Black Spire (1)
They docked at the island’s shore.
The Outer Land’s seas had been a roaring chaos, but near the island they fell deathly still. Only the soft slap of waves broke the silence.
“······.”
Najin stepped off the ship onto solid ground and scanned his surroundings. Fog blanketed the island thick as wool. The only structure rising from it was a black spire that stabbed the sky. In a hush so complete even breathing seemed loud, Najin tilted his head back.
The tower climbed until the mist swallowed its crown. No windows. Nothing but a single entrance—a massive iron door sealed shut. Najin’s eyes narrowed on that pitch-black gate.
If you’re thinking of climbing the walls or just blasting the tower apart, drop it.
Merlin’s voice cut through his thoughts like a blade.
I tried. Didn’t work.
······What?
Everything that witch builds works the same way. If you don’t play by the proper rules, you never clear it.
Impossible even for Merlin? Najin blinked in surprise. Merlin let out a long sigh.
When that Anton kid called the Witch of Kamran “the strongest mage,” why do you think I kept my mouth shut? I hate admitting it, but that bitch outranks me.
The Calamity Star. The Witch of Kamran.
The final enemy Najin would face. Speaking her name twisted Merlin’s expression as if she had bitten into something foul—as if she wanted to unleash a string of curses and was barely holding them back.
The Black Spire? Sure, it was built to cage witches. But more often it served another purpose. She handed these towers out to the witches under her command.
What for?
Torture.
Merlin’s answer was clipped.
That tower is a finely crafted torture device. Its masters used to snatch people off the streets and throw them inside—just to see how far a human could be broken, how pitiful they could become. That was this place.
Was?
Yeah. Not anymore. I tore the tower’s master into ribbons myself. Malkuth—nine-star lunatic. Stories about that crazy bitch can wait.
Anyway, Merlin added,
Traces will still be left.
I don’t exactly recommend it, but telling you not to go in won’t stop you, will it? she muttered, watching him.
You’re going in?
I made a promise.
Right. Then steel yourself.
Merlin gave him a brief rundown of the Black Spire. While she spoke, Najin glanced sideways. Anton stood there, eyes wide, staring up at the tower.
“Oarsman.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Is that tower our destination? My gut is screaming she’s somewhere inside.”
“You’ve got good instincts.”
“Meaning?”
“Yes. That’s the place.”
Najin nodded and pointed.
“The person you’ve been searching for is in that tower.”
“What is this place?”
“A prison for witches who broke the rules—and a torture device for humans, I’m told.”
“······Then is she being tortured right now?”
Najin relayed Merlin’s answer in his own voice.
“We don’t know. No one can say where this Lapis is inside the tower. My guide says if she’s already reached the top, the torture would be over.”
“Then she isn’t being tortured. She always loved high places. With a tower like this in front of her, she would have climbed all the way to the summit.”
Anton smiled as he spoke.
“I’ll be honest—I didn’t expect much from you. I followed you across the sea just to pad my collection of grand adventure stories. But standing here, my mind is changing.”
He looked at Najin, palm pressed over his heart.
“It was real. My heart is pounding. I can feel her close. At last, at last······.”
Excitement, longing, anticipation—every emotion swirled in his eyes as they flicked between the tower and Najin. His grip on the staff tightened.
“Thank you, guide.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“You’ve completed the commission magnificently. As promised, the tale of La Mancha—”
“The commission isn’t finished yet.”
Najin cut him off.
“Did I ever mention I used to be a debt collector?”
“First I’ve heard of it. Why?”
“A collector’s job isn’t done until the runner who took the money is dragged back and dumped in front of the client. From where I’m standing, this job still isn’t finished.”
Najin shrugged.
“The witch who stole your heart and vanished for four hundred years still hasn’t been delivered to you. I’ll take my pay when the commission is truly complete.”
“······Meaning?”
“I’m climbing the tower with you. I’m curious, personally. What kind of person was this witch you loved?”
And how, exactly, you intend to end this story.
“······.”
Anton blinked, startled, then barked a laugh that swelled into full-throated laughter. He slapped Najin’s shoulder hard.
“The voyage isn’t over yet, is it, oarsman? Ready to row? All the way to the top of that tower.”
“You want me to row where there’s no water?”
“You’ve already got an oar in your hand, don’t you?”
He pointed first at the spear in Najin’s grip, then at the staff in his own.
“An oar is just a tool that pushes water so you can move forward. There’s no water here, sure—but to keep going, you’ve got to push something, right?”
He planted the staff against the ground—
—or rather, he rowed the earth itself and stepped forward.
“Let’s go, oarsman.”
Together they shoved the thick iron doors. With a long, grinding screech, the gates of the Black Spire began to open.
2.
“I’m told the Black Spire was a mage tower managed about a thousand years ago by a witch named Malkuth. She’s dead now, but her Mystery still lingers in the tower.”
“Malkuth? Never heard of her.”
“Neither had I until today. Anyway, she apparently served as both warden and torturer for the witches locked inside······.”
On the tower’s ground floor, cold air curling around them, Najin spoke while they walked.
“Her method of torture used memories.”
“Memories?”
“Yes. She’d take the target’s memories and weave a kind of illusion. Same principle as the Graveyard of Stars? Wait—what do you mean?”
“Who are you talking to?”
“My inner guide. Give me a second.”
“······When this commission’s over, I’ll introduce you to a good healer I know.”
Ignoring Anton’s pitying look, Najin listened to Merlin’s explanation and nodded.
“She shows illusions built from memories, one on each floor. Fail to break through and you’re trapped in the dream forever.”
Merlin had told him Malkuth’s Mystery was called Reminiscence—and she had used it to torture people.
“The moment we cross that line, it begins.”
Past the entrance, at the true start of the trials, Najin pointed to the first floor and steadied his breathing.
“Ready?”
“Of course. If you pass out, I’ll grab you by the scruff and haul you upstairs. I’ll slap you awake if I have to.”
“You’re overflowing with confidence.”
“Losing to a mere illusion would be a shame when the reality waiting for me is this enticing.”
Wearing a cocky smile, Anton strode ahead. Najin followed him across the threshold of the first floor.
The instant both of them crossed the line—
Fwoosh.
Like a single candle snuffed out in a dark room, Najin’s vision went black. Not only his sight. His consciousness snapped clean in two.
Blink.
Like sinking into deep sleep, Najin closed his eyes. The sensation of plunging into dark water. Something yanked him upward through the endless descent—a hand with nails sharpened to razors.
A Mystery left behind after its master died, still haunting the tower.
Fingers that reached into a soul and dragged out its memories.
The moment those fingers touched Najin’s soul—
Crunch.
The razor nails snapped. Skin and muscle tore; bone shattered. Something had gone wrong—Najin felt it.
Ka-crack-crack-crack-crack!
As if it had seized something far too heavy to pull free by hand, the fingers convulsed yet still wrenched something out of him. What came free, however, was not Najin’s.
It was the memory of someone else who lived inside him.
—Ah.
The owner of that memory spoke.
—I didn’t see this coming.
Merlin’s startled voice, and then a pure white light exploded across Najin’s vision. Blinded by the flash, he blinked furiously, trying to recover his sight.
How many times did he blink?
“I see.”
A voice reached his ears.
“I must have looked easy to you, huh?”
It was a voice cold enough to freeze the air—utterly devoid of emotion. Frowning, Najin turned toward the sound.
First he saw frozen earth.
Next, corpses heaped like mountains.
And after that—
“Guess I’ll start by gouging out those eyes.”
—a girl standing on the frozen ground, fist clenched in a witch’s hair, hauling her upright. Her hair was the color of a deep lake. Her eyes, too, were the color of a lake.
The woman who resembled a lake.
Merlin, Mage of the Lake.
The Merlin Najin knew so well was ripping a witch’s eyeball out with her bare hand.
3.
What the hell is going on?
Wasn’t this supposed to be built from my memories? Najin urgently called out into his mind—to Merlin, who always listened.
Merlin. Merlin?
No answer came. Just like when he had entered the Glass Castle’s dream, Merlin was gone from his inner world.
“You see, I—”
The Merlin who had always walked beside him was not here. The only Merlin present was the one from the past, and Najin could not feel that the woman standing alone on the frozen earth was the Merlin he knew.
“I hate you. I hate demons. I hate dragons. I hate witches. Looking at you makes me sick beyond endurance. Why are you still alive? What possible reason do you have to keep living?”
A voice so cold it seemed ready to freeze solid.
With an expressionless gaze she looked down at the witch and pulled the eyeball free with her bare hand. The witch could not even scream—her mouth was frozen shut.
“···, ······!”
The witch convulsed. Blood-slick fingers with torn nails clawed at the ice. Unable to scream, she trembled, but Merlin watched her with the same indifferent eyes and continued the slow extraction.
No magic. Bare hands only.
Inefficient. Agonizingly slow.
Only after she had torn out one eyeball did Merlin smile. Grinning, she shoved her face close to the witch’s remaining eye.
“Is your mother, the Witch of Kamran, watching? I really hope she is. Please, please, please. Trapped in there, unable to do a thing, I hope she screams while she watches her own kind get slaughtered.”
Merlin laughed.
“The same way she took everything from me.”
She clenched the witch’s face tighter and drove her thumb into the remaining eye.
“I want you—every witch—the Witch of Kamran—to suffer.”
Forever.
Squelch.
The witch’s body seized once more, then went limp. Blood dripping from her fingers, Merlin turned her head. Her deep-blue eyes found Najin.
“Who are you?”
In the sky above, twelve stars were shining.