Traces of the Fake Witch (5)
I followed the scent I'd imprinted on my sense of smell, traversing the white magical realm painted over in green. The remains of explorers littered the area everywhere, but as I drew closer to the center, they grew more scattered. In the worst cases, only a lone skull lay rolling about. It was hard to explain this kind of dispersal with mere magical forces that decompose corpses. This had to be the result of the forest itself shifting. As the world's largest and strongest natural awakened being, the Trembling Giant undoubtedly possessed far swifter, more powerful, and expansive mobility than ordinary plants. It might even be capable of animal-like movement when necessary. That meant I couldn't rely on explorers' corpses as landmarks. In remote places like Everest, bodies left where they fell served as signposts for those who came after, but expecting the same here would turn you into a lost soul in a labyrinth.
Unless you were a high mage who understood the structure and principles of mana circuits and could estimate their variability, the trial-and-error experience accumulated by ordinary explorers would become meaningless over time. To keep that experience valid, constant exploration and information updates were essential. You had to refresh the data before its shelf life expired. That was why sponsors of magical realm expeditions had to feed lives into it continuously. Just like before, the fog dominating the forest thinned as I approached the center. The change was that sunlight now poured transparently over a much wider area. The humid air, infused with steadily supplied heat, maintained the temperature needed for photosynthesis.
Shrrrrr— My enhanced hearing picked up the sound of fog flowing on the wind. The eerie rapids of mist, surging at hip height and gradually rising, signaled that this vast forest was preparing for the highland night. Spring might be in full bloom down in the lowlands, but at over 8,000 feet elevation, subzero cold would descend after sunset. So it had to cover its tender new shoots with a blanket of fog before dark. Following the twisting path, I tracked the fake nun's scent until the sunset glow overhead began fading to blue. That's when I reached rugged terrain warped by the Trembling Giant's power, with vertical drops.
The reason the ground was so violently contorted here was obvious. Immortal Cancer. The traces where the Giant had severed and destroyed part of itself to halt the cancer's spread were fingerprints of such tremendous magical violence that even a grand magus like me had to admire them. A savage force that had shattered everything from the canopy tips down to diseased roots underground. Its effects had sculpted a three-dimensional landscape unlike anything earthly. An uncharted zone untouched by any humans besides the fake nun. Gazing at the charred underground roots that still held their shape, I thought:
'Impressive. It scorched thousands of square meters of soil from dozens of meters deep.'
No matter how mighty the Trembling Giant, it couldn't neutralize the mana field of a colossal Immortal Cancer mass directly, but superheating the entire earth with mana flames would generate enough indirect heat to destroy it. How much firepower had it unleashed to even vitrify the soil? The fact that magic on this scale had been employed meant a high percentage of the Giant's cognitive network had recognized the problem here. I wondered just what fraction of its distributed intelligence had focused on this spot.
Paruk, parruruk—! A curtain of fire burned mana in the air, flickering. It looked like a violently shimmering aurora. The will-o'-the-wisps, flaring and dying intermittently, were probably for maintaining temperature as darkness fell. Its inability to sustain a steady flame of moderate size stemmed from limitations in precise incantation control. Atmospheric sensing played a part too. I descended along a slanted tunnel bored into the earth. The fake witch's hideout lay about 40 meters below the surface.
"Huh."
The space exuded far more lived-in comfort than expected. The walls, artificially excavated and finished, were as hard and smooth as well-fired pottery. Aside from lacking windows, it hardly differed from an ordinary home. The furnishings, however, were extremely limited. All I saw were emergency rations and survival gear explorers might carry. It confirmed my guess that the fake witch hadn't stepped a single foot outside the forest since settling here. In what could pass for a living room stood a fireplace adorned with delicate engravings. Traces of burned logs remained inside. Judging by how she'd decorated the hideout, she'd likely built this fireplace for emotional reasons rather than practicality.
Dry logs were stacked beside it, and opposite sat a wooden armchair. The fireplace was structured to vent smoke through multiple channels to the surface. Given the terrain's complexity and nighttime conditions, dispersed smoke wouldn't be an issue. The engravings around the fireplace depicted playful fairies— a fairy-tale sensibility unfit for a witch's clone. Dolls, probably handmade, sat on a shelf. Their stuffing likely came from sleeping bag fluff and explorers' clothing. I frowned. Something about it irritated me inexplicably.
The bedroom held a well-crafted bed, with a box of photos on the nightstand cabinet. I examined the photos inside.
"Daddy, you have to come back safe!"
One showed a girl of about ten, scrawled on the back. A frail, pained child in a hospital gown lay on a bed. Each subsequent photo featured different people, suggesting the Grace lookalike had collected family pictures from dead explorers. What on earth had she gathered them for...? Still, finding the hideout hadn't been a total waste. I sat on the overly plush bed corner and opened the notebook the fake witch had tucked under her pillow.
The notebook mainly contained maps of the magical realm and diagrams of the Giant's circuits, drawn by the witch lookalike. No records about herself, which was a shame, but not a bad haul. Even with my exceptional eyesight, I couldn't have obtained such detailed studies without walking the Giant's innards directly. She'd conducted precise measurements with that mana compass of hers—this was data that would take me over ten days to produce myself. Indirect proof her fugitive life had lasted months at least.
'So our previous encounter wasn't pure chance...'
Once, riding a Pioneer Hunters helicopter to hunt boars, I'd glimpsed a Grace-like figure from above, not far from the ground view. I'd assumed it was Grace herself then, but now it seemed likely one of her decoy clones. How many impersonations had that been? Could it have been this "596" I'd just killed? I set aside the nagging questions and flipped through more pages. Paper info, handwritten or printed, was easier on the eyes than other media. The knowledge she'd gathered for her survival pleased me. Especially the notes on how mana flowed in the Giant's circuits during spatial refraction. Imperfect local observations, sure, but a treasure trove of clues to save me time. For someone always short on it, I was grateful. Grace-596's death suddenly felt like a real loss. Had she been hostile to her "mother," she could've been a fine collaborator. Just assigning her to collect natural awakened observations in exchange for shelter would've been profitable. Acquiring Grace intel was baseline. Long-term, I could've even tried brainwashing her—gently eroding her fragile mind, implanting dependence and loyalty on me. She'd make effective reserve forces or decoys against the Round Table. No better scenario imaginable. Now, just pointless regret.
Assuming my hypothesis held, Grace's doubles weren't mere stand-ins. They were a combat unit of mages between natural awakened and grand magus level. From Grace-596's example, regardless of numbers, their average magical prowess might surpass my personally circuit-awakened subordinates. Not good news for me. I could only hope 596 was a specially crafted premium doll. At least if her mental fragility was common among the others, the balance of power between Grace and me wouldn't be so lopsided.
"......"
Closing the notebook, I let out a long sigh. The new facts weighed heavily, pressing on my solar plexus. Reduced to clinging to vague hopes for comfort. How fucking pathetic... I'd never underestimated the witch's power after centuries opposing the Round Table, but clones? Never crossed my mind. Rubbing my temples, I thought:
'I'll camp here tonight.'
The space subtly annoyed me, but no reason to sleep rough when such a fine hideout existed. I'd study and analyze 596's records, lie down when tired. Tomorrow's exploration would be far more efficient. Running the portable satellite terminal's antenna cable outside meant no risk of missing major external events. Having prepped everything, I reread the notebook over and over until fatigue weighed on my eyelids. Then I lay on Grace-596's handmade bed. But despite tossing for a while, sleep wouldn't come. Even I, accustomed to artificial sleep induction via Life Incantation body control, felt only hot, heavy eyelids—no drowsiness. Simple reason: the smell bothered me. As time passed, the fake doll's scent permeating the bed grated sharper on my nerves. Lowering olfactory sensitivity didn't help; the thick human odor lingered. Odd. Was it my worries?
"Damn it..."
Abandoning the plush bed, I rose. A mobile dangling from the ceiling now irked me. I ripped it down and hurled it aside, then went to the living room, loaded the fireplace with logs, and ignited them with mana. The woodsmoke aroma softly spread, diluting the olfactory displeasure. Next, I tried sleeping in the armchair. This time, I could use my usual induction aid. But even after hard-won sleep, I suffered persistent nightmares all night.