seemed impossible.
Flour, assorted vegetables, and a little meat. Seasoned only with salt, yet surrounded by such utter ruin, even this simple stew felt like an extravagant, merciful feast.
“The meal is ready.”
At Beatrice's quiet announcement, Neromeltia took her seat. Lusteria, unable to hide her delight, sat down and breathed in the savory aroma of the stew. Once everyone had their portion, Beatrice began pouring tea.
Before lifting her spoon, Neromeltia glanced around once more, lost in thought. If the entire world was nothing but this barren expanse, finding other survivors might be far more difficult than she had hoped.
A mana barrier surrounded the table, keeping the pollutant-laden dust from drifting into their food. They used purification magic while traveling and erected barriers whenever they stopped. This was a world so thoroughly poisoned that a clean environment was nothing but a dream without constant magic.
Demonians survived by living underground and maintaining purification spells on every air vent. Goblins hid deep inside sealed sewers, scraping moisture and moss from the walls to stay alive. Neromeltia wondered what sort of existence any survivors in other regions might be enduring.
“Beatrice, eat with us.”
“I am quite all right. The nutrients supplied yesterday are still in reserve.”
“Don't be stubborn. I've told you to eat properly whenever you can. Besides, I prefer meals where we all sit together.”
“Beatrice! It's really delicious! Please join us!”
Beatrice had endured a thousand years without regular meals thanks to her hibernation function, Hibernation Mode. An ordinary Ego Doll made purely of machinery could have simply powered down, but Beatrice's body contained artificial cells that required both nutrients and oxygen. The soft flesh, smooth skin, and glossy body hair covering her Cornium core and Adamantium shell were all artificial cells. To sustain them, she possessed digestive organs and lungs inside the Cornium core. There was no blood—any toxin entering the bloodstream could destroy every cell—so nutrients and oxygen were distributed through mana. Because these magically engineered cells allowed such precise internal control, entering Hibernation Mode and halting all cellular activity had let her survive a millennium.
That was why Beatrice felt no need for regular meals and preferred to skip them when possible. Yet Neromeltia believed that even an artificial being with self-awareness and a nervous system capable of sensation deserved to enjoy meals together. It was a matter of respect, and of the affection she wished to show.
“If I eat often…”
“Yes?”
“I will have to expel the remaining waste through the excretory organs.”
When Lusteria pressed for the rest of the sentence, the answer that followed was unexpectedly human. For someone whose tone was usually so dry and mechanical, the words carried a surprising touch of embarrassment. Though she could not blush without blood, it was clear she felt ashamed.
Neromeltia answered gently, her voice calm and warm, determined to spare Beatrice any further discomfort.
“I regard you as a person, Beatrice. I have no intention of treating you like a mere machine or doll. Physiological needs are natural for anyone. Refusing to eat out of embarrassment would disappoint even Ronald, who gave you taste and an ego to feel it.”
She spoke with the patient kindness of a mother teaching a child. After a moment of quiet thought, Beatrice sat down. The table set Neromeltia had retrieved from Dimensional Storage already had three chairs; Beatrice's place had been waiting all along. Once Beatrice quietly picked up her spoon, their small, intimate meal was complete.
“The food Master used to serve a thousand years ago was wonderful, but Beatrice's cooking is the best!”
“The supplies stored in Dimensional Storage are nearly gone. From now on we'll have to gather ingredients in the real world. I'm just grateful we have such a skilled cook.”
“…Thank you.”
Lusteria's praise left Beatrice pleased yet shy; she answered only with a brief murmur. After the meal they took to the sky, flying swiftly. Even at altitude the air was so thick with dust that without a mana barrier their bodies would have been coated black in moments. The landscape below remained nothing but endless polluted wasteland. Occasionally a mountain or forest of dead trees appeared, radiating the heavy scent of death.
“We should be arriving soon, shouldn't we, Master?”
“…Yes. We established the castle near Demon Lord Castle from the start, so the journey is short.”
Their destination was the stronghold of a former friend and high-ranking officer of the Demon Lord's army—a Lord powerful enough to rank among the top five within Demon Lord Castle itself. During the great massacre a thousand years ago, when the Humian forces raided the castle and Neromeltia fell, this person had never appeared. Though Hemonigent had been destroyed by betrayal, Neromeltia was certain of her friend's innocence; she already had a strong suspicion who the true traitor was. This was someone she could never imagine betraying her. Yet the fact that such a loyal soul had remained absent during the attack still troubled her. Had the Humians threatened or harmed her beforehand? The more she considered it, the greater her worry grew.
“Master, a large structure has been detected ahead.”
“Ah! It's Crimson Castle!”
Even to Neromeltia's eyes the castle's imposing silhouette now came into view. Built of pitch-black stone, it looked as though the veil of night still clung to it even in daylight, standing in stark contrast to the pale sun. Terrifying gargoyle and skull statues lined every surface, chilling the blood of any who gazed upon them. Yet the windows, balconies, embossed patterns, and conical roofs retained an antique, aristocratic elegance that lent the ancient fortress an unmistakable air of nobility.
They crossed the deep, wide moat bristling with spike traps and descended inside. A nightmare castle inhabited by countless undead. A blood-soaked land ruled by vampires. The present world's underworld, ever ready to swallow the living. Crimson Castle. Its ruler bore many titles: First Blood, who rose from death by her own will; Origin Vampire, progenitor of the bloodline; Blood Empress, who strode through night's darkness and dyed the world crimson. And an old friend who stood shoulder to shoulder with the goddess of Luina—Cardistella moon Night.