Two Cigarettes
I returned to my professor quarters with two cigarettes in hand, and to get a firm grasp on this grimoire, I flipped through a few pages. "Uroboros' Legacy..." Since I'd read the original novel, I knew the basics. Unlike other grimoires, reading it cover to cover didn't grant any special new powers.
Instead, it amplified the user's own inherent mana. The baseline boost was tens of times over, but depending on their actions, hundreds of times wasn't out of the question.... To be blunt, it was a total cheat of a grimoire. The Lagrange family's swordsmen could inherently wield lightning, after all. If Sion's current output was like a muscle-powered generator, just mastering this thing would turn her into a nuclear power plant.
But an item this broken couldn't possibly come without side effects. The issue with Cain's legacy lay in its fuel source for that amplification.
"The root of this power is the user's desires.... Converting those abstract emotions into tangible mana."
No human lived without desires in this world. The firewood smoldering in people's hearts was damn near infinite. That was why Uroboros' Legacy scaled its output higher the stronger and clearer the user's inner cravings burned.
But that was exactly what made it the worst.
Normally, anyone desperate enough to seek power from this book wouldn't have 'ordinary' desires.
At first.... it'd be fine. They'd feel themselves getting stronger fast and think it was amazing. But once that power swelled, they wouldn't believe it couldn't swell more. So as they kept poring over the book, a force beyond human limits would pile up in their body. Until eventually, their own desires devoured them whole.
Uroboros. Far from its symbol of eternity, it birthed tragedy from human finitude. In the original story, Sion blackened for her father—mocked as a failed hero—and ended up consumed by the book, unleashing a mad massacre.
As far as I knew, the bastard who'd penned it ages ago had gone down the same way.
So there was no "proper" way to handle this grimoire.
Thus, after getting the gist, I moved to close the book.
─Suddenly, it writhed.
And just like that, the stench of blood hit me.
"...Huh."
Or maybe iron. When I snapped to, I wasn't in my quarters anymore. I was sitting in a vast, open plain—a place that should have brimmed with serenity—but now it just reeked of heavy foreboding.
Splish─.
Even underfoot, what I'd taken for a puddle was a shallow layer of blood. Far off, the clamor suggested a battle raging. This seemed like the rear lines by comparison, but our side's casualties were catastrophic. Irrecoverable corpses littered the area.
I didn't want to believe the thing crammed in that orc-gripped, crumpled armor was human, but the steady ooze of yellow and red fluids under gravity screamed otherwise.
And some were still alive. Groans filled the air. Warriors sprawled everywhere, howling that they didn't want to die.
I had no clue where this was. I'd trudged through too many hellholes like it. But the moment I spotted someone hunched far away...
"……!"
I found my feet moving toward them without thinking.
Red hair. Glasses. Mage.... A familiar face. But the name wouldn't come. Who the hell was this guy?
"Joseph.... Sir Joseph...."
"...Ah, fuck."
As I drew near, he recognized me and stopped shoveling his guts back into his belly. Then, like he was begging, he looked up at me with hollow eyes.
"I-It's good we met like this.... I-I was trying a heal, but... it won't take."
I worked my mouth. Nothing came out. No strength to even react to his words. All I could do was savor the profound shitty feeling lodged deep in my chest.
He spoke.
"─W-We are friends, right?"
"……."
"Back in the guild... with Sir Raval the hero, and our party's dwarf tank Askar... We drank together. And that letter to my girlfriend... you fixed it up for me, Sir Joseph. You remember, right?"
I knew. It rang a bell. But I didn't want to hear it. What the hell was this?
"─S-So... please, Sir Joseph. My mother's in the imperial south. When I headed to the capital, I bragged I'd come back a success, big time."
Why.
"Haven't sent her a single letter since. She won't even know I died here. So.... so......"
"So...?"
"There's a note in my left pocket with the address. Don't tell her I died. Just..."
He had no strength left to speak. He stared up at me, eyes glazing over. Gazing into those goddamn dead-fish pupils.
I. Me.... I let my sole desire drape over my mind.
I don't want to fight anymore. No more. Never again.
"─Goddamn it all. So the grimoire read me too."
That realization hit, and in this blatant hallucination, I yanked out my left hand and choked myself.
Whoosh─.
Suddenly, it felt like I was being sucked away. Then I was back in my quarters, gasping for air.
Heave, heave, heave─.
I caught my breath for a good while. Then, with the grimoire still in hand, I slammed it shut on my chin.
"You evil shit."
Bam─!!
I hurled it away. Fucking thing.
"Cigarette... cigarette...."
I reached for one on reflex, but wouldn't you know—the ashtray was overflowing. How many had I chain-smoked tonight? At this rate, I'd evolve into a steam locomotive soon. They say the unluckiest bastards crack their nose falling backward? Today was me.
In the end, the price of escaping that hallucination was truly internalizing what I'd only known intellectually before.
Uroboros' Legacy was dangerous. No wonder Sion had lost her mind. The original Sion burned with helplessness over failing to protect her father and a thirst for revenge on her tormentors.... She'd surely cracked open this book. Picturing her blood-soaked father staggering in, embracing her, urging her to avenge it all.
No way she could've endured that. Not when she loved her father that much.
Well, everything had worked out fine now. I had no idea what it'd do to the current Sion. Better to think conservatively. No point assuming it'd go well.
So. I made up my mind.
Absolutely not. I would never let this thing fall into Sion's hands.
I had no clue how she'd gotten it like in the original. If she'd bought it, I'd confiscate it—even pay a premium to store it myself.
But what excuse? "I read it and got a hallucination. It was rough." ─She'd counter, "Then maybe I'm fine." If I said no way, her desires weren't the wholesome sort, it'd reveal I knew her psyche too well.
...That was worse.
"Being the teacher sucks. Every time, I gotta kill their resistance by dangling better options."
So. While racking my brain for something better than this crap Uroboros' Legacy to show Sion—and with the ashtray jammed full—I cracked the window and dumped the ashes out.
...And lit two cigarettes today. One for my mouth. The other on the railing, flame facing me.
I quietly opened my mouth to speak. No one around to hear.
But with the intent that it would be heard.
"Forgetting your name... might be for the best."
─But hear this. I kept that last promise you begged for. Rest well. And don't show up in my dreams again. I don't want to see any of you like this.
As those thoughts swirled, something welled in the corners of my eyes.
Wipe─.
"Menopause hit early, huh...."
Tonight, besides Raval, I'd write to the other two survivors from our old party.
Meanwhile.
Lulua sat by her dorm window, staring at the note in her hand.
Rendezvous location and time.
Reporting insufficient.
"……."
Lulua crumpled the note in her fist. She gazed out the window at the professor's quarters—its light still burning late into the night. No idea what he was up to in there.
But since yesterday's order from the palace—submit every last detail of surveillance on Joseph since his academy posting, beyond the daily Lagrange reports—nothing solid had come up.
His leave to the palace? That was from higher-ups. But a directive this blatant for his info.... To Lulua, it screamed he'd been marked by the imperial court.
So. She'd deliberately fudged her reports, trimming subtly.
Yet "insufficient"? Yeah, fooling Galgamau's upper brass was harder than fooling ghosts.
"Does the professor know... that I'm agonizing like this?"
Thus. In genuine torment, she resolved to try that thing trending in class lately.
What? Obviously.
Professor, please make some time for me.
Good. Nothing anyway. Time to test if that protective hand he extended was real.... The rest, I can figure out then.
So, unlike Joseph groaning under his war scars, she slipped into her favorite pajamas—blissfully ignorant—and drifted into sound sleep.
Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow would be different.