Mage Marygold (14)
“You already know you can't win, Sir Lancel.”
Lightning took on a plasma form, streaking out in all directions. The ultra-condensed energy burst tore into the ground like furious octopus tentacles.
Boom boom boom! The entire landscape shook as if an earthquake had struck. The mana Marygold unleashed uprooted the very earth beneath Lancel's feet, turning it into a scorched wasteland. Even keeping his balance was a challenge.
9th Rank magic. Lightning Tentacles.
“Easy, easy!”
Shwaaak! The mana whipped toward Lancel like a lash, slicing through the air.
“Tch.”
A brilliant glow erupted from Lancel's blade. He timed it perfectly, slashing with all his might just as the mana tendril coiled toward him.
Clang! The lightning severed in an instant. The scattered plasma dissolved into particles in the air, leaving behind dazzling sparks as if refusing to fade quietly.
“Urgh!”
Some of his hair singed. His whole body burned as if scorched by fire.
“To block that... impressive as always, Sir Lancel.”
“Doesn't sound like a compliment.”
“I mean it.”
While he panted in exhaustion, Marygold remained serene. She floated leisurely in the air, staff raised.
“If only all knights were like you, Sir Lancel.”
Crimson-black sparks burst from Marygold's eyes. Eight plasma tendrils extended from her once more.
Boom boom boom boom! Overwhelming power ripped across the meadow. In a flash, they stretched dozens of meters, smashing rocks, trees, soil, and even the nearby academy building like soft tofu in a chain of destruction.
The movements were unpredictable, impossible to anticipate even a step ahead. By the time he regained his senses, three or four mana whips targeted him simultaneously. Even Lancel wouldn't survive a graze from those.
“Damn.”
Lancel dodged frantically. The ground was already too ravaged to find footing. Melted stone and gravel flowed like lava, forming obstacle fields.
Victory or defeat didn't matter. The question was whether he could land even a single hit.
'Did they screw up the great mage setting or what?'
Even in the game, it hadn't been this intense. This had to be the ultimate form of a mage.
Lancel was utterly on the defensive. Closing in was nearly impossible. He'd only gotten within striking distance twice so far—and hadn't even swung his sword. An opaque barrier protected her.
“I won't drag this out. For your sake too, Sir Lancel.”
Grrrrr! Then it came—a chilling roar from her palm. Mana and air compressed relentlessly, relentlessly, relentlessly, emitting light until it formed a black sphere.
“......!”
Lancel already knew what spell it was. That's why he couldn't hide his bewilderment.
“Dummy data? How?”
12th Rank magic, Miniature Black Hole.
His sister, a genius at game design but clueless about space science, had seen NASA's black hole photo and gotten excited.
—This would be perfect as a spell!
She'd jammed it into the game, but his objection—“Will that even work?”—left it as dummy data. The ultimate forbidden technique of magic.
'It was unimplemented, right?'
Even the concept of 12th Rank was unimplemented. For balance, the game capped magic at 9th Rank. Anything beyond veered into Cthulhu territory, not romance fantasy. All scrapped in testing.
'So why's she using it?'
Dummy data classified as 12th Rank appearing? That was already abnormal. The continent's greatest—the court mage captain and tower master—were both 8th Rank. 9th Rank great mages were historical unicorns.
And now 12th Rank? Impossible. Something was wrong.
“Mary, you......”
But there it was in her palm: the 12th RankMiniature Black Hole. An accretion disk formed around the furiously spinning void. A tiny black hole. Air sucked in endlessly, screaming horrifically.
Kiiiiieeeeng!
'......This really is unwinnable.'
Yes. The Marygold before him had long surpassed great mage status.
“This ends here, Sir Lancel.”
She wielded even game-external magic perfectly, transcending the mage archetype entirely. A true superhuman. Closer to godhood than any other.
“I'll finish it now.”
That's why her unnaturalness struck him.
“A nightmare?”
“Yes, they say it induces nightmares.”
An old memory.
“The dreams vary by person, but they start when Mary falls asleep and last until you wake. Does Professor Laura know anything?”
At Lancel's question, Professor Laura propped her chin, rummaging through memories. He waited silently. That “nightmare incident” Marygold caused—isolating her at the academy—nagged at him.
“Hmm. Definitely mental magic, but dreams......”
She finally spoke.
“If it's dream-related, probably the dream demon phenomenon.”
“Dream demon phenomenon?”
“Yes. Exactly what it sounds: a magic phenomenon forcing dreams on targets. No one knows how it manifests. Mental magic is barely researched. Mostly handled by demons, monsters, other races—not humans. Limits research.”
Mental magic. In the game, used for sleep, confusion, darkness debuffs.
Did Marygold use it unconsciously?
'She's definitely a half-breed. Grass growing from her head and all.'
It made sense.
“Some feel it as good dreams, others bad. Varies. But most call it nightmares...... probably because they can't escape at will?”
Laura removed her glasses, continuing.
“Short as a moment, long as months. Waking wipes it clean—mostly. But everyone remembers being trapped in the dream.”
“So some remember the content?”
“Rarely, and only good dreamers.”
“......Good they forget nightmares, then.”
“One way to see it.”
Laura shrugged.
“What dream depends on the victim. Dreams seem infinite, but they're not.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Even weird dreams are just imagination. Limited by the person's imaginative capacity.”
Made sense upon reflection.
“Interesting.”
“More?”
“Pass.”
Lancel snapped from reverie. The 12th Rank magic in Marygold's hand.
Not because she was a powerful mage. Her great mage, transcendent, Cthulhu-like, near-god status? The root cause lay elsewhere.
Yes, Lancel.
This was his dream. Mary was just the intruder.
She manifested 12th Rank because it was the strongest form within his imagination's limits.
Who but Lancel knew of such magic in the game?
This regressing world every 30 years existed because he was the regressor.
This loop's Marygold likely barely grasped “regression.”
Dream-Marygold grew entirely from his borrowed imaginings. A mere guest.
“Right. This is my dream.”
Why had he thought backward? That he entered her dream.
No—the opposite. His dream. His desired world.
Not Marygold's ideal. His.
Imaginings of happiness. Peaceful life. Family bliss. Marygold as great mage.
Marrying Marygold......?
'Not that.'
Anyway, she just kept him trapped here. He was dream-master.
—Dream demon phenomenon.
Lancel was just like those academy dormmates that day. Trapped like them.
“Hm.”
All pieces fit.