The Museum of Slaughter

A museum. A facility built to display academically valuable materials, artifacts, and works of art, with the stated purpose of contributing to research and public education.

But could this place truly be called a museum?

What research, exactly, did it serve? What education?

Simon could not keep the question from rising in his mind.

The moment he stepped through the entrance, a statue greeted him — assembled from the preserved faces and torsos of human beings, stacked one upon another. The taxidermy had caught each person at the precise instant of their agony. They screamed. They wept. They wrung their own throats with their own hands. Though not a sound reached his ears, it felt as if the wailing of their voices buzzed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠against the rim of his skull.

And beneath the statue, an inscription explained: All of these are body parts of corrupted necromancers.

He had assumed it would be, at most, a war museum. It was a museum of massacre, of slaughter, of torture.

Red crosses stood planted like signposts, and from them hung actual human beings. He didn't know who they were, but it appeared they had been nailed up alive — and quite recently — to be displayed just as they were. By now, the breath had left them.

The walls proudly showcased every manner of horrifying instrument of torture and slaughter.

Flayed skin lay scattered about alongside heaps of nails and teeth. There was even a pillar built from the collected teeth of the tortured.

And interspersed throughout were quotations from the Holy Church.

Beyond those, the exhibits made plain what fate awaited necromancers captured in wartime, prisoners who had shown no will to resist, and the traitors and heretics who denied the Goddess.

They even described, in clinical detail, which torture applied to which part of the body would produce which pain — and which emotions.

There were paintings, displayed brazenly as works of art, of torture victims fouling themselves as they groveled before statues of the Goddess, begging for their lives — while priests looked on.

How could this contribute to public education?

Fear, perhaps? Was the point to sow terror and keep the regime stable? Even granting that, this went far beyond any excuse. It crossed the divide between the Federation and the Alliance — this was content that would disgust any human being, anywhere.

"Hurk."

"Ugh…"

Students were retching all over the place, and even those who managed to hold it in wore ashen expressions.

"Didn't I tell you! Don't dwell on it, don't let it pull you in!"

Grelion came striding in at that moment.

"Mental fortitude is a necromancer's capital! If it keeps getting to you, close your eyes or look away — that's an order!"

Having warned the students, Grelion lifted his head.

Before him stood a tower built from the faces of necromancers who had died under torture and abuse.

"A few people I knew are probably in there too."

He closed his eyes as if in silent prayer, then opened them again.

"The Holy Federation calls our craft — raising the dead to fight again — an insult to death."

Then he strode over to one of the crosses and gently closed the eyes of the person hanging from it.

"But what do we call this? These people are insulting life itself. They seize the living, carve the flesh from their bodies, pull their teeth, crush their eyes. Then they use healing magic to strip them of their right to die — and begin the torture anew."

His hand tightened into a fist.

"I find it rather hard to accept that sort of condemnation from people who treat the living worse than corpses. Well. Which side is more just, more moral — history will decide that, I suppose."

He turned to face the students.

"Everyone, move! We're here for materials — let's go find them!"

"Yes, sir!"

The museum was vast — immense, sprawling.

And throughout all that vastness were filled things no one wanted to imagine, horrors upon horrors. There were sights that could make a person sick of humanity itself.

But to be precise, the students' destination wasn't this museum. It was what lay above it.

Before long, they arrived at the true destination.

As a defensive measure, Simon had been briefed on the destination in advance.

The Shailey family had been infamous for dragging in residents of the Dark Alliance under the pretext of 're-education,' trampling their human rights and working them as slaves.

A family of warmongers and slaughterers.

This place, too, was the Shailey mansion before it was ever a museum. Passing through the corridor connecting the two and entering from the rear of the estate, one found the bones of the lord, his retainers, and the paladins who had served them — displayed with brazen pride.

Some held swords with their hands raised aloft; others pulled on chains looped around the necks of Dark Alliance civilians, or operated torture machines — all of them adorned with golden necklaces and luxurious clothing.

Even within the Holy Federation, the Shailey family fell far short of being called war heroes.

They stoked wars from behind the scenes, sacked cities, traded in slaves — in truth, they were war criminals, the ones who had profited most from the conflicts they incited.

Which was exactly why they had built this museum of massacre and torture: to have their legitimacy recognized, and to prove their loyalty to the Federation's radicals.

The horrors were extreme enough that Epnel had ordered the place shut down, in fact — but for various reasons, the Shaileys had stubbornly held out to this day.

And it was in this very building that the remains of the paladins who had served the Shailey family were displayed.

"There it is!"

The students surged forward in a crowd.

It seemed certain these were the very paladin corpses Aaron had spoken of. Beneath the glass cases, their atrocities were recorded in glowing terms.

Craaash!

Just as everyone was hesitating, Hector was the first to smash a fist through the glass case and pull out one of the paladin skeletons.

Once someone had gone first, the other students began scrambling over each other to do the same.

"The bones are in remarkably good shape."

"If it's this one…!"

According to Grelion, the paladin skulls were limited in number, so each student was to take out only one at a time.

He had also made a point of warning them that when their subspace pockets were inspected later, any student caught with two or more stolen skeletons would face more than a simple reprimand.

So the students chose their paladin skulls with all the more care.

"…Simon?"

Toto, who had been looking around, turned to Simon and spoke.

Simon was leaning against the wall, one hand pressed to his forehead.

"Are you feeling sick or something?"

"N-no, I'm fine."

He was not fine.

Ever since ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠entering this building, Simon had been plagued by a persistent headache — and by an inexplicable sense of déjà vu.

It didn't seem to be shock from seeing the exhibits in that museum earlier.

His throat kept swallowing on its own, and his body trembled. A feverish, restless urgency washed over his mind. He had never experienced symptoms like this before.

Simon forced a smile for Toto, who was watching him with worry.

"I'm fine, so hurry on, Toto. We have to find your Death Knight materials."

"O-okay!"

After Toto left, Simon took several slow breaths.

Then he pulled himself away from that spot and walked off elsewhere.

Step. Step. Step.

He passed down the corridor and simply kept walking toward the back. The déjà vu faded, then thickened, then faded again, in waves.

Soon the floor came to an end, and a row of rooms revealed themselves — quarters where the Shailey family and their kin had stayed.

At the far end stood the head of the family's chamber. Its door hung open, so Simon stepped inside.

On the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wall hung the portrait of Retong Shailey, founder and root of the family line.

Simon swept his gaze around the room.

There was no way something like paladin remains would be kept in a place like this — and yet the déjà vu that pressed down on his head grew stronger here.

What is this? What is it trying to make me do?

He passed his palm along the walls, observing everything — and noticed a mail slot set into one of them. Without hesitation, he reached his hand inside.

Kurrrrrrr!

The entire wall shuddered and began to move. Simon's eyes went wide.

A hidden room?

The wall flipped over, and in an instant Simon found himself beyond it, in the concealed chamber behind.

White light. White wallpaper. And portraits everywhere — women he had never seen before. A smiling woman. A woman holding a sword. A woman taking tea.

From the clothing and surroundings depicted, they ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠seemed to be from a very distant age.

And at the center of this wide space stood a single statue: a statue of that same woman, hands clasped in prayer. Drawn by the throbbing headache and the déjà vu, Simon approached it.

This is the place, isn't it? What am I supposed to do here?

He cautiously reached out and touched the statue. A jolt ran through him — a faint, instinctive resistance rising in his body.

Only then did Simon understand what the déjà vu truly was. Slowly, he closed his eyes.

I can be anything. Do anything.

The presence of Jet-Black dimmed and faded from Simon's body, and rich divinity welled up to fill him from within.

The moment he became a priest, the 'déjà vu' — that suffocating, swallowing unease that had gripped him since he entered — transformed into a 'sense of fulfillment' he could not name. Trembling with a strange awe, Simon laid his hand upon the statue.

"!"

The world turned inside out. Before Simon's eyes, two white thrones appeared, hanging vivid and vast in the void.

So it was you two all along.

The lingering remnants of the Saintess's Essence — the powers that had entered his body and passed out of it again.

The two thrones flared before him, vivid, as if trying to explain something — then vanished.

And then.

"Ahh—!"

The sensation of the floor beneath his feet vanished, and his body dropped.

Down, and down.

Falling endlessly, Simon plunged into a new space before he knew it.

A flower field, thick with petals. Simon lifted his head, feeling the flowers cradle his body gently, almost tenderly.

He couldn't tell whether this was a dream, or a place that truly existed.

Petals stretched out in every direction as far as the eye could see. With a dazed, entranced expression, Simon rose to his feet and walked on, parting the flowers as he went.

Tuk—

Something touched his leg. Simon thrust his hand deep into the blossoms and carefully lifted his arm.

From among the petals emerged a skull so white it seemed alien to its surroundings. A figure clad in a white holy robe, its two hands folded neatly together in prayer.

And in those hands, it held a banner bearing an emblem he could not identify.

What the—

Simon raised his head.

Where is this place? Whose skull is this?

At that very moment, the skeleton he had been certain could not move again—

…!?

—slowly rose to its feet and turned to look at him.

At the same moment.

Outside the museum.

"…"

Grelion's Head Assistant sat upon the magic circle with her eyes closed.

And scattered throughout the building's grounds, scarecrow-shaped chimeras had risen up with their mouths agape. They were 'barrier-type summons' — distorting the view outward and sealing the flow of Jet-Black so that none of it could escape to the outside.

"Senior Assistant!"

Just then, an assistant came sprinting up, breathless. The Head Assistant, who had been concentrating with her eyes shut, raised her head.

"What is it?"

"O-over there! Look at the sky…!"

She looked up.

Wuuuuuuuuum—!

Hanging in the sky was a blood-red cross, vivid as a wound.

And within it, a single monstrous eye floated — peering down, as if surveying everything inside.

She shot to her feet.

"Damn it all!"

She snatched up her communication crystal with urgent hands.

"Professor Grelion, this is the Head Assistant! We need to evacuate this place — right now!"