An Unreadable Answer

She had been prepared from the moment she turned back. She might be badly hurt. She might fare even worse than that. But she couldn't just stand by and watch — not when it was Rubshi. If it had been some ordinary villain, she could have turned her back without a second thought. Rubshi was no ordinary villain.

"I'm sorry I dragged you into this. I'll send you home, at least — so don't you worry."

"Go. Let me keep my promise."

Those words had planted a seed of trust in her. That was how the feeling had taken root. And the excuse she had offered had played no small part in bringing her back here, too.

"If you get hurt and can't move, that crow's going to come after me next! So you have to stop him!"

Would Claude simply withdraw if Rubshi were left unable to fight? Not a chance. Judging by that filthy, underhanded nature of his, he would reach for Sugar without a second's hesitation.

If she was going to have to run at full speed just to escape anyway — if there was no guarantee of safety even after she fled — then she might as well weigh the better option. Two people standing against an attack was better than one. And with the giant bone-crow tearing through the square, the city guard would be too frantic to come looking. They just needed to buy time together until things settled down. That had been the idea.

What she had never imagined was that the magic Claude unleashed would not be ordinary attack magic at all — but a manifestation of a fragment of the Dark God's own power.

The situation was as bad as it could be. But that didn't mean she could just stand there and watch it happen.

So she had stopped it. And the blind Apostle's reaction was… strange.

Without a word, those eyes turned toward Sugar and held there, as if they could see. Simply still. Simply watching.

Sugar wondered if she was in pain — but no. She had neutralized nearly all of the Dark God's mana herself.

Don't tell me…

Fear crept over her like a cold hand.

This was a woman who had chosen to fight her own longtime comrades — her own fellow believers — rather than drag Sugar to the cult by force. A woman with an unshakable sense of what was right, who had proven with her own body the conviction that you do not force a child.

Sugar had believed that. Through today's battle, she had come to trust it. To lean on it.

But she had been seen. The way she neutralized the Dark God's mana — the way she had gone on breathing inside it — she had put it on full display.

A being who harmed humans merely by existing near them, and who nonetheless longed to be with them. And the one existence in the world who could stand beside such a being. That was the clue now sitting in the hands of every Apostle present.

She still wanted to believe in Rubshi's conscience. But a bad feeling kept rising, unbidden, and Sugar's eyes clouded with unease.

Rubshi's heart, however, was utterly at peace — a far cry from those worries.

No hunger for Sugar stirred in her. No inner war broke out between the conscience that said a child's will must be respected and the duty she bore as an Apostle. There was only a night sky, filling her mind to the brim.

A sky so thick with stars it looked ready to spill. Herself, free because she had been ignorant.

The cult had always taught that starlight and the Saint were things of horror. But the Rubshi of those days had never understood the lesson, and so she would gaze and gaze at that endlessly beautiful night sky. Her eyes had still worked, back then.

It was simply that the old days had come back to her.

Sugar called up those old memories. Bold. Free. Capable, perhaps, of doing the things Rubshi herself had never been able to do.

Rubshi believed in fate. If she did not call everything she had lived through by that name, she thought she might come to hate being alive. In plainer words: it had all been such complete shit.

Then was this meeting fate as well? This witnessing, too? She had been breathing for over a hundred years and still did not know the answer.

She only wanted to turn that long-ago day of freedom over in her hands, and do as her heart pleased — like a child.

Rubshi let her expression ease.

In those gray eyes, Claude's mana-flow caught and held. A greedy, seething current. He had not always been this kind of friend. It would have been one thing if she had seen it alone — but a friend like this had seen it with her. Of all the luck.

She ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shifted her gaze, and Sugar's trembling mana-flow came into view. An impossible quality of magic. Pure mana.

The sound of a frightened heartbeat reached her even from here. As if the girl had already guessed what attitude Rubshi would take. For such a little thing, her instincts were sharp — and that, too, was endearing.

Hah. Rubshi laughed the way one lets out a breath, settled her heart, and opened her mouth. Her voice was calmer than it had ever been.

"Sugar. Thank you for saving me. In return, let me tell you an old story."

"…"

"A long time ago, there was someone a certain group called their true savior. That one had so much love — and at the same time, so much power that no one dared draw near. But we understood that heart. And so, in our own way, we lived well enough together. Then the years passed… a great many years. Until about ten years ago, from now. That was when everything began to go strange. We could no longer communicate. And not only that — that one began to do things that hurt the faithful. Leaving a dwelling that must never be left. Trying to rise."

Rubshi paused, turning the memory over.

"…Many of the faithful suffered for it. The tender-hearted ones offered up their own bodies, saying they would soothe that one themselves. So many people. So very many people… And yet not one of them — yes. Not a single one succeeded, or I would not be telling you this story now, would I?"

She smiled, weakly, and pointed at herself.

"And so. I thought I would step forward at last. I am the oldest in the cult as it stands, and the one whose bond with that one runs deepest."

The hand that had indicated herself turned, and pointed at Sugar.

"But then I saw you. A child with pure mana. Boundless possibility. I had my suspicions, but I never imagined it would go this far. If it were you, you could surely… It isn't that I particularly value my own life. I simply saw it. That's all it is. That is simply how it happened."

"…Can't you pretend you didn't see, and let me go?"

"…"

"Please. You said you'd send me home."

"…"

"You said a child's wishes matter more than anything…"

"Yes. Of course they do."

She smiled — a smile whose meaning could not be read — and gave that unreadable answer. And Claude descended to the ground. At the same moment, the crow perched on his shoulder spat out the words in a ragged voice.

He took his place at Rubshi's side as if the two of them had never tried to kill each other at all, the picture of easy familiarity. Something far more grave than disposing of her had arisen, and he seemed to have abandoned the standoff altogether.

Rubshi neither affirmed nor denied it. She only stood there, quietly composed.

"…"

Having heard that much, Sugar rose from where she sat. She staggered, swayed — and still, somehow, set both feet on the ground.

She clenched her teeth, as if setting her heart in order. A shudder ran through her, caught between the cult and herself on two lines that would never, ever meet.

There was nothing more to say.

Regretting the past would solve nothing. These were not people who would go easy on her if she sat down and gave up. In the end, a believer of the cult was a believer of the cult. There was no helping it.

She felt a little wretched, thinking what a fool she had been to place even a scrap of trust in them. But that did not mean she could do nothing.

She had to go home.

She had to go back to the one she had promised to be family for.

Sugar leveled her staff in silence and settled into her stance. In her eyes stood a resolve no child's eyes should have held.

Rubshi adjusted her grip on her cane as well. She smiled, as easy as ever, wondering how this affair would end.

Sweat was pouring off him like rain. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠He opened his eyes to the clammy discomfort of it, and saw the sun hanging low.

No — wait. Was it rising?

The light had been too dim to tell, but the sun was in the east. Which meant a whole new day had already arrived.

Ryly sat up and stretched. He had slept the entire day, and every inch of him felt stiff and dull. Even so, there was a fairly refreshed look about him.

See? Sleep it off for a day and you're fine.

What had she even been making such a fuss about? He snorted, thinking of the white-haired girl. Later, when he went out and found her, he was going to give her an earful.

His boyish pride was itching to stand itself up. A cold like that was nothing. He wanted to snap at her to worry about catching one herself.

He figured he would see her at breakfast, and headed for the washroom first. He wanted the sweat off his skin.

He patted himself down — and the staff was gone.

The water never came out warm, so he had been planning to heat it on the sly with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠magic. But the friend they shared it with had walked off with it.

And washing in cold water in the dead of winter was as good as announcing he would like another cold, please.

So Ryly obediently made for the dining hall.

"Could I have a little warmed water?"

Asking the staff was a waste of breath. He had not expected anything from them anyway. If he loitered in just the right way, the director's sister would come out to help in the kitchen. That was what he was counting on.

"Could I have a little warmed water?"

"Ah, Tommy… I heard you were sick. Are you feeling all right?"

"Yes. I want to wash. Some warm water, please."

"Of course… just a moment…"

She filled a basin at once and brought it over.

"Oh, and — have you seen Sugar?"

"Pardon?"

"She never turned up yesterday, not even through the end of the Advent Festival play. I at least wanted to get her into a pretty dress…"

"She probably hid somewhere because she didn't want to wear it, and fell asleep."

"I suppose so? I'll have a word with her when she turns up…"

Ryly left the dining hall behind and returned to the washroom.

"…"

He poured the basin out into a larger tub, mixed in cold water, and had enough lukewarm water for one person to wash with. When he stepped back out, the dirt and dust were gone, and a gleam of gold hair showed itself.

He toweled it roughly dry, then scattered the dust he had prepared in advance.

Maybe it was time to stop doing this.

It was a hassle, for one thing. And getting dirty again the instant he finished washing left a film of discomfort that never quite went away. If someone asked whether the shame and inferiority he carried deep down had been fully put to rest, the answer would still be no — but he no longer needed to go to these lengths. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠At this point… well. It was what it was.

He would think about that later. Ryly changed his clothes and went straight up to the attic.

Who was it that had told her not to stay up there too long in winter? He had come to give her an earful if she was still asleep.

"…?"

But there was no one. Only an empty attic, with dust rolling across the floor.

He went back down. Children were waking one by one, filing out of the bedrooms. Among them he caught a navy-haired girl.

"Hey. You seen Sugar?"

"Hnn… Sugar? Oh. Now that you mention it, she wasn't next to me when I woke up… Maybe she went out first thing… There was some kind of trouble in the shopping district yesterday… The grown-ups said it was dangerous and told us not to go…"

Frallin rubbed her eyes, answering in a half-dreaming mumble.

"…"

Ryly went back up to the attic without another word.

He bolted the door, drew the curtain across the window, and picked up the Grimoire.

These days he had a staff, and for the sake of keeping the secret he had not been taking the book out. But it could serve in a staff's place well enough, and right now he needed it.

Grimoire in hand, he closed his eyes and focused, following the trail of the Trace Magic he had laid on Sugar's hair ribbon.

…Why is this taking so long.

If the target was close, the spell found them in an instant. The farther they were, the longer it took. She was at least outside the orphanage. Past the slums, even.

The shopping district, then? What reason would she have to go there first thing in the morning.

Hmph. Even if she had one, it would be some ridiculous reason.

"…"

For some reason, his hand seemed to be trembling.

She was a child who pulled stunts like this from time to time. He wanted to write it off as her running off the way she always did — but a wave of unease was rolling in, too heavy to dismiss.

He held down the pounding of his heart and read the mana, calmly, carefully.

"…!"

His pupils blew wide.

The instant he thought he had almost reached her, the spell cut out.

Someone had just used Dispel Magic.

He yanked the curtain open at once. Visual information flooded in through the window, making the distance far easier to judge.

The last trace the spell had touched before it died.

The woods beyond the city. Sugar was somewhere near there now.

And she was with someone who could use magic.

He pulled his hood up, crushed the Grimoire to his chest, and took the stairs two at a time. Children he collided with snapped at him. He did not care in the slightest.

The moment he was outside he leapt for the rooftops, and spoke two trigger words in the same breath.

He tore through the air, fierce and fast.

Crossing the sky above the woods, something caught his eye. He drew closer — and the sight was foul beyond words.

A acrid, vicious aura of mana. Trees and soil and stone stripped of all color. Human corpses scattered here and there, and the torn meat of them. Signs of a fight stood out in every direction. The bodies had gone cold and stiff, and judging by the concentration of mana still hanging in the air, it had happened last night.

And then, the decisive thing.

The moment he saw it, his breath stopped in his chest. He clutched at his heart.

The wand-type staff Sugar had given him. Why was it lying here, discarded in the dirt?

His hands shook as if the thing itself were Sugar, and he picked it up.

"…"

Something boiled up from the pit of him.

In his head, he knew. Someone had fought alongside her. A child of her skill could not have caused destruction on this scale alone. And the Trace Magic had still been returning a signal until moments ago, so for now — please — she had to be all right.

But knowing that did not make it any easier to breathe.

"Hah… hhah…"

He dragged the air in and out, and the cold that touched his skin felt painfully sharp. His senses had gone knife-keen.

What more did they even want, that they had to take her? If they were going to play their stupid little religion games they could keep it among themselves — why seize her ankle and refuse to let go?

Do you know how he had come by this family? And still they would… that girl…

There was too much he had not done yet.

A mountain of magic he wanted to teach her. They still had to enter Stille together. He wanted the two of them to live an ordinary life that still managed to spark and surprise. He wanted to take her traveling, to some far-off wonderland.

She did not even know his real name yet. She did not even know the real color of his hair.

There was so much he wanted to say. So much he wanted to give her.

Even now, that scent of hers seemed to linger faintly at the tip of his nose. But she was not here.

That gentle voice that used to read him picture books was vivid in his ear. But no matter where he looked, she was not here.

It was like only losing something taught you what it was worth. The truth of that settled over him, unbearably heavy.

The greater the affection, the greater the dread.

The greater the dread, the greater the hatred.

And what took its place, at last, was a raw and bitter grudge against whoever had done this.

"Hhh… hh…"

The boy steadied his breathing, bit down, and opened the Grimoire.

Magic was imagination.

The woods themselves were not large, but follow the side paths far enough and a mountain rose behind them. The search range would be all of it.

At Ryly's will, magic slipped its reins and poured out as if to swallow the mountain whole.

Whatever the cost. However this ended. As long as she was safe — that was enough.

In eyes dark with fury, resolve burned a fierce and brilliant blue.