The Lord of the Sea's Slumber
Chaaaaaa!
Cutting cleanly through the ocean currents, Simon rode onward atop the undead Deimos.
His feet were anchored to the whale's body as he ran a finger across the sea chart Dick had brought him.
Let's review.
Simon was recalling the story he'd heard from the guide at the Deimos Museum earlier that day.
“This chart marks the Deimos's current location. Parona has been tracking its position since a month before the festival! If you calculate from this speed, the Deimos should pass by with its entourage tomorrow afternoon.”
The Deimos circled the seas of the entire continent at a fixed speed along a fixed route. And tomorrow, it was scheduled to cross the narrow stretch of ocean between the Parona Peninsula and the island.
Estimated time of arrival: tomorrow afternoon.
If they could reach Parona just a little faster, they could wipe out the Nagas in one stroke—but the Deimos's speed never changed. The Randolph Gang must have run the same calculations before setting this whole scheme in motion.
“So it comes down to this after all.”
He looked down and saw the undead Deimos cleaving through the water below, jet-black mana rippling along its pale bones.
“Think you can do it, Deimos?”
He could feel the whale's tension, its psychic link flickering with unease. Simon soothed his summon with gentle attention and checked the chart one more time.
“It should be coming into view soon… ah!”
No sooner had he spoken than it appeared.
Far in the distance, the heart of the sea had gone pitch black. It wasn't still—it writhed, inching forward little by little, closer and closer.
It was not one living thing. Thousands upon millions of lives had gathered beneath the surface to form a single mass.
…That's all marine life?
The sheer scale of it made his mind go blank for a moment. Through their connected psychic link, he could feel the Deimos growing frantic with alarm as well.
“Don't worry. I'm not going to make you fight that thing.”
Before long, the Deimos legion was right in front of him.
Simon activated the oxygen-tank magic circle Meilin had developed, then sent the trembling, terrified undead Deimos back into subspace.
Splash!
And then he dove into the sea.
A chill ran through his whole body. Around him spread the interior of an ocean as quiet and calm as some primordial world.
But there was no time for sightseeing. At full speed, he shot toward the black swarm.
…Whoa.
Countless pitch-black, undulating shapes came rolling over the sea, smothering it as they advanced. Even the marine monsters that lived along this coast were resonating with the swarm, drawn to it like iron filings to a magnet.
He watched it swell larger and larger.
And at the very head of that swarm swam a monster whale so vast that its sheer size made his jaw drop.
It was the genuine article—an adult Deimos, bearer of the title Lord of the Sea.
“………”
Am I actually insane?
What did I even come here to do?
The instant Simon's eyes met the Deimos's, he felt his composure crack down the middle. Every cell in his body was flashing red.
Truth be told, he'd nursed a tiny sliver of hope—if things somehow, impossibly went right, maybe he really could subdue an adult Deimos.
But now that he stood here, he understood exactly how stupid that had been.
At the very least, he should have distinguished the possible from the impossible. Simon wiped that line of thinking cleanly from his mind.
Focus! Only think about what I can actually do right now!
He bit his lip until it bled. The pain brought his mind back into focus. He forced the terror down with everything he had and squared up to face the Deimos without flinching.
By now the other side had noticed Simon too, but it didn't seem remotely concerned. Measured against the Deimos's bulk, Simon was nothing more than a speck—a lowly little life form no bigger than a dot.
It's insane.
Simon's mouth twisted into a sharp grin as he spread both arms wide.
Which is exactly why I have to pull it off!
Vvvmmm!
Vvmm!
Unfolding across his two hands was Phantasos's original Sleep.
The plan was simple. Put the Deimos to sleep, then while its command over the marine creatures faltered, use his own undead Deimos to lead them back to Parona.
And with that army, break the Naga swarm and save Parona.
Sorry, but I'm borrowing your army!
He raised his concentration.
The world around him fell quiet, and his heartbeat slowed.
More. MORE.
Sound vanished.
Now even time itself began to slow.
Feeling his spirit lift into a strange euphoria, Simon poured himself into the work of the magic circles on both hands.
His opponent was an adult Deimos and its entire legion.
Against that, all he had were two tiny, unremarkable magic circles taking shape in his palms.
And still he faced it down, unyielding.
The Sleep that puts humans to bed isn't enough!
Simon's eyes snapped wide open.
I have to throw in everything I've got—raise the entire spectrum of this spell's firepower!
Glub-glub-glub-glub!
Simon fed a massive surge of jet-black mana—far beyond the circles' rated capacity—into the magic circles all at once.
The internal balance collapsed, circuits and formulas began breaking apart, but he didn't stop. When a circuit snapped, he reconnected it. When a formula shattered, he redrew it on the spot. He clung to the spell tooth and nail, right up to the edge of total destruction.
Think of dark magic as a warrior's body covered in scars! It's always changing, always evolving to match the situation and the conditions!
A colossal expansion, far exceeding anything the circles were built to endure.
The structure tore and collapsed again and again, and still he refused to give up. He stitched it back together until everything was hanging by threads.
Every failure, every wound is just another step in the process!
Sparks crackled through Simon's mind.
Accept it all as the birth pangs of evolution!
The magic circles slowly reached their limit and twisted into something grotesque—no longer shapes that could honestly be called magic circles at all.
In his two hands, Simon was clutching a cursed spirit screaming in agony.
I can do this!
Blood trickled from his mouth from the mana backlash, and his eyes were bloodshot.
And yet Simon felt a tremendous upwelling of momentum.
His eyes embraced all things.
His hands seized all things.
No limits declared, no lines drawn, every failure folded back in as part of the process, stitched and re-stitched until it held.
And then—
!
Pop.
Something shattered, and Simon felt sunlight pouring in through the breach.
Chaaaaaaaaaak!
Three-dimensional branches burst out from what had been a flat, two-dimensional magic circle.
It was the result of an endless tug-of-war—Simon's relentless demands for evolution against the circle's desperate struggle to keep its balance at the breaking point.
Instead of exploding, the magic circle had chosen to expand in a direction entirely unlike anything before it.
Ah!
The 3-dimensional branches reaching out from the circle made it bloom like a flower of magic.
Multiple magic circles linked themselves to the central one, siphoning off its overloaded workload and executing it in parallel.
This was it.
The state President Phantasos talked about!
Simon's lips curled upward as he watched the Deimos bear down on him.
KWAAAAAA!
Had the Deimos sensed something suspicious about that lowly little speck?
It opened its enormous mouth.
The surrounding seawater was sucked in like a vacuum, and Simon's body was dragged violently toward the beast.
Ugh!
Holding his concentration, Simon knotted the magic circle in his right hand and completed it. Then he aimed it at the Deimos, preparing to launch it as a projectile.
Take THIS!
Not the original author's version—but a true original.
One that only he himself could cast.
A curse woven from everything he had—
the only true original he could call his own.
⟨ Simon Original – Sleeping Deimos ⟩
A dark cyan flash shot out and struck the roof of the whale's mouth. The curse took hold.
One isn't enough!
The magic circle in his left hand finished a heartbeat later, and he fired a second shot.
This time the curse slammed into its throat—two stacks.
But—
KWAKWAKWAKWAKWAKWAKWA!
The Deimos showed not the slightest trace of drowsiness.
Even all of this falls short?
A flicker of despair crossed his mind. The very moment Simon's body was about to be dragged into the Deimos's cavernous mouth—
Thuum.
The Deimos closed its mouth. The raging current stopped, and white bubbles rose softly through the stillness.
Gooooooo—
In the silence of the deep, the Deimos's enormous eyes turned toward Simon.
It hadn't fallen asleep under Simon's Sleep. But the Deimos had clearly, of its own will, stopped its attack.
-Kehhhhek!
-Karak!
Behind him, the marine monsters that had spotted Simon bared their fangs and lashed their tentacles. But the Deimos was restraining them, keeping its psychic wavelength from letting them attack.
What's going on?
Simon stared at the Deimos in astonishment.
He had cast the curse. He had failed to put it to sleep.
And yet he felt no hostility from it at all.
Is it… feeling good?
With its colossal head, the Deimos gave the tiny land creature's body a playful little nudge.
Pushed sideways by the current, Simon spread both hands wide once more.
I don't fully understand what's happening, but!
Unlike other curses, the Sleep he'd learned from Phantasos made its target comfortable and pleasant.
The Deimos did not consider this an attack.
And it wanted to feel even better than it did now.
All the way to five stacks!
Simon rebuilt the same curse as before. In this state of extreme concentration—this state of Compello—he was exploiting the Jet-Black Property of Memory to its fullest.
And at last—
This is the last one!
The fifth stack of Sleep.
From six stacks onward, the Sleeps would fall out of balance with each other and the effect would actually weaken. Five was the ceiling.
Simon unleashed every last Sleep he had and left the rest to fate.
[………]
Naturally, the Deimos did not fall asleep under the curse's power.
There was no way a hastily improvised spell could put a creature that vast under.
And yet.
Beyond any doubt, the Deimos was feeling a pleasant, drowsy warmth.
Sliiip—
And so, of its own will, the whale settled itself to sleep.
There was nothing special about a whale's sleep. It simply raised its body vertical, and then—motionless—it waited, perfectly still.
That was a whale's sleep.
-KARARARARAK!
-Kririk!
The moment the whale drifted off on its own, the potency of the wavelength it had been broadcasting was cut in half. Half of the marine monsters and fish under its dominion were freed, and a handful of them lunged straight at Simon.
Gurgle-gurgle!
“Khh!”
The oxygen in his tank magic circle had run out.
Holding his breath, Simon swam for it. Swarms of black monsters closed in around him from every side.
But there was no escaping underwater. Tentacled octopus monsters coiled around Simon's body, and shark-like beasts flashed their teeth behind them.
NOW!
As the tentacles dragged him down, Simon tore open subspace.
And then—
-UUUUUUUUUU!
A new Lord of the Sea revealed itself.
“Hold the line! HOLD THE LINE!”
Meanwhile, the battle on the Parona Peninsula was grinding past dawn.
Parona's necromancers, the Kizen students, and the mercenaries had been doing everything they could to stem the Naga tide along the coast, but exhaustion was catching up with them, and the battle was turning against them.
Worse, the late hour, the peninsula's isolated position, and above all the Nagas swarming the shoreline meant that even rapid reinforcements from outside had their limits.
“Reinforcements! They say the lord's castle barrier has already fallen—it's in danger!”
A messenger had come running to report, shouting over the din. The necromancers fighting on the shore made sour, conflicted faces.
“Reinforcements? We're the ones in desperate straits!”
“Better we run while we still can! If the necromancers gather together and build a fortress, we can hold out for days.”
As the tide turned against them, even talk like that began to spread.
“Are you finished talking?”
As a furious Meilin strode toward them, several of the necromancers flinched.
“If we pull back now, the residents of the lord's castle and every tourist on this peninsula get slaughtered! You know that!”
A middle-aged necromancer shook his head.
“Ahem. You're still a student, so you don't understand how things work in the field. In situations like this, there's no good answer.”
“I've got children of my own! I can't die like a dog in some foreign land!”
“You people, seriously—!”
“Meilin! Let it go!”
Camibarez pulled her back.
“If we've got the energy left to fight each other, how about we use it on them?”
Dick shouted, hurling a potion bottle.
The sticky liquid spread wide across the ground, and the Nagas trying to march over it found themselves glued fast, unable to move.
Click!
Dick flicked a lighter and tossed it over his shoulder. The adhesive went up in roaring flames, and the Nagas' agonized shrieks poured out.
“Where's Simon?”
Camibarez shook her head at Dick's question.
“Still not back.”
“Ugh. I'm starting to worry. That idiot isn't seriously picking a fight with a Deimos, is he?”
“…That's exactly what I've been thinking.”
Chaaaaaak!
The only one still fighting hard on this losing battlefield was the Mercenary King, Arthur.
“Hahahahah!”
Perhaps because he was a swordsman before he was a necromancer, he minimized his jet-black expenditure and fought the monsters with blade alone, showing astonishing stamina.
Granted, in this situation it would be his physical endurance that ran out rather than his mana—but Arthur's stamina was on a level that left humanity far behind.
“Must be nice being an idiot. He fights so well.”
That was Meilin's assessment.
Click! Click!
And behind the hard-fighting Arthur, a journalist was diligently snapping away with a mana camera.
“A hopeless situation! Comrades who turned their backs! And yet the king of mercenaries fights on to the very end! Ahh—!”
The man's eyes glistened behind the camera.
“It will make a flawless final article for my life!”
“Hey, old man. You really shouldn't be here.”
Dick walked over, blunt as ever.
“Do not approach!”
When the journalist swung his mana camera toward him, Dick—Kizen student that he was—flinched before he could help himself and stopped in his tracks.
“We're all going to die on this island anyway!”
the journalist declared with iron resolve.
“Even if the monsters devour my body, this mana camera and the article I've drafted will survive! I will spend my entire life recording the deeds of heroes!”
“What is he even saying.”
“Professional pride, I guess. Just leave him be,”
Meilin said with a sigh.
While they argued, the Nagas flooded ashore and overran the coast, and the necromancers who'd been planning their escape were already long gone.
Camibarez clenched her fists tight.
“One Mercenary King isn't enough! We all fight together!”
“Right.”
Meilin, Camibarez, and Dick lined up beside Arthur, who stood gasping for breath with his sword planted in the sand.
“E-everyone!”
Arthur's face welled up with emotion.
“You mean to share a glorious death with me…!”
“Nobody here is dying, you idiot!”
Meilin shrieked. Camibarez drew jet-black mana up into both hands and said,
“It's too early to think like that! If we can just hold on a little longer, Simon will come back! If it's Simon, he'll definitely find a way…!”
At that very moment—
-UUUUUUUUUU!
With a dawn tide surging in to light up the darkness,
a cry like a great ship's horn rolled across the Parona Peninsula.