Chapter 21
Chapter 21
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter Title: 021. Otilie - (1)
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To Otilie Kete von Ihen Dorp, dolls were everything that constituted her life.
It had been that way since childhood.
Born in a remote old castle and raised without even knowing her parents' faces, dolls were more familiar to Otilie than any humans.
Every aspect of life in the castle was assisted by dolls. They brought meals at appointed times, changed her soiled clothes, and at night sang lullabies through the music boxes embedded in their bodies.
Dolls were wonderful. They never revealed emotions or acted on whims, always obeying Otilie's commands without fail.
"Miss, you are the pride of House Ihen Dorp."
The castle's sole human companion, the old butler, repeated those words endlessly.
Otilie was a descendant of the magical house Ihen Dorp.
Born with the fate of a mage.
And gifted with talent outstanding enough to revive House Ihen Dorp.
Otilie knew little of mages, but since the butler said it, she simply accepted it as fact.
"Miss, now that you have come of age, you must go to Erebos."
"Erebos?"
"Yes. It is a place where those born with the same fate as you gather. At Erebos, unleash your talent without restraint."
"Are there lots of dolls there?"
"...Well, not exactly..."
Half-pushed by the butler's words, she left the castle and enrolled in Erebos Royal Academy. Only then did Otilie realize that the world contained far more humans than dolls.
And she came to understand, down to her bones, that humans—unlike dolls—were talkative, capricious, and utterly vicious.
——Kwachik.
The Magic Department's first-year quarterly evaluation.
The sound of the doll Otilie had submitted as her achievement being mercilessly crushed.
*
"What is this, Otilie von Ihen Dorp."
The old professor raised his cane with a look of contempt and prodded the doll's wreckage.
The automaton—Otilie's automatic doll—that she had poured her heart into over the past few months.
Now, it was nothing more than a mangled heap of scrap metal.
"I clearly instructed a demonstration of magic, yet this is just a doll."
Laughter of agreement rippled from the surroundings.
Indeed, the Magic Department students who had gone before had used proper "magic-worthy magic."
Auroras painting the sky, swirling flames, droplets forming perfect hemispheres.
But to Otilie, magic was dolls. It was the only thing she had learned to create, the only thing that interested her.
"In our Ivory Tower, we do not recognize such dolls as magic. It is little more than a material contrivance."
"Th-this... is not merely some object... it is an automatic doll animated by magic..."
"True magic is."
The professor furrowed his brow, as if refusing to hear Otilie's plea.
"Magic is the great power that creates the world and reshapes it. I cannot stand by while talent is squandered on crafting such moving tin cans."
"...Tin can."
She could not tolerate her painstaking creation being reduced to a mere tin can. Otilie clenched her fists and forced the words out.
"...Th-this isn't a tin can. It is a friend."
"A friend?"
The professor barked a mocking laugh.
The surrounding students followed suit.
"Otilie Ihen Dorp. I know your house quite well."
The old professor approached slowly, resting his cane on Otilie's shoulder.
"A lineage of pure-blood mages, blinded by the vain ambition to recreate perfect humans through magic, obsessed with toys until they squandered centuries of family legacy—fools, all of them."
"..."
"That is House Ihen Dorp. If you possess any awareness as their heir, abandon these tin cans and study the Magic Department's textbooks. It is the only path to salvaging your house, however slightly."
With that, the professor summoned the next student. All eyes drifted away from Otilie.
"..."
Otilie unclenched her fists and gathered the shattered remains of her doll.
It was a creation she had poured her soul into. Upon entering Erebos, she had devoted an entire semester to it. She believed its craftsmanship was superb—it moved fluidly and obeyed even complex commands.
To Otilie, at least, it had been a friend.
She had even given it a name: Edelweiss.
And now, it was utterly scrapped.
Worse than trash, they had said.
Her vision blurred naturally.
"You should have told me."
She murmured a resentful lament to the old butler back at the castle.
Had she known the world was filled mostly with humans, Otilie never would have left the castle.
Had she known House Ihen Dorp was a fallen mage lineage, she never would have touched dolls.
"...What 'same fate'."
There was no one at Erebos who shared her fate.
*
That evening, rain fell.
Otilie exited the Magic Department building, clutching the doll's remains. She headed to the most secluded spot she could find—the western garden—and knelt amid the dense thickets.
She dug into the earth with her bare hands.
Thankfully, the rain had softened the soil, making the pit easy to excavate.
She carefully laid the remains into the hole. It was an object she had cherished for a semester, but it meant nothing now.
"...No need... for it anymore."
The butler had implored her to revive House Ihen Dorp.
The old professor had commanded her to ignore dolls.
Upon reflection, Otilie realized she was closer to a doll than a human.
Thus, burying it felt akin to interring herself.
"..."
Now, she would learn proper magic.
It would be difficult, but she had no choice.
As she staggered from the garden after the burial, her eyes caught an weathered stone building.
For Otilie, mere half a year into her time at Erebos, it was a structure she had never seen before.
She might have passed it by ordinarily, but its dilapidation evoked memories of her childhood castle, drawing her steps inexorably toward it.
She pushed open the door and stepped inside. A gentle warmth enveloped her, mingled scents of faint incense and aged wood soothing her rain-drenched form.
No one was present.
Yet the solitude appealed deeply to Otilie.
"...This place."
A chapel, perhaps.
The deeply faithful old butler had maintained a similar space in the castle.
Caught in a wave of wistful nostalgia, Otilie shook off the moisture with a wry smile and ventured deeper.
In one corner of the interior stood a small wooden partition—a confessional.
Now that she thought of it, the castle butler would slip into the empty confessional and murmur to himself.
Prayer there, he said, would earn absolution from the Lord.
"..."
Clunk-.
Otilie tugged the confessional door absentmindedly.
Dark and cramped, yet strangely cozy within.
Like her childhood days, hiding in the doll box to prank the butler.
Otilie buried her head between her knees, holding her breath for a time.
After a moment.
Creeeak-.
A presence stirred; someone entered the opposite side.
The rustle of fabric.
Then, a voice.
"Sister?"
"..."
She had thought the place empty, yet someone had come.
As she moved to flee in haste, a distant memory surfaced.
- 'Grandpa, what are you doing in there?'
- 'Confessing my sins.'
- 'Sins? To who?'
- 'To the great one above.'
Come to think of it, Otilie had committed a sin on her way here.
The sin of failing to protect her precious friend—her very double—and consigning it to the earth.
The sin of betraying the butler's hopes.
"Priest. I've heard that mages... must rely on rational judgment. Does that mean someone like me—who fiddles with... toys like dolls—is disqualified... as a mage? No, as a human?"
Her mouth moved of its own accord.
*
"Hmm..."
The heavens truly are heartless.
I had just sworn to steer clear of the Magic Department forever, and now one of their students shows up.
I forced a pleasant expression over my rotten face.
"Sister, could you share more details?"
At my question, the young lady on the other side hesitated before recounting her tale in a voice barely above a whisper.
Her submitted automaton had become the butt of everyone's jokes and been utterly demolished.
It was pitiful even to hear.
"Tsk."
Sophia was one thing, but this girl too.
How was this academy overrun with nothing but stubborn old coots?
A professor trampling a student's heartfelt creation like that.
Was this an academy or some graduate seminar?
Part of me wanted to offer genuine comfort and trash-talk the professor...
'But I'm no fool.'
I'm not some dimwit incapable of learning.
Last time, a casual bit of advice had turned Sophia into a dopamine junkie.
No plans to repeat that blunder.
'Think.'
I racked my brain for characters from Throne of the Academy.
Ten playthroughs deep—I knew the Magic Department's key figures inside out.
Act 2 ramped up the pure-blood versus mixed-blood mage feud, with a shadowy antagonist stirring chaos into pandemonium.
Any students using dolls in that mess?
No.
No matter how I probed my memory, not a single one surfaced. Not even minor NPCs or random extras. Automatons as a concept didn't exist in the game.
'She can't be a main character like Sophia.'
The Magic Department did have its protagonist, akin to Sophia or Elise.
Izolde.
But she wasn't pure-blood and favored elemental magic—a textbook mage, not dolls.
'Perfect. No issues.'
Whatever I said to this student wouldn't derail Act 2.
Decision made, I lifted my head.
"Sister, do you like dolls?"
"...Pardon?"
Clearly not expecting a reply, her voice brimmed with bewilderment.
"You put so much effort into it because you like dolls, didn't you?"
"...Y-yes... that's true, but..."
"Then how could it be wrong? Do what you love. Ignore the professor's failing grade. Old-timers in this field are always stuck in their ways."
An automaton.
Who knew?
This girl might just ignite a fantasy industrial revolution.
Besides, she was barely twenty.
Far too young to abandon her dreams.
I had no idea if she despaired or persevered in the original story.
But since she'd sought me out to pour her heart out, I couldn't just brush her off.
"Talents others fail to grasp are true talents. Sister, you are a creator. That deserves respect, not scorn."
"...Respect."
"Indeed. So it's far too soon to quit. Save surrender for after you've given everything. Just craft something so brilliant it flattens that pompous professor's nose, right?"
An essential virtue of modern society.
What they call earning respect.