Lianna, Commander of the Modified Habit Corps (4)

Euris Flintwood.

The one they called the Mutant Elf had been nothing more than an eccentric enemy, the first time we met.

It started with an ambush. A strange elf had sought out our hero party and attacked without warning, and we'd all gone tense, certain she was part of the Demon King's army.

"How dare you breathe the precious air of the mountain I call home!"

The reason she'd launched her assault, as it turned out, was spectacularly petty.

"You sullied my breath first. This is merely self-defense."

Even now, the sheer absurdity of it left me speechless. We'd been so flabbergasted that our own tempers flared right back. Even the usually composed Logan had spat, "She's a crazy bitch." Liam had charged in outright, vowing to beat her into the ground. I was too angry myself to stop him.

The moment the battle began, we were exposed to a rain of magic and Aura. A fighting style that blended the two was something none of us had ever seen. Our hero party, still a pack of greenhorns, never stood a chance. Less than a minute after the first blow, every last one of us was on the ground.

A crisis that made the world spin. For the first time since the party had been formed, we were driven to the brink of death.

"Over already? How pitiful!"

The Mutant Elf we'd been certain would finish us off suddenly roared at us instead.

"And with this, you mean to protect the world?!"

A scolding thick with disappointment, for reasons we couldn't begin to guess. Still not satisfied, she even tossed us a few pointers on training — then whirled around and left.

I hadn't understood it at the time. I'd written it off as a whim, the product of a temperament unlike any ordinary elf's. After I became her disciple, I quietly decided the whole fight had been meant to make us grow. She always seemed to be pulling some bizarre stunt, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠once you looked closer, she gave meaning to everything she did.

A side of my master that only I, her disciple, truly understood. Or so I believed. I even felt a flicker of pride about it. Living at her side, I was sure I had come to know exactly who she was.

Some delusions go too far. It had been a preposterous fantasy.

I had never known my master at all.

"I am sorry. I never meant to deceive you."

I listened to my master's words with my eyes closed. I did not yet have the courage to look at her and speak.

"I am not saying you do not matter. It is only that the one who became the Demon King is a more special existence than you."

A dull, muffled voice at my ear. It reached me like an echo from somewhere far away, and I could barely make out the words. None of it felt real. Maybe I was dreaming. It was a guess tempting enough to sink into.

No — even if it wasn't a dream, that was fine. Better to drown in imagination than accept a reality this cruel.

The longer I kept my eyes shut, the further my mind drifted. I was ready to surrender body and soul to that hazy pull.

But then—

Lady Clitia. You are not so frail as that.

Sun-bask's gentle voice caught hold of my mind and would not let go.

I believe in you. No trial will ever break you.

Elegant again. It had been faintly puzzling the last time, but now the difference from her usual self was unmistakable — as if another personality had stepped forward to speak.

Please, take heart.

Right now, though, I didn't care. She had done her duty as a helper of the Saintess and pulled me back from running away. Sun-bask's secrets could wait. What mattered now was to keep moving forward without stopping. That was the only way I wouldn't fall apart. I knew that well enough. I had learned it the day the Goddess excommunicated me.

"Sun-bask. Whoever you are — thank you."

I opened my eyes. I needed to accept the situation with a clear head, and take the next step slowly. Then I looked my master in the face.

There was no warmth in my gaze now. Just an aging elf, sitting there in front of me.

"Why did you take me as your disciple?"

The question that went all the way back to the beginning. I needed to take the relationship between my master and me apart and rebuild it from the foundation.

"Answer me."

"I took a liking to the look in your eyes. I admired the will that refused to break, even beneath the weight of hardship. That is why I took you as my disciple. I wished to be a strength to you."

The sincerity in it was unmistakable. She was not lying. And that only made it worse.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner? If you had said something back when I was still training under you… I would have been shaken, yes. But at least I wouldn't feel this betrayed."

"You ask only the obvious questions."

Master leaned fully back against the chair of woven tree roots, her expression bitter, pointedly avoiding my burning stare.

"Because I did not wish to be hated by you. I was afraid of that cold look in your eyes. For you are my precious disciple."

"……"

Precious.

The first time I heard that word, I had been so happy I'd been giddy for days. I even remembered lying awake, too restless to sleep. I still wasn't used to the experience of seeping into someone else's life.

Now it didn't move me at all. I sat perfectly still, and my mood only sank further.

"Clitia. I beg you, do not misunderstand. The love I held for you was always real."

"…Don't lie to me."

I swallowed the urge to shout. If I let my emotions take over, I would lose the thread of reason and be swept along by her words.

"It is no lie."

"Then why did you strip away my talents for the Demon King's sake?"

Magic and spirit arts. She had told me I had no gift for either, and I had lived without a shred of doubt that it was true. Now she was saying she had erased them on purpose. Whether I'd had any real talent to begin with or not, that was the part that cut the deepest.

"As I said before. It is because the Demon King is the more precious disciple to me. He is like a son."

"…I thought of you as a parent."

"I know. But there was no other way. Your rate of growth was unnaturally fast."

Not a pathetic excuse — a calm admission. She said she was sorry, but there was almost no trace of guilt in her.

"You were no Hero, and yet you overflowed with talent for both magic and spirit arts. You were a monster."

"……"

"Had I left you alone, you would have reached the Demon King's level in no time. You need only look at your Aura control — you surpassed me in a matter of months."

Was that true? The question flickered through my mind, and I erased it just as quickly. The talents I had lost were never coming back.

"And there is something else I must apologize for. I ignored your request, and I gave no instruction to the current hero party."

So that was it. I had thought it strange that the kids in the hero party never mentioned learning anything from her.

"I will do whatever it takes to aid the Demon King. It may not be righteous. But for me, it is the proper choice."

In the end, the conclusion was the same as it had been before I heard any of this.

My master was my enemy.

"Then when Kbalt took your body…"

"See for yourself."

Master clenched one hand into a fist. A green magic circle bloomed in midair, and an image began to play across the ceiling.

The interior of a spotless laboratory littered with coffins. It was Master's own memory, the same one I had seen at the Public Enemy council. The scene was identical up through the moment Kbalt peered into a coffin and noticed her watching him.

From there, it was an entirely different story.

Kbalt was speaking with honorifics. Treating her with genuine deference. Kbalt, who looked down on every race but demons.

That scene drove the last nail in.

The recording ended on Kbalt looking overwhelmed with gratitude, and I sat there unable to open my mouth for a long time. It had been far more devastating than I expected.

"If you wish to resent me, do so as much as you like. If you wish to sever all ties, I will understand. But know this one thing."

Master came close and crouched in front of me. Then she took my right hand in both of hers and held it, stroking it gently.

Warmth traveled up my arm. It was so terribly warm — just like all the memories we had built together.

"My disciple. Every moment I spent with you was happiness."

"……"

For a heartbeat, I wavered. The thought of simply forgetting everything to do with the Demon King and going on as we were took hold of my mind. Even if she would only ever rank me second to him — even that much had been a precious feeling. Precious attention.

"I can't."

But in the end I shook off the temptation and steeled my heart. We had come too far to go back to the way ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠things were.

"I cannot forgive you, Master."

"I see. I understand."

She had given up on persuading me. It was time to end this.

"Our bond ends, here…"

I had made my decision, but the words would not come. The memories of training under her had become shackles around my ankles.

"You fool. This is no time to hesitate."

Master's hand settled on top of my head. A tender touch that might well be the last. I could not bring myself to push it away. I stayed still.

"If it is too difficult, I shall do it in your stead. Even now, I ought to play the part of a master, should I not?"

She stood and looked down at me, her eyes dark and sunken.

"Clitia. Thank you, for everything."

This was the end. It was truly over.

"As of this day, you are…"

An indescribable feeling surged up and filled my chest to bursting. I had already been through this once. And still—

Another excommunication settled onto the weight of a life that was already pressing me down.

Master — Euris — walked to the window and looked outside. Those shoulders I had always found so reliable seemed, just then, unbearably frail. No different from any ordinary elf.

"Do not get hurt. Take care of yourself."

"……"

I said nothing. I fled the room as if running away.

I have no memory of what happened after that. When I came back to myself, I was already at the inn. The same room I always stayed in. How I had gotten there, I didn't know. I didn't dwell on it. I just collapsed onto the bed.

Get some rest, and sleep well…

Listening to Sun-bask's voice, gone melancholy along with me, I buried my face in the pillow. I had to stay like that for a long time.

I didn't want Erin to catch me breaking my promise.

Liam lay down on the shabby inn bed, sat up, lay down again. He was too agitated to stay still.

What on earth happened? Tell me already.

Remiraen's voice rang through his head. He was too unsettled to feel like answering properly, but he had to force the words out. The undead obeyed whoever held the reins.

"The Mutant Elf was working with the Demon King."

I see.

A calm reaction. Something about it felt off, but Liam kept going.

"I listened in the whole time. Even I got pissed off."

…You were eavesdropping?

"I stuck one of my minions on Clitia's robe."

Normally Remiraen would have caught that immediately. His attention must have been elsewhere.

I'm sure she would just love that, if she found out.

"That's why I did it in secret."

A bad deed wasn't a crime if nobody caught you. Clitia had no idea, so no sin had been committed.

You're remarkably consistent. Be more careful next time.

"Fine, whatever. Just tell me what I should do."

Do what? You said she told you to stay put. Just go to sleep.

Remiraen snapped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at him, then severed the mental link. He had been so meticulously polite at first. Lately he was getting ruder by the day.

Must be the lich thing…

Liam sat still for a moment, lost in thought. Then he bolted upright and looked at the mirror hanging on the wall.

Clitia's beauty, reflected with perfect clarity. It was intoxicating no matter how many times he saw it. How could anyone be this beautiful? The coloring was different, but it was the bearing of a true Saintess.

He kept staring at himself in the glass, and then, on a sudden impulse, he smiled — bright and open. A beaming Clitia smiled back.

That was why he had taken to looking in the mirror day and night, ever since becoming "Lianna." It was the only way to see Clitia's face light up.

It was deeply satisfying, and yet a little lacking. Hollow, somehow. The distance that came from not being the original.

It has to be the real one.

He wanted to see the real Clitia smile. He wanted to see a smile that bloomed like a flower, even if he died the instant he witnessed it. And if that smile were ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠directed at him — well, nothing could be better. Just imagining it made his face feel hot. Of course, he was undead, so it didn't actually happen. Purely a trick of the mind.

Either way, what Liam wanted was Clitia's smile — the kind that came from being so happy she couldn't help it.

Reality, unfortunately, was refusing to cooperate.

Clitia…

Betrayed by the master she had thought of as a parent. Clitia wouldn't break — but she would be shaken. She might even be crying somewhere, where no one could see.

Poor Clitia. He wanted to stay close and look after her, but even half out of her mind she had been thorough enough to take a separate room, and he had missed a perfect opportunity. A shame, but it was fine. He had something more important to do anyway.

"Come here."

At Liam's word, the two minions waiting in the corner approached and stood side by side.

"Tia. What do you think we should do about the Mutant Elf?"

The question was aimed at the one on the right. Originally they could communicate through will alone, but he wasn't doing that now.

"Extreme rage. Death required."

A stiff, awkward voice, coming not from the mouth but from somewhere around the head. A new ability he hadn't even told Remiraen about — the technique of holding a spoken conversation with his subordinates.

"Cli. What about you?"

This time he asked the one on the left.

"Commander's rage is felt. Think it cannot be tolerated."

A clumsy answer, still unpleasant to listen to — but the meaning came through clearly enough. They agreed.

"Good."

Liam smiled with satisfaction, looking from one to the other.

"And what is our duty?"

When they had been the Nightmare of the West, reproduction had been the highest priority. Now that they were the Modified Habit Corps, an entirely different objective had been set.

"The real Clitia's happiness."

"The real Clitia must be happy."

A mission to be carried out to the end, no matter what. A purpose that reflected only the will of the commander unit — Liam himself.

"That's right."

Liam's expression went cold. He gathered venom in his palm, and a single Corpse Locust was born. Unlike the others, this one had a vivid pink body.

"So let's make that elf who hurt Clitia a part of us."

If Clitia found out, she would never stand for it. But that was fine.

She just couldn't find out.