The Ghoul's Altar (3)

A new morning dawned.

The moment I woke, I carved another slash into the rock.

Today marked exactly thirty days since I'd washed up on this island. Counting the time on the last one, it had been roughly two months. Honestly, even keeping track of the days had grown exhausting.

More than that, I was tired. Dead tired — but the sun was up, so lying back down wasn't an option. In this damned wilderness, even a moment's laziness was a luxury you couldn't afford.

To shake off the drowsiness, I'd added one more item to my daily routine.

Brushing my teeth.

I boiled seawater in a stone bowl, then used the crude salt I'd extracted along with a brush fashioned from a Remilla tree branch to scrub my teeth clean. That alone was enough to scrape away most of the grime.

But was it enough to prevent cavities?

Hard to say.

So I also used two kinds of herbs: chicapi and spionos.

Chicapi was a plant famous enough to earn the nickname "tropical mugwort." Its fragrance was strong and pleasant, and common folk had used it as toothpaste for generations. Recent studies even suggested it had considerable antibacterial properties.

Then there was spionos. This one packed a sharp, pungent scent and contained compounds that prevented acidification — a crucial ally in stopping tooth decay.

One gargle with a decoction of crushed chicapi. Another with spionos. After that, a pleasant mix of fragrance and spice burst through my mouth and jolted me wide awake.

"Haaah."

I owed it all to the Saintess and her encyclopedic knowledge of herbalism.

Saintesses chosen by the Goddess of Healing often doubled as medical practitioners, but Saintess Casten was terrified of the sight of blood. Rather than surgical study, she'd poured herself into pharmacology instead.

Thanks to her, we were managing to live something resembling a human life even out here in the wild.

"Ah, damn it."

A squall had rolled through before dawn and snuffed out the campfire. Even with rain preparations in place, this was the result.

I fetched the firewood I'd stashed under cover the day before and tried to relight it… wait. Why won't this catch?

It's probably the dampness.

I spread the kindling out on a sunlit rock to dry.

Having tools made starting a fire easy enough — the real problem was the wood itself. Rain fell at the slightest provocation around here, so I had to spend two or three hours every day just gathering branches. If only this place had a temperate climate.

"Mage."

The Valkyrie waved. The Saintess stood beside her.

The Valkyrie looked the same as always, but the Saintess's complexion had been off for the past two weeks. At first I'd chalked it up to fatigue, but it never improved.

Did I have a guess?

I did, actually.

"We'll be back."

The Saintess spoke weakly and set off.

The Valkyrie party's objectives never changed much: drinking water, fish, herbs and fruit, plus any useful vines or dry branches for firewood.

I wanted to make some real progress, but we still hadn't broken free of the basics.

That was because the goal here wasn't living — it was escaping.

Who knows. Maybe if we found a decent, abundant island later, we could build a proper house and start farming for real.

At any rate, we had enough water and salt. All that remained was securing food and figuring out the conditions to lift the fog. Once everything was ready, I planned to climb the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mountain, confirm our bearings, and attempt another escape.

But that wasn't the only reason I was planning the ascent.

I pulled out the magic stones from the skulls of the skeletons I'd felled and examined them.

Skeleton appearances had spiked lately. Before, a dozen or so ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a night had been the upper limit. Now they came in packs of dozens.

Thanks to that, I was swimming in magic stones.

Still, these were spoils taken from monsters. I kept turning over ways to put them to use. Then, not long ago, I'd stumbled onto something extraordinary.

These magic stones could copy information.

In other words, they could send and receive signals.

Inject mana into one, and stones of the same type would resonate and store identical data. Used properly, the applications were endless. I could build a mana-powered communicator, or at the very least a mana compass.

Especially the mana compass. That one was non-negotiable.

If, as the Saintess had said, this place was enclosed in a barrier constructed of mana, then each island would have a magnetic pole of magical force.

And if I could follow that pole precisely?

I could walk a straight line right to the barrier's "door."

A brilliant idea. If you can build a mana compass, it will be an enormous long-term asset.

I named the magic stones harvested from the skeletons Origin Stones — stones that recorded elemental essence.

"Return."

I manipulated the mana recorded in the Origin Stones. Once I zeroed out a single stone, the rest reset themselves automatically. They now held no magical charge whatsoever.

But that alone wasn't enough.

I needed to find this island's "origin point."

My gaze drifted naturally toward the mountain.

Unless constrained by some external condition, mana tended to rise. The density up there would almost certainly be higher than down here.

This island's origin point was most likely that summit. If I treated it like a casual hike, marked the spot, and came back down — maybe that would be enough to escape.

I was turning that over in my mind when the unidentified man appeared.

"…You again."

"It's been a while, friend."

"I saw you the day before yesterday."

"A good friend starts to feel distant after even a single day apart."

Over the past two weeks, I'd seen him no fewer than seven or eight times — no exaggeration.

The man always showed up when I was alone. He'd start with idle rambling, wander through this topic and that, and once the mood settled, he'd bring up methods of escaping this place.

He knew as well as I did that you couldn't leave this deserted island by ordinary means.

Just a week ago, with enough provisions stocked, I'd taken the lifeboat far out to sea. Fog rolled in, and I ended up right back where I'd started. Exactly the phenomenon described in the Siren's diary.

At the time, all I could think was: Wow. This place is truly amazing.

"As I told you before, this place is thick with wretched souls. The unredeemed wail through the night and rob me of sleep. That's why all the animals have fled, you know."

"How do you know that?"

"I may not look it, but I've lived here quite a long time."

"No plans to escape yourself?"

"I've been waiting for you to ask."

The man who had arrived empty-handed and left empty-handed every single time finally produced something: a sheet of parchment with a remarkably detailed map of the island and the surrounding terrain.

"I made this while surveying the whole area."

Oh. This map might actually be useful.

"At first I thought about escaping too. But as time passed, I found myself thinking more and more that this place was better than the outside world. Contentment ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in poverty, you might call it."

As he spoke, he held out the map.

"Take it, if you need it."

"What? Are you sure?"

"I never say one thing and mean another."

"And you don't want anything in return?"

"Having a conversation partner was payment enough."

Over our previous meetings, I'd slipped in several pointed questions designed to probe his identity without him noticing. This had been one of them.

That brought the deduction back to square one. Still, I decided to keep every possibility on the table — including the chance that the map was a fake.

It was about time I tested what the man actually wanted.

"About the fog. Do you have any theories?"

"I do, as it happens."

He answered without a second's hesitation.

"Exploring the island and speaking with the vengeful spirits taught me one thing: those very souls are the cause of the fog surrounding this place."

"Can you elaborate?"

"Fog. Souls. Both are pale and hazy, are they not? Starting from that observation, I researched and researched again. In the end I discovered that their gathering has created a kind of binding upon this island. I couldn't complete a precise analysis, but throwing the full weight of my magical knowledge at the problem produced that conclusion."

"…"

"Think about it. Souls are beings who cannot leave because of their grievances. They desperately seek someone who possesses divine power — someone who can comfort them. According to them, if you build an altar for the dead and offer sincere devotion upon it, the chains binding this island can be undone."

"So if a cleric of the Holy Spirit Church prays and grants salvation to every soul on the island, that would do it?"

"I thought the same — but apparently not."

The man extended a long, slender finger. He clearly never trimmed his nails; the tips were sharp points.

"The comfort the souls speak of actually means an ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠offering from one who bears divine power. Put simply… yes. Think of it as recruiting a devout religious person to accompany them all the way to heaven."

"Hmm."

"Do you roughly understand?"

I swallowed a low hum and sank into thought for a moment.

A breeze stirred, and a rustling sound rose behind me. Trees and underbrush shook hard, then fell still again.

I finished my deliberation and looked at the man.

"I understand."

"If you want more information, come find me on that mountain. It's somewhere even you can locate easily enough."

"Yes. Thank you."

"The women will be back soon. I'll take my leave."

The man rose from his seat. Before he left, he added one more thing.

"Ah — and remember this. Betrayal must be timed for the most appropriate moment."

At those words, I nodded.

"Yes. I'll do that."

For the past two weeks straight, Tiria had deliberately increased how often she moved alongside Rachel — all to confirm whether the Magic Kingdom's mage was still making contact with the unidentified man.

Her expectations hadn't been far off. The two men only met when Tiria and Rachel were gone. The stranger had never once shown himself in front of the women.

The black-bandaged man always held the initiative in conversation. The mage did little more than offer passive agreement or ask questions. But the content of those talks was never ordinary.

Can you really trust an enemy?

You've built up enough trust by now — wouldn't it be fine to start planning a betrayal?

In front of the enigmatic man saying such things, the mage offered no rebuttal. He didn't even answer.

Why?

For what reason?

Disturbed, Tiria had begun discussing the matter with Rachel from that day on. Rachel answered with a somewhat cold expression.

"Colonel, keep it simple."

"Simple?"

"The man and we are nothing more than parties to a contract. Every kindness we're exchanging right now is worth less than a shack built on water. There's a saying, isn't there? You may not know the affection you give, but you know the affection you receive."

"Then…"

"Once it's certain the man has betrayed us, we pick the right moment and corner him."

In truth, Rachel didn't entirely mind the idea of the man stabbing them in the back. He was the enemy who had killed people precious to her right before her eyes.

If all remaining goodwill simply evaporated, they could cleanly settle this ambiguous relationship once and for all.

"Of course, we could use him as a bargaining chip if we run into Magic Kingdom forces — but your safety and mine come first, don't they? An enemy is one thing. Living in the same space as a traitor is another matter entirely."

"You're right. That makes sense."

Rachel's composure eased Tiria's mood a little. Looked at rationally, the answer came quickly enough.

And yet.

Why was it?

Some part of her hoped the mage wasn't thinking of betrayal at all.

She hoped he wasn't so cunning that he'd been deceiving them all along. She hoped that the unexpected side of himself he'd shown her — those human gestures — had been the unvarnished truth, without a single lie mixed in.

Yes. She'd rather lose her faith entirely.

Such was the blasphemous thought of one particular Saintess.

Paradoxically, Tiria steadied her heart through prayer. It was the only thing she could do.

Today, too, the two women returned earlier than planned. Same as always, the man wrapped head to toe in black bandages sat face-to-face with the mage.

The Magic Kingdom mage's voice reached them first.

"…I understand."

"If you want more information, come find me on that mountain. It's somewhere even you can locate easily enough."

"Yes. Thank you."

"The women will be back soon. I'll take my leave."

"…"

"Ah — and remember this. Betrayal must be timed for the most appropriate moment."

At the man's final words, the mage nodded.

"Yes. I'll do that."

Tiria's heart plummeted to the ends of the earth.

"Ah."

Her irises flooded with a deep violet.

So after all that circling, the suspicion she'd held from the very first day had been right?

Then what about everything the mage had done — consoling the vengeful spirits, reciting prayers of apology to the souls of the Holy Kingdom?

Had all of it been… an act?

"Colonel. What did that mage just say?"

"That he would… betray us."

"…"

Rachel rose without expression. Biting her lower lip, she drew the spear the mage had repaired for her. She didn't show it — but somehow, a tightness had settled in her own chest as well.

And so the two servicewomen sat swallowing their turmoil and fury when —

The mage of the Magic Kingdom drew out a brilliantly glowing magic stone and opened his mouth.

The Whieon became an incantation — and punched straight through the black-bandaged man's chest.