The Butterfly Effect of Idle Chatter (3)
“The Ochan Clan has reappeared.”
“...What the hell are you talking about all of a sudden, Dunamis?”
Sargasso, the leader of the Ivory Tower's Four Heavenly Kings, felt like clutching his neck at the bizarre nonsense spewing from the young one's mouth. Their bodies, crafted by the great Ebon himself from elemental magic, had no reason to suffer from adult ailments like high blood pressure—yet just listening to this kid's drivel made his blood boil anyway.
“Those things went extinct in the ancient era. Why drag up relics from a dead age now?”
“I just clashed with the Shadow Sorcerer on my way back. That guy's got the makings of an Ochan.”
Sargasso let out a deep sigh. How dare this pup, who'd never even laid eyes on one, toss that name around so lightly?
“Do you even grasp what you're saying? The Ochan are doomsday weapons the wicked fairies themselves could barely contain—they purged them from the surface world. If one showed up, the fairies would be dancing with swords by now.”
“Quit spewing your biased denial, old timer, and hear me out. What's the hallmark of an Ochan?”
“Bodies warped from gorging on too much pollution.”
“The Shadow Sorcerer I saw was a grotesquely twisted abomination. Made you wonder how something like that could even roam free.”
Dunamis shuddered at the mere memory of the Shadow Sorcerer's horrific form: a torso of nothing but pulsing veins, sprouting random body parts in chaotic disarray. Like some hellspawn crawled straight from the abyss.
Sargasso clutched his head. A new enemy looking freakish didn't prove it was an ancient doomsday weapon.
“Ochan, huh? I've heard of 'em.”
“Salamandine? What business took you outside?”
“You slowpokes wouldn't help fast enough, so I had to handle it myself.”
“Shut it. You let the Shadow creep escape in the end anyway. Some 'fastest' you are. Total snail.”
The Ochan were a race that absorbed and broke down the pollution blanketing Earth—warped mana, in other words. Which made the Four Heavenly Kings, with their off-the-charts mana densities, prime targets for elimination.
Dunamis brushed off Salamandine's sniping and hammered the point home.
“And it called us defiers of nature's order, hellbent on killing us. Hideous like an Ochan, acting just like one. And get this—when I pressed it on its identity?”
“Can'ttellju?”
“Hush, Salamandine. The kid's picking up weird habits from that human school. It told me to ask the fairies. Must be a survivor from their extermination campaign... or one rebooted from the vanished old guard.”
“Hmm...”
Sargasso finally took it seriously. The grotesque shape? Tolerable if some otherworldly horror had slithered through. But add fairy-hostile intent and Ochan-like behavior? Three matching traits demanded suspicion.
“Then we dig a trap. We've got bait no Ochan could ignore.”
“What, you gonna dance or something, geezer?”
“Think I'd stoop that low? Lord Ebon left us mana crystals. Relics preserving old-era magic. To Ochan, they're targets screaming to be erased from this world.”
Old era. Salamandine rolled the words in her mouth. Among the Ivory Tower elites, only Sargasso had lived through the chaos before the guardian fairies seized dominance.
He called it “the glorious era under Ebon's direct guidance,” yet shied from detailing the era's horrors.
'Earth back then was truly nightmarish,' he said.
Salamandine's fighting spirit ignited. If magical girls embodied the fairies' current might as this era's rulers, the Ochan symbolized the old era's brute force. As the embodiment of fire—the world's most destructive element—she yearned to crush every rival.
A primal urge blazing like flames.
“Speaking of, Salamandine—what's that box in your hand?”
“Oh. Slice cake set from the café. Dig in, everyone.”
Dunamis shook his head. No wonder reinforcements dragged—no wonder she was late; packaging desserts.
“Ugh, modern sweets are way too sugary.”
“Then I'll confiscate the old man's share.”
“Hey! Know your elders!”
Earth's Grata stirred from slumber behind Sargasso, nostrils flaring at the open box's rising cake scent.
“Ooh, this shop's cakes are killer.”
“Damn it, Grata! Bought four for each—don't hog!”
Salamandine's battle instincts fired first to defend her cake.
A few days after Nai Hyun's abrupt counseling session, Raban's routine settled into peace. The sudden student rush quieted; Ivory Tower stayed dormant, mascots quit their antics. In the serene counseling room, he could idly flip through books guilt-free.
'That's exactly the problem.'
No—Nai Hyun should be coming for counseling!
Why the hell not? Raban rubbed his neck, brooding.
Maybe that “friend” from last time had soothed her inner turmoil through some emotional bonding? Living the model student life—unbearable.
'Kuh, gotta risk it and sow a little discord... No. Bad idea. Shatter the trust, and it's irreversible.'
Grousing at the tranquil days, Raban prepped to clock out. The peer counselor kid had long gone home; tidy up, lock the door, done.
Right then—something pinged in the veins he'd seeded across Hikarius's nooks.
'What the— this malice is off the charts!'
Pure, unadulterated malice. Worlds apart from Ivory Tower freaks' quality. Matched the otherworldly insanity of his stranded home—that mad realm of demon lords and interdimensional lunatics!
'Such turbid vibes—heaven-sent chance for a black mage...'
Raban clocked his optimism as wrong. Heaven never handed chances to shut-in black mages like him.
Any setup was 99% likely to screw him over; the rest, vaporize him outright.
'Trap, then?'
They'd sniff out his fixation on malice, sure. He'd left no blatant clues, but weirdly, everyone who'd witnessed his spells thought, 'That guy's catalyzing with malice—nab him quick.'
Unfathomable phenomenon, origin unknown. But recurring patterns let you adapt.
Raban shrugged it off with resignation. Black mages getting shafted? Daily occurrence.
Step back, assess: obvious trap. His move was simple.
'Snag the bait and bolt!'
That's how he'd survived his world. Shove your head in danger or die.
'Sure, caught one in three times, but successes outnumbered—good enough!'
Raban rationalized at lightspeed, then rallied his vein clusters toward that malice jackpot.
Mo-fu?! Why is this aura here in the modern age-mo-fu...!
Papirun reeled at the ancient-era mana. That overwhelming malice should no longer exist in this world. How much effort had Mother poured into eradicating black mana like this? Since the world reshaped into its current form, it'd vanished completely—or so she'd thought...
'Sargasso?'
A Heavenly King ancient enough to serve Ebon directly might hoard old black mana. If so, the motive was obvious: bait to lure the presumed Ochan—the Shadow Sorcerer.
But that was burning the house to kill fleas. That mana didn't just tempt Ochan; it drew horrors from beyond dimensional walls too.
Magi List assembly required-mo-fu!
Papirun summoned the magical girls. That power needed purification now.
Schne didn't reply.
Shut up. She snapped at the chattering voice cluttering her mind.
But the voice pressed on, ever more excited.
“Sch—er, White! What's wrong? We're almost at the mana anomaly site!”
“Oh. Just wondering if the Shadow Sorcerer will show again... and how to take him down.”
Still her cheerful friend—clueless she'd been duped by the fairies.
'I... I have to save her.'
Nai Hyun marveled: 'Pondering Shadow Sorcerer counters in advance—Schne's so smart!'
She'd mulled it over, but brains weren't her forte—best to borrow power.
“Ughhh... Our magic's a bad matchup. Salamandine showing up would be perfect.”