The Magic Tower Lord's Sacrifice
The moment Franc confirmed that the demon was dead, she threw herself at Argal.
She meant to preserve his body with every scrap of magic she could muster.
But the instant she reached him, she noticed something strange.
“You're... alive?”
His heart had unmistakably been pierced through, and yet, defying all common sense, Argal had not died. His color was healthy, and his heart — split clean in two — was still beating.
It was Ophelia who explained the contradiction.
“Impressive little fool. Contracting with a demon just to postpone death for a few moments? Did he see this situation coming?”
“Then he's really not going to die!”
Franc's face brightened visibly.
Reviving the dead and saving someone on the very brink of death were two feats of vastly different difficulty.
Franc, who had been shattered only moments ago, had regained her hope. The gloom that had weighed her down gave way to vitality once more.
Yes — she was simply that overjoyed. A raw, almost animal happiness at the news that the one who had died for her was not yet dead.
Still, nothing was certain yet.
Argal had only deferred his death — which meant he now hovered a single step from the grave. Unless his body was treated, the dying flesh could not be brought back.
Ophelia chuckled dryly and muttered, “He's overflowing with vitality, but that doesn't make it an easy fix.”
“Then couldn't you help him? When I saw you kill that demon in a single strike, it was clear you're no ordinary person.”
“Not my problem to solve. The power needed to restore a body mangled by black magic is limited... Frankly, I'd be better off handling the demon contract, and that cleric over there can handle the healing.”
“...Cleric?”
Franc blinked at the word, then glanced around. No matter where she looked, there was no cleric in sight.
But that lasted only a moment.
A girl came sprinting toward them, pouring holy power into her own body so brilliantly it stung the eyes. Slender to the point of gauntness, yet with a face that would surely grow beautiful once she put on a little weight, the cleric took one look at Argal and shrieked.
“You— abso— absolutely insane, you're completely out of your mind!”
Besia lunged straight at him and began raining down healing. Her output was so immense that it overwhelmed the demon's power, which had only barely stitched his cleaved heart back together, and restored him fully to his original state.
But the shock Besia had suffered did not simply vanish.
The wound on his left hand, gouged out by the dagger. Every time she looked at it, Besia felt as if her chest were being torn apart.
Whatever ordeal he had endured, every fine capillary in his body had burst one by one, and even his joints were wrecked — his body was, for all practical purposes, a rag doll. The only reason it held together at all was that he was still alive.
Fighting down the tears that threatened to spill over at any second, Besia wiped the moisture clinging to her eyes and slowly took stock of the situation.
“How many times did you stab him?”
“...I'm sorry?”
“I said, how many times did you stab him with the dagger.”
Franc answered, her own face somewhat darkened. She was grateful Argal had survived, but in the end, he had spent his lifespan. And a lifespan already spent does not come back.
“Twice... about twice.”
“Is that really true?”
“Yes... but! If we all search together, we can find a way to extend Argal's lifespan!”
“...That's already been spent.”
“Spent?”
Besia's gaze swung toward one thing in particular.
The Origin of the Star hanging at Franc's chest.
Besia gritted her teeth. That was not something she had any right to carry. Who goes around holding someone else's lifeline? Why on earth—
“Why do you have that?”
“...This? Argal gave it to me. He said I was only borrowing it for a while.”
“That's not something you 'borrow.' How can anyone just hand over another person's lifeline?”
“His... lifeline?”
Besia sighed. “You really don't know anything, do you.”
“...And who are you, exactly?”
“The one who brought him back to life once.”
Franc went pale.
“You... brought him back from the dead?”
“That's right.”
Raising the dead was, in all of history, a feat only a Saintess had ever accomplished. Franc couldn't say for certain whether that was true, but the certainty in Besia's bearing, in the emotion she carried, bordered on absolute. Fine — she would believe that this cleric had revived Argal once.
But the questions that sprang from it were more than one or two. Why had Argal died in the past? Why did that cleric show such extreme emotion? And what did she mean, lifeline?
Unable to make sense of any of it, Franc asked back, “Then why is this necklace his lifeline?”
“Argal had already used the dagger several times. He'd burned through his lifespan and was on the verge of death, so he gave up that necklace in exchange to fill the life force he'd lost. Hence — lifeline.”
“Is that... really true?”
Learning the truth made Franc's anguish double all over again. Even after spending his lifespan, even in a body that might die the moment he removed that necklace — he had stabbed himself with a dagger yet again. And then he had handed the necklace to her.
Franc could not fathom how she was ever to repay such devotion. But even so, she found hope here. He had said there was a way to fill a diminished lifespan. If she found another object like that necklace, it could be undone.
Without a trace of hesitation, Franc unclasped the necklace and poured its power back into Argal. Besia's look was none too kind, but Franc paid it no mind. If a lifeline really had passed into another's hands, no one would look kindly on the person holding it.
“...There's a lot I want to hear from you.”
Besia's healing had much improved Argal's color. But uncertainties still piled up: the contract with the demon, and what exactly he had paid for it. Why he had died once in the past, and what his relationship with that cleric was.
“So please — just stay alive. That's all I ask.”
That was Franc's wish. For Argal to simply go on living.
Having heard Franc relay a few of these things, Besia spoke to Argal as well. “You are so, incredibly dead. I'm locking you in your room for a month, so get used to the idea.”
At those words, Franc felt a chill crawl up her spine.
Argal... is this woman obsessed with you?
And then she thought: a month was excessive. Wouldn't two weeks be enough?
By her own reasoning, since Argal's habit of sacrificing himself for others was the problem, confinement seemed the appropriate remedy. Truly, Besia and Franc differed not at all in their thinking.
Honestly, this was unexpected.
I had deferred my death in order to deliberate over whether to resort to my last measure — the contract with the Great Demon. Being healed by Besia was never part of the plan.
Actually, how did you even get here? You pierced that barrier and walked in?
A Saintess-tier cleric really was on another level, then. Breaking through the Necromancer King's barrier...
But there was one problem: my life was already staring down death. I had already handed my lifespan over to the demon as payment, so while I wouldn't drop dead instantly like before, the demon would claim my life before long.
...Honestly, dying cleanly and reviving might be the better option. I had no desire to keep using a body I'd run this far into the ground.
As it happened, Besia's promised month of confinement wasn't confinement at all — I simply couldn't move, and would have to lie in bed regardless. I had no such luxury. Being killed by the demon was the kinder fate.
...But if I died, I had a feeling those two women would only get worse, and that worried me. Death and resurrection took a mere few hours, but there was no telling what could happen in those hours. Besia's obsession — already promising a month of imprisonment — might well escalate further.
And Franc — why are you nodding along with Besia's threats?
“Well then, time to bring it up.”
And there stood the Archmage — no, she was a professor now, so professor it was. Professor Ophelia was here. I'd expected as much, but she really was doing professor duty in this place.
What I couldn't understand was this: a woman who had once been fanatically devoted to the study of extremis had taken an interest in all of this. That surprised me, because I knew she was the sort of person who couldn't be bothered to spare a thought for anyone but herself. Interest-driven. Curiosity-driven. Toward anything outside her attention, she was cold to the point of utter indifference.
She wasn't on the level of the Sword Saint or the Spear Saint, but the professor had done her own fair share of damage to the Hero's party. Whether they fought among themselves or fell apart entirely, she couldn't have cared less — she just whiled away the time chatting with me, the Immortal.
Still, she'd always thought well of me. Perhaps because I owed her a great deal. Simply learning of extremis through her had been an enormous help.
Pulling out a single sheet of paper, she said, “So — Argal. That's you?”
She was looking straight at Franc.
“...I'm sorry?”
Besia spoke up, incredulous. She'd never been one for a mild temper, and quite naturally began firing informal speech at the professor. “What? Anyone with eyes can see he's Argal!”
“Really?”
“Argal is a man's name to begin with. I'm Franc.”
The professor tilted her head. “A brat without a single speck of mana produced an answer approaching extremis?”
So you were the one who set that exam.
I really should have found it strange sooner — an exam asking about extremis. No matter how brutal a test is, it should at least be solvable. Asking a question only a Transcendent could answer meant the examiner had posed a problem she herself couldn't solve.
Only Professor Ophelia was capable of that kind of absurdity. Former Tower Lord and the strongest mage alive at present — no one could really object, no matter what bizarre questions she threw out.
And I had gone and solved it, quite beautifully, if I said so myself. Though not entirely. Producing the true answer to extremis would mean being a Transcendent, which I wasn't, so I'd offered a suitably oblique response instead.
And that had apparently caught the professor's interest.
“Hmm. In that case, I really can't leave you to die.”
“You've healed him this much — he won't die.”
“He won't die now. But his life is mortgaged to that contract, isn't it?”
The professor boasted remarkably thorough knowledge of demon contracts, too.
Besia, perhaps carrying some trauma on the subject, wheeled back on her as if on the verge of convulsions. “D-did I hear that right?”
“Shall I explain in more detail? In exchange for offering up his lifespan, this boy gained the vitality and magi to move his body. After that, he sacrificed several artifacts to postpone death briefly. And going by the time he has left — Argal dies soon. That's what it means.”
The atmosphere didn't just grow heavy — it plunged straight through the floor. Franc's eyes trembled violently, and Besia's face, which had been pouring out healing the whole while, crumpled without end.
“...Again.”
Besia's hands shook uncontrollably, as if that horrifying moment from the past had come back to life in her. “It's happening again?”
She even shed tears. She had held them back because I hadn't died — and only upon hearing that I was about to did she finally break.
“I barely brought you back back then, and now again?”
There sat Besia, head sinking, and Franc, whose composure was coming apart. There was no way I could die carelessly in front of this.
Or... maybe I simply ought to tell them. The question was whether those two would believe I was Immortal.
...Come to think of it, this might be the easier path. Dying now, reviving, and showing them undeniable proof of the Immortal. Letting the people who deserved to know, know. That wouldn't be bad.
Franc and Besia were trustworthy, and the professor was not the type to exploit the fact that I was Immortal, either.
Watching the scene unfold, the professor gave an awkward little smile. “I told you, didn't I? I can't leave you to die.”
“Yes... wait, what?”
“There's a great deal of room to renegotiate a demon's contract.”
When she flicked her fingers through the air, the demon that had contracted with me was summoned. A demon with bandages wound around its mouth appeared.
“A human life does come expensive — but pay an appropriate price, and the contract can be voided.”
“...And what counts as an appropriate price?”
“I'll cover that. In exchange, letting me ask about extremis is payment enough.”
The professor was more than willing to pay the price herself — all for the sake of extremis.
No, wait. You're going to save the life that matters least to an Immortal, and collect the most expensive thing in return?
This is a scam contract. I'm telling you to stop.
But the one sprawled on the ground has no say in the matter. There was nothing I could do to stop her until the contract was voided.
...Though there was another way.
A way for me to pocket the price the professor paid — all of it.