Ancient Records

When Kimberly students become upperclassmen, several roadblocks lie in

their way—and one of the biggest is entering the labyrinth's fourth layer.

"I've heard of precious few s-second-years making it down here. Even with

help…they just g-get in the way. I didn't set foot down here until, I think…the

end of my fourth year. And I got m-my arm melted off, so…it was mmemorable."

The third layer—the Miasma Marsh. Leaving tracks in the sticky mud, the

gaunt young man beside Oliver spoke with a mild stutter. A sixth-year student

by the name of Robert Dufourcq. One of the comrades who knew Oliver's

hidden face, he always wore a gloomy smile.

"Yeah, I remember that! You went into the assignment insisting you only

needed backup from the rear. If I hadn't stepped in, you'd have lost half your

body, maybe even ended up with your name in the joint funeral two years ago."

The girl teasing him was another comrade, a seventh-year named Karlie

Buckle who had short red hair and pierced ears. Her plain-spoken manner came

across as friendly, but there was a dangerous gleam in her eyes that made her

slightly unapproachable.

"C-can't argue th-there. But…y-you didn't get off any easier. You're scary

enough without acid b-burning half your face off—"

"You wanna talk shit about my face, there'll be consequences."

Her hand had the back of Robert's head in a vise grip. Bones creaked. Oliver's

cousin Gwyn coughed pointedly.

Karlie let go and flashed Oliver a smile.

"Sorry, Your Majesty. I'm a real loudmouth. Always have been! Can't stand

being quiet. Go ahead and chide me for it; I don't mind. Hey, maybe I should be

stressing this a bit more."

"…No need."

Oliver shook his head, unable to think of any worthy reproach. He might be

only in his second year, but with this mask on, he was their lord. If his vassals

were distracted, upperclassmen or not, he was prepared to snap at them. But

here?

"It's a comfort. I'm not yet capable of joking on this layer."

Karlie's trash talk might include a knock against him, but she wasn't letting

her guard down. This was how she always acted—proof she knew how to

handle the situation at hand.

"Hmph, least you admit it," she replied with a snort. "But is that a virtue for a

man in your position?"

"Karlie!" Gwyn snapped. She was a year older than him, but he was Oliver's

right hand. "Get off Noll's back. And Robert, don't just stand there! Stop her."

Karlie shrugged this off, and Robert bobbed his head, glancing sideways at

Oliver.

"S-sorry, Gwyn. B-but…I'd also like to talk to him. While I have the chance."

They all had good reason for wanting to know Oliver better. And he was

perfectly aware of this, hence why he hadn't pushed them away.

"It's fine," Oliver said, waving his brother down. "Don't worry about me,

Gwyn."

But just as things seemed settled, a girl caught up from behind, moving into

the space between his comrades. Oliver blinked at his sister—Shannon

Sherwood's usual gentle smile was conspicuously absent.

"Heh-heh-heh, looks like someone disagrees," Karlie jeered, not even trying to

hide the look in her eyes: Ain't it nice to have your cousin protecting you, little

lord?

Oliver held his tongue, racking his brain over how best to handle her.

"…Don't…be mean…to Noll!"

"I'm just messin' with him. Did it seem mean?"

"…It did. Like…no answer he gives will please you."

"Ah-ha-ha! Guess it was kinda obvious."

Karlie doubled over laughing, not a trace of guilt. Palpable tension crackled

between the two girls—but then strong vibrations rose up from the mud at

their feet. Oliver was about to bark a warning when Karlie grabbed his collar

and pulled him to one side.

" !"

And the moment he vacated the space, the ground burst. Spraying mud

everywhere, a wyrm emerged, easily over ten yards long. One of the third

layer's biggest threats, they detected the vibrations of mages walking overhead

and attacked from below. Sawlike teeth lined its ring-shaped maw, and it

wheeled in the air, aimed for Oliver's head, intent on capturing the prey it had

just been denied.

""""Tonitrus!""""

Four spells cast in unison shot directly into that gaping maw. The creature's

long, thick body shook and went still—then flopped to the mud, blowing

bubbles. Before Oliver could get his wits about him, Shannon was at his side.

None of his comrades paid the least bit of attention to the downed foe.

"We're almost out of the third layer," Karlie said. "It's about to get dicey. You

ready for it, Your Majesty?"

"…Yeah." Oliver nodded, not letting himself shudder. To the upperclassmen,

that attack hadn't even qualified as dicey, a point they'd made all too clear.

It was another twenty minutes before they reached the end of the marsh.

Now in territory beyond where the Ophelia incident had taken him, Oliver came

to a halt, a knot in his stomach. The shift in his surroundings was all too clear.

The ground, walls, and ceiling were all made of shiny stone. He and his

comrades were in an ellipsoid clearing the size of the campus arena, at the back

of which lay double doors.

"…So this is…"

"The way to the fourth layer. Commonly called Library Plaza."

Even as Karlie spoke, changes were unfolding before Oliver's eyes. The space

before the doors warped, and a black thing emerged. Like a bundle of pitchblack rags, it quickly took form, stabilizing as a gaunt figure over seven feet tall,

its head hidden beneath that black cloth. It spoke not a word, but the mana

radiating from it—nay, the aura of death—left Oliver's hand scrabbling for his

athame.

"…!"

"Relax! You won't be fighting that. Not that the real foe is much of an

improvement…"

Karlie patted his shoulders and then glanced back at the rest of their

comrades.

"As planned, we'll be handling tasks in threes. Me and Robert will keep the

king safe. We still good with that, Sherwoods?"

"…N—"

"We are."

Shannon started to object, but Gwyn cut her off, nodding in agreement.

Oliver said nothing, but Gwyn's interjection was greatly appreciated. He valued

his sister's concern, but he wouldn't be much of a lord if he allowed only his

family to protect him.

"I'll be fine. You two look after Teresa."

"…Noll…"

"Got it."

Shannon still looked nervous, but Gwyn nodded grimly. Teresa simply

watched everything, her eyes betraying no emotion. Oliver turned his back on

them and joined the two older comrades, advancing to the center of the plaza.

"Looks like you got your wits about ya," Karlie said. "But all kidding aside—do

not step out in front of us."

"Or rather, we won't l-let you. If anyone's d-dying here, it'll be us f-first."

Robert's halting speech was accompanied by a gloomy smile. Oliver didn't

doubt him for a moment, but chose to respond as a lord should.

"Then I have but one thing to say: I have not granted either of you permission

to die here."

Those words came like a slap on their backs, and both his comrades grinned.

"Ha-ha! You got it."

"F-fair warning. Let's m-make this look easy."

Karlie and Robert raised their athames. A moment later, a book appeared in

the black-robed figure's hands.

Spotting the cover, Karlie yelled, "Luck's on our side! I've seen it before. Our

assigned reading is Baltro's Memoirs!"

Several dozen pages flew up from the book, cocooning the trio in a swirl of

paper that instantly revamped their surroundings. Oliver could no longer see his

cousins or Teresa.

"Ch-chapter eight, verse two! The G-Glynntoad Calamity!"

By the time Robert finished, they were elsewhere. Surrounded by rustic

farmland. Ordinaries tilling the fields with hoes in hand, or milking cows—which

Oliver found inherently unnerving. It was all far too dated, from the people's

clothes to the way they worked. This had to be over two hundred years ago—

before the magical industrial revolution.

"S-surprised? J-just as it l-looks. P-part of the t-tome's contents h-have been

recreated."

"Escape ain't impossible, so it's better than an aria in that respect. Except—

this library's pretty well stocked."

Oliver was catching up. The view before him wasn't real—it was sourced from

the book. He knew not where or when this was, but—it was the stage of the

calamity Robert had mentioned. And proof of that lay in how nobody around

was aware of their presence.

"Baltro's Memoirs, chapter eight, verse two—an account of a migration

witnessed in the year 984. And the casualties it brought about."

Even as she spoke, Karlie's eyes were on the sky above. It wasn't quite noon

yet, and the weather was overcast—but at the center of those clouds was a

dark, swirling vortex. The ordinaries around them spotted it, too, pointing and

yelling.

"Here it comes. Watch close—this is the calamity the tír bring to our world."

And a moment later, hundreds of things poured out of the vortex, falling

toward the ground. They appeared to be short cylinders, seven feet in diameter

—rusty gears or wheels. But as they slammed into the earth, they began

spinning like ball golems—and causing devastation.

"Eek…?!"

"Aughhhhhh!"

Fields, homes, livestock, people; the wheel-like things made no distinctions,

crushing all in their paths. The sight of their neighbors' demise left the survivors

screaming. Waves of fear rippled across the landscape. The wheels made no

effort to pursue the fleeing humans, simply tracing elaborate geometric spirals

from the outside in, flattening everything in their paths.

As the screams rang in his ears, Oliver fought the impulse to do something.

The sights before him were but a recreation; this tragedy was long in the past.

He knew this, but it ate at him.

"You see what they're doing? That's what we call indiscriminate feeding.

Often seen in packs after an unplanned migration. They've found themselves in

a whole new world and don't know right from left, so they just try eating

everything to see if it goes down. Plants or animals, animate or inanimate, no

distinction. They just eat and puke till they find things that suit their fancy."

Karlie's lecture helped Oliver understand what he was witnessing. Those

wheels were alive. When he looked closely, people, livestock, and dwellings

alike were losing mass far beyond what could be explained by mere crushing. It

boggled the mind, but it seemed these monsters fed by running things over.

That was how the wheels ate and how they hunted.

They were utterly different from the creatures of this world. Even magical

creatures had not evolved like this. These creatures must have hailed from a

fundamentally different ecosystem, otherwise they never would have evolved

to acquire these characteristics. Uninvited guests from a strange and terrible

world—the essence of a migration.

"Uh-oh. They're ccoming this way."

Robert pointed. A wheel was rolling toward them. Karlie pointed her athame

in its direction.

"Better take a look at this one. Colligationem."

Her spell hit the wheel a few yards out, stopping it dead, like it was in the grip

of an invisible hand. She'd forcibly restrained it with a binding spell.

"Okay, safe to inspect. The shape's a doozy, but the actual physical

construction is on the comprehensible side for migrations. Pack hunting ain't

too far-flung from the creatures we know and love, right?"

Karlie launched right into a lecture, maintaining the constraint. The mana

output this required was no small feat. Impressed, Oliver focused on the tír

creature before him, eyes poring over it. Robert was using his athame to dissect

the wheel. Where he cut, gray fluid spilled out, revealing soft tissues beneath—

likely organs. It really was alive.

"Casualties are pretty high even at this stage, but once they've locked onto

their prey, they get far worse. Best to make the most of it. You know—while

they're still preoccupied."

She finished off the restrained wheel and turned her eyes toward the

indiscriminate feeders. Easy enough to handle on their own, but the assignment

was to take out the whole pack.

"Going one at a time'll take forever. But there's a great way to handle foes

like this. Robert, take 'em out."

"A-alone? You could h-help, you know."

He shook his head and stepped forward. He opened the front of his robe,

revealing dozens of test tubes strapped beneath it. Each had a magical creature

sealed within—radiating magical malevolence. He selected one—a type of fairy

—and popped the lid.

"Satus sursum."

The spell released the fairy from torpor, and it shook itself, hopped out of the

tube, and flew off toward the migratory monsters. This behavior was mandated

by the spell cast on it. But of course, a tiny fairy had no recourse against a

mighty wheel. It was crushed and eaten—along with the curse it harbored.

The infected wheel's behavior immediately changed. The precise coordination

was gone, and it charged right at its own pack. The wheel it struck changed with

it, the curse spreading like waves. The migrant monsters were now feeding on

one another. Oliver shuddered, balling his fists tightly.

"Works like a charm!" Karlie said. "Cannibal curses are just the thing for closeknit packs."

That was all it took for Oliver to catch on. This was how curses worked: use a

creature harboring a curse as a medium to transfer the spell, feeding it to your

target to infect them. And not just the target itself—contact with the infected

host would spread that curse through the whole population. The wheels

crashed into each other, splitting open, cracking, then collapsing.

"They're going down fast! But don't relax yet. The curse intensity ain't

dropping at all. That shit stacks each time they feed. The law of curse

conservation! If we see this through to the bitter end…"

As the numbers dwindled, the fighting was getting more intense. Each slain

fellow was multiplying the curse's effects, concentrating them in the remaining

wheels. A hundred wheels became fifty, fifty became twenty, and twenty

became ten. Their clashes were ceaseless. At length, there were only two left,

and they crashed head-on into each other—then only one remained, radiating

an inky-black aura.

"You get one left, and it's stuffed. And if you kill it, the curse leaks out.

Normally, you'd catch it and break the curse, but this is just an ancient record,

so we don't need the follow-through. Curse effects in assignments are neatly

handled by the library itself."

Karlie cast a burst spell to get its attention. The last wheel rolled toward the

noise, its inherent nature entirely overwritten by the curse, its cognitive

functions reduced to the instinct to crush and eat anything that moved. Oliver

raised his athame. The sole survivor was twice the size of the others, and the

curses it had absorbed made it far stronger. But…

"Now, now, hold your horses, Your Majesty."

Karlie waved him down, then stepped forward. Robert backed off, standing by

Oliver's side. Yielding the stage to her.

"…Haaaaah…"

She took a long, deep breath. The closer this thing got, the more dangerous it

was, but Karlie wasn't budging. The wheel bore down on her, its hostility

palpable. Unable to bear it, Oliver cried out, "Karlie!"

"Extruditor!"

The moment he yelled, she'd finally swung her athame. Not to attack headon, though; just as her target seemed about to hit, she'd struck a blow to its

side—like a hook to the brow. The wheel creature was moving at top speed,

powerless to resist a push from that angle. It rolled right past Karlie before

toppling over onto its side. It spun uselessly, scattering dust, pebbles, and the

blood of its own kind.

"Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Just keep on spinning!"

Karlie pounced on it. She landed on the wheel's side, at the center axle—no

matter how fast it spun, it could do nothing to her there. It shot out a bunch of

spikes to protect its weakness, but she'd known that was coming, easily

dodged, and stabbed her blade straight into the creature. She didn't even need

to move her athame. With the blade held still, the wheel kept spinning, driven

by instinct—and delivering a fatal wound via the same principle as a can

opener.

"Bye-bye. Impetus."

Once the lid was open, Karlie didn't hesitate. She pounded home a spell to

finish it off. It was like a hammer of wind slamming into the wheel's insides,

forcing the severed disc inward and crushing all the soft bits beyond. A moment

later, bodily fluids squirted out in all directions.

"Okay, assignment complete," she said. "Mm? Your Majesty, did you call my

name just now?"

Covered in gray fluid, Karlie turned back to Oliver, grinning. She was a grisly

sight.

"N-nasty, right? Th-that's why they call her Bloody Karlie. She does the s-same

shit to people, too."

"..."

Oliver had no words, but relief was winning out. They'd gotten through this

without any injuries.

"We lucked into an easy assignment," Karlie said. "These can get real bad if

the draw's against you."

Their surroundings were already fading, giving way to the big doors they

started at. She glanced back at Gwyn's group, giving them a wave.

"Goin' on in! We'll show him around."

"We'll be right behind. Don't go too deep," Gwyn called.

Oliver's group moved on through the open doors. When all three were inside,

the doors swung shut with a loud clunk. The rules precluded anyone from

entering unless they completed an assignment, and the rest of Oliver's

comrades would face a trial of their own. He'd just have to trust his cousins and

wait.

"Welcome, Your Majesty," Karlie said, swinging round to face him, arms

outstretched, "to a place no second-years ever tread—the labyrinth's fourth

layer, the Library of the Depths."

Oliver swiveled his head; the view blew him away. A tower of bookshelves

stretching skyward as far as the eye could see. Countless staircases ran this way

and that across the void, and winged demis flew between.

"…Harpies…"

"They're the books' caretakers. Not hired by Kimberly—they've been living

down here since before the labyrinth was even discovered. They can be a little

temperamental, but they'll also serve as guides. When you come to return a

book, you'll want to give it to them."

Karlie ran down the rules. Several harpies observed the trio, but they didn't

seem hostile. This place was not a library merely in name.

As the three moved forward, carefully looking things over, a black-robed

figure approached—the same type of being that had given them their assigned

reading. When Oliver looked tense, Karlie leaned in.

"The things in black are the watchmen. Can you tell what they are?"

He felt the smirk in her voice. One figure passed, and he caught a glimpse

inside the robes; his hair stood on end. There was a scythe in one hand and a

skull with eyes of infinite blackness. A being he'd only read about in books.

"Reapers…!"

"H-hilarious, r-right? Almost nowhere else can you still see d-death seraphs.

But here they are, on p-patrol." Robert stifled a hollow laugh.

In the age of god, seraphs had been sent out into the world, playing their part

in the grand scheme. Reapers were but one type, responsible for maintaining

order over life and death. It was said they still appeared if mages attempted to

escape their mortality, but few had ever seen them. Though some held this was

because the sight of a reaper ensured your death.

"Even we'd be sunk if we tried to fight them. Be on your best behavior. If you

follow the rules, they won't bug you."

"…What kinds of rules, exactly?"

"Don't damage the books, remove them without permission, return them

late, cause problems within the library itself, et cetera. The Survivor tried to

cook in here once and nearly got himself killed. A real moron, that guy."

Karlie cackled. That definitely sounded like something Kevin Walker would do.

"Every book in here is one of those forbidden tomes. The bulk of them date

from before the calendar began. To mages, a true treasure trove, but a mistake

here—and the books'll eat you. Don't even dare treat this like an extension of

the school's library."

Oliver nodded. He was certainly very interested, although reaching for a book

would likely be perilous at this point.

When she was sure he properly understood the threat, Karlie took her broom

off her back and hopped aboard.

"C'mon. Broom use isn't forbidden, but if you go too fast, it'll earn you some

nasty glares."

"A-are you good at l-low speeds? W-we could go tandem."

A generous offer, but Oliver shook his head, mounting his own broom and

taking off. He was certainly no match for Nanao's maneuvering, but he'd had

the basics drilled into him by now. He certainly didn't need help flying slowly.

As he started to rise, he heard the doors close behind him. He spun toward

them.

"…Someone just left?"

"An upperclassman here before us. Don't worry, everyone hides their faces

here. Even if someone sees, no one will think we're out of place."

Karlie seemed unperturbed. Oliver was less convinced, but he followed her

and Robert's lead.

Meanwhile, two layers up, a different trio were tackling the labyrinth's giant

tree.

"…! Hng…!"

Doing his best not to look down, Pete shimmied up the irminsul after Guy.

The broom on his back had a lifeline attached, and they'd practiced casting

deceleration spells in case they did fall, but that did nothing for the sheer terror

of being a good hundred and fifty feet up. With his nonmagical background,

Pete was especially terrified.

"Make it up here, and we can rest!" Guy called. "Think you can do it, Pete?"

"Of—of course I can!" the bespectacled boy said, summoning every ounce of

tenacity he had. "This is…nothing…!"

He felt a hand on his back. Katie was bringing up the rear.

"Don't force it, Pete. Your legs are getting wobbly. Let's take a seat for a

minute."

Kind but firm. She and Guy had both spent more time down here than Pete

and were playing support and leadership roles, respectively. When Pete still

refused to rest, she quickly passed a rope, tying it to a protrusion on the tree.

"See? You're secured and safe. Sit down."

"…Urgh…"

She'd done all the work for him, and he was forced to take a seat next to her.

While they caught their breath, Guy came back down. He looked Pete over and

made a face.

"Got tuckered out halfway, huh? I told you the third marker was far enough

for today."

"To hell with that," Pete insisted. "I'm not letting you get any further ahead."

Guy shrugged. "You spend every day drowning in books and still wanna keep

up with us on labyrinth stuff? I applaud the determination, but it's too much."

"It's nowhere near enough. I can't stay a liability," Pete hissed, biting his lip.

Katie patted him on the back. "You don't want Oliver worrying about you,

huh? I know how that feels."

"I—I didn't say—"

"Sure, sure, you didn't," Guy teased. "And you'll get out of breath again, so no

more chatter."

Pete fell silent. Watching their surroundings closely, the group rested for

another five minutes, then resumed their climb. Struggling with the steep slope,

Pete grumbled, "Argh… If we could just use our brooms, we'd be over this in no

time…"

"I'd love to, but see those things up above?"

Guy pointed, and Pete looked up. There were a few dozen bird wyverns

wheeling overhead right above the three of them—hardly a coincidence.

"They'll attack the moment we leave the ground. I tried taking the easy route

once, and it did not end well. Best to accept brooms here are nothing but a

lifeline for if you slip."

"If you balance properly, you can minimize the fatigue. That doesn't come

easy, but you'll get used to it in time."

Katie's voice from behind, Guy's from up ahead—being flanked like this was

definitely reassuring, but it also drove home how much Pete still had to learn.

He didn't want to lag behind the two of them.

"The last part's extra steep. Hang on, I'll lower a rope."

Guy scrambled up the tricky section and got a rope secured. Pete had been

using both hands to hang onto the tree, so he willingly switched to the rope—it

was best to keep your dominant hand free in case of magical beast attacks.

"Better make it quick. Linger here, and they'll think you're vulnerable."

Taking Guy's advice to heart, the other two pressed on—and Katie saw a

shadow closing in behind the tall boy.

"…?! Guy, behind you! Look out!"

"Huh?"

Guy spun around and found a demon ape's arm swinging right at him. He

reflexively reached for his athame, but before he could defend himself, the

blow knocked him sideways. He was flung off the tree into the air.

"Guy!" Pete yelled—and Guy's fall stopped.

Sensing its partner in trouble, his broom had taken flight, and the lifeline had

left Guy dangling in the air. But that was still very exposed. And the hit had

shaken him up enough he wasn't thinking straight yet.

"…Uh… Ah…?"

"Guy, move! The wyverns…!" Katie yelled.

That snapped him out of it. His left hand closed on the broom handle—and

the bird wyverns swooped down toward him.

"Ah—ahhhhh!"

Their attack hit before he could reach the tree again. He managed to free his

athame and fight back. Katie and Pete covered him as best they could from the

tree but weren't able to deflect all the wyvern strikes. One of the bird wyverns

slipped through the spells and knocked the athame out of Guy's hand, and the

next one bit the rope stretched between him and his broom.

"Ah—"

The rope snapped, and Guy dropped, no safety measures left. As he fell, he

tried to grab his white wand, but his fingers weren't moving right. The athame

loss had left him with a gouged tendon. Katie and Pete couldn't get to him in

time. He hurtled straight toward the ground—

"Elletardus."

A force caught him, powerful enough for it to hurt. His descent slowed until

he was hovering just above the ground, and an arm wrapped around his chest.

Oliver's catches were a gentle embrace, and this was far rougher—yet that

drove home the fact that he was alive.

"Gah-ha! Been a while since I caught a plummeter! I just happened to be right

under you—you got good luck, kid."

A hearty laugh echoed in Guy's ears. Pete and Katie caught up on their

brooms, landing by their friend and his savior before running over.

"Guy, are you okay…?"

"Any injuries?!"

"Mm, a trio of second-years? That's pushing it. You oughta bring an

upperclassman with you."

The burly older boy put Guy down, looking at each person in turn. Katie and

Pete weren't listening—they had their athames pointed skyward. Their friend

had survived his fall, but those bird wyverns were still hot on his heels.

"Dumb birds! Gotta teach them a lesson. Gah-ha!"

Spotting them, the upperclassman pulled his athame, raising it high. The

blade had a look of scorched steel, and it was soon aglow with magic.

"Turbo Flamma!"

A burning tornado shot out of his blade, spreading rapidly outward and

swallowing up eight wyverns in a single shot. The force of the winds trapped

them all inside even as it burned them alive. They were suspended like that for

just over ten seconds, then their bodies hit the ground, not a one of them still

breathing.

"Gah-ha! Got ourselves a cookout! I was just getting hungry!"

The young man headed toward the nearest bird wyvern corpse, put his

athame at the base of the leg, and started carving away. Then he noticed the

trio's stares.

"Want some?" he asked. "The thighs are pretty good!"

"…Er, um…" Katie and Pete both looked flummoxed, so the young man took a

big bite.

Guy was already reaching into his robe, pulling out a salt shaker.

"…I got seasonings," he offered.

"Oh! Aren't you handy? Gah-ha-ha! Have a seat!"

"Huhhh?!"

They soon recovered Guy's athame and settled down, talking to their older

savior. Once he'd heard their names and what had happened, he introduced

himself.

"Clifton Morgan, sixth-year. Training to catch up with your friend? I get that!"

He folded his arms, looking them over.

"I admire the spirit, but it's real risky," he told them, his expression severe. "If

I hadn't been passing by, that fall could've killed you."

"…I got no excuses," Guy said, well aware of his blunders.

Pete was looking even more downcast. Guy had been exposed precisely

because his attention had been on helping his friend.

"Gah-ha-ha! Been through similar stuff myself, many a time. No way you can

get by in this school tapping every bridge before you cross it," Morgan said with

a laugh. "Nothing wrong with a dangerous bridge or two. What you need to

learn is how to get across without dying. Don't rush for results. Rely on your

elders another few months. Watch what they do and copy it. That'll make

things come naturally."

He ended the lecture there, sprinkling Guy's herb-and-salt blend on the bird

wyvern meat. He seemed to be enjoying it despite the haphazard preparation.

He chewed a couple of times and swallowed, then shot the trio another grin.

"Can't remember the last time I talked to any second-years! Underclassmen

almost never go lower than the third layer. I like this floor! It's teeming with life

—"

He glanced around him. He sure made it sound like he lived down here. But

before they could ask about that, Morgan clutched his chest.

"Cough, cough!"

As he spluttered, flames belched out of his mouth. They flinched back.

"Whoa…!"

"A-are you all right?! You're breathing fire!"

Even mages were only human—they weren't usually capable of this. Well

aware of their shocked looks, Morgan coughed up a few more flames before his

fit subsided.

"…All better. Sorry, bit of a shocker, huh?"

He shot them a rueful smile. A few seconds of silence passed as everyone

stared at him.

"No, this is a trailblazer's duty, I guess," he said, reconsidering. "I'm actually

not gonna get better. Don't have much time left."

Everyone gulped.

"This is the result of crossing one of those dangerous bridges," he said, his

hand on his chest. "This inferno's a real ravager. Gah-ha! I was pretty sure I

could control it, but no such luck."

Chuckling, he pulled his white wand, and a flame appeared at the tip.

Primarily orange, it had tinges of green and brown mixed in—highly distinctive.

Their eyes locked on it, watching as it branched and swayed.

"Don't you dare touch it. It'll do a lot more than burn ya. What I'm working

with isn't a fire of this world. If you're second-years, you've started astronomy

by now, right?"

They were almost afraid to admit it. Morgan's explanation built upon that

basic knowledge.

"One of the tír that connects up to ours regularly is called Luftmarz. The

Ravaging Inferno's Kiln. It's a world where fire flows in place of water. I could

bend your ear all day about that environment's peculiarities, but the most

singular of them is that the fire itself is evolving. They have multiple types of fire

elementals alone," he said. "That suggests this is a world that never had many

elements. Where our world is dominated by other types, theirs filled the gaps

with a variety of fires. And the ecosystem is built on that. When migrations

occur…well, you've heard how the phoenix lives within the flames consuming

it?"

He paused there, hand on his chest again.

"I got interested in the nature of those flames. Can't exactly tell you what I

did, but… Well, this is the result. Couldn't control it, and it's ravaging me from

the inside."

"…You…can't get it out?" Guy asked.

"Afraid there's no treatment. It's fused with my etheric body now. No modern

magic techniques can help. And that means I won't live out the year."

Guy was out of ideas, and the man cleaned the last of the meat off the bone.

"So there you have it! The pursuit of sorcery sometimes results in failures you

can't walk back. But if you let that scare you, you'll get no results worth

having… Cough, cough!"

Morgan coughed again, belching flames. When they just watched, speechless,

he flashed a big grin.

"Come now, don't look so gloomy! You're all mages, right? Failures have their

upsides. The data I leave will guide research to come. And they'll be able to

avoid stepping in the same shit I did. I may have a date with death, but it's one

of the best deaths a mage can have! And I get to have a nice long chat with a

few lucky underclassmen! Gah-ha-ha!"

He laughed hard at his own joke. This was clearly neither a brave face nor an

empty platitude. And that made them feel a little better. At the same time, it

was a harsh reminder—research could lead to failure, and that failure to death.

And that was hardly unusual at Kimberly.

Seeing them all facing reality in their own way, Morgan's smile faded.

"Given my condition, I can't exactly go back to school. But there is one thing

preying on my mind. I'd appreciate anything you know," he said solemnly

before asking: "How's the Blue Swallows' ace doing?"

"That turn was weak!"

The shout cracked like a lightning bolt.

Nanao had been turning her broom at the edge of the practice arena; Ashbury

had spied her opening and jumped on it, her club taking a vicious sideways

swipe that the Azian girl just barely managed to block and withstand.

"You're better than that, Ms. Hibiya!" the Blue Swallows' ace roared. "Both

you and that broom!"

"Naturally!"

Nanao's response was just as loud, and her broom shot off, the two clashing

in the air once again. No one else on the field, no matter the team, dared try to

get between those clubs.

"…Yiiikes, is this even a practice match any more?"

"She's got her eyes on Nanao, poor thing… Granted, Nanao does seem to be

having fun?"

The speakers were both on the Wild Geese. One of them took his eyes off the

clashing clubs—and spotted something far more alarming. His body went stiff

as a board, and he barely managed to croak a warning to the teammate flying

with him.

"…Y-yo, look…"

"? What—? Whoa."

Said teammate reacted exactly the same way, and that reaction spread

through the players around them.

"Well, Emmy? Nanao's flying is something else, isn't it?"

"..."

Two figures stood in the observation space outside the practice arena. One

was a dapper gentleman with rich golden ringlets—Theodore McFarlane. The

other was a silver-haired witch, a personification of frozen steel—the

headmistress of Kimberly, Esmeralda.

"Oh, don't mind us!" Theodore called, realizing there were eyes on them.

"We're just watching, so carry on like normal."

That got things moving again, but…clearly not at anything like peak

performance. He shook his ringlets.

"I supposed that's a bit of an ask, really. 'Normal'…with you watching!"

Their headmistress attending practice was virtually unprecedented. He could

hardly blame the athletes for stressing over it.

"But I suppose there are exceptions…"

Two, to be precise. Nanao and Ashbury's battle raged on, the pair oblivious to

their teachers' presence—and the Kimberly witch's eyes never left them.

Practice lasted another half hour. When the whistles blew for break,

Theodore spied his chance, his voice echoing through the skies.

"Well done, Nanao! I hate to rob you of your rest, but mind joining us?"

"Mm? Oh, Lord McFarlane!"

Clearly only now realizing he was here, Nanao dropped to ground level.

Seeing the witch at his side, the Azian girl smiled.

"Unusual company you keep today," she said.

"Emmy doesn't make a habit of attending practice. But she's always loved

broomsports. She had real passion for them in her student days."

"Oh? I was not aware!"

Nanao hopped off her broom, approaching the two teachers. Ashbury came in

for a landing behind her, giving the headmistress a curious look.

"Fancy seeing you here," she said. "Scoping out the rookie, Headmistress? Or

her broom?"

She didn't hesitate to pry. But her question earned her an indifferent glance

and words that cut her and her question down.

"You've gotten slow, Ashbury."

The air froze around them. After several seconds of silence, Ashbury managed

shakily, "…Say that again?"

"You were faster a year ago. You've grown better…but that's all," Esmeralda

growled. "Are you scared to fly without your usual catcher?"

A merciless pile on that left the arena feeling as hostile as the scrape of metal

on metal. Their teammates above gulped. But no matter how the Blue

Swallows' ace scowled, Kimberly's top witch just kept going right for the source

of her pride.

"You haven't set a new personal best in a while. If you've reached your limit

and are content to train your successors, then so be it. Take a step back and be

a typical broomrider."

"Typical?!"

Ashbury's howl refuted the very concept. She'd have drawn her blade if this

wasn't a teacher—nay, if it wasn't the headmistress. Seeing the rage in her

eyes, Theodore clapped his hands.

"Now, now, calm yourself, Ms. Ashbury," he said blithely. "Her words may be

harsh, but that's her way of encouraging. You know you can fly faster. And

that's all she wants to say."

This might sound like an olive branch, but it failed to lighten the mood in the

slightest. Basking in the light of Ashbury's fury, the headmistress spoke again.

"Seems you haven't entirely lost your moxie. I will reserve my disappointment

for another day."

"…!"

Without results, no argument could carry any weight. Realizing that, Ashbury

turned her broom and rocketed off toward the skies above. A few teammates

called after her, but she ignored them, leaving the arena behind. Nanao

watched her go, arms folded.

"Hmm. A brutal form of encouragement."

"We wouldn't put you on the spot like that, Nanao," Theodore said, patting

her on the head. "Ms. Ashbury's position is rather exceptional. She's a purebred

broomrider."

He turned his smile to her.

"More importantly, do you have time to talk? We'll let you go when your

break's over."

Nanao looked at each of the teachers in turn, then smiled, nodding.

"The honor is all mine," she said.

On the grass not far from the arena was a spot perfect for tea parties.

Theodore was laying out a tea set on a table made from toolplants.

"This is green tea, commonly consumed in Yamatsu. I was told to brew it with

water well below a boil—is this right?"

His spell heated the water in no time, and he poured it into a Yamatsu-made

pot, let it steep for a minute, then filled each of their cups. Nanao took a sip of

the steaming green liquid, and her eyes lit up.

"Ah! It has been far too long."

The taste of home soothed Nanao, and she turned to the silent witch beside

her.

"We have yet to exchange words since the entrance ceremony,

Headmistress."

"..."

Esmeralda remained impassive. Nanao took in her face a few moments

longer.

"Your headaches have not subsided, then?" she said. "It seems the trick I told

you was not enough."

Theodore had been laying out sweets and looked up at this, surprised.

"You can tell?" he asked.

"Theodore."

The witch spoke his name like a hammer on a nail, but he shook her off.

"She already knows," he said. "Nanao, Emmy's headaches have a rather

unusual cause. Simple cures will not help. I'm sure she appreciates the

thought."

He left it at that, and Nanao did not pursue the topic further. She took

another sip of tea, clearly possessed of no motives beyond concern for the

witch's well-being. Pleased by that, Theodore smiled.

"Emmy, you should say something," he urged. "You have much to ask."

It took her a moment, but at length, the witch of Kimberly broke her silence.

"…How's your broom?"

"In tip-top shape," Nanao said, glancing at the broom resting beside her.

"Amatsukaze has your interest?"

Theodore was using his wand to place plates laden with sweets before each

of them.

"More than a little," he said. "It's the only broom in the school—perhaps the

world—that would not obey Emmy. And yet, you've made it yours, Nanao."

"Have I? I do my utmost to bring out the broom's power, but I remain no

match for Ashbury."

There was a frown on her face. Everyone at Kimberly recognized Nanao's

singular talents, but the task before her was a tall one.

"She said a broom was a part of her, like an extra limb. I knew people back

home who felt the same about their horses. Yet, I simply cannot conceive of it

that way. This broom is my partner. I have no intention of placing it under my

control."

Nanao stroked Amatsukaze's handle.

"…Perhaps that's why," Esmeralda murmured.

"Mm?" Nanao blinked at her.

Catching the headmistress's intent, Theodore explained, "The reason your

broom—Amatsukaze—accepted you as its rider. Thinking back, she—the

previous rider—said much the same thing. 'It has more fun flying with me than

anyone else. That's why it lets me ride it and will take me anywhere.'"

Clearly a fond memory for him. And when his eyes turned back to Nanao,

there was a mix of aspiration and envy in them. Like gazing at the twinkle of a

star he could never hope to reach.

"Most mages see brooms as little more than familiars. That goes for Ms.

Ashbury and for Emmy, too. But you're different. And perhaps that's why

Amatsukaze chose you. Not as its master—but as its partner."

"..."

Esmeralda voiced no objections to his interpretation. Nanao took this to mean

Amatsukaze's previous rider meant a great deal to both of them.

"Very well. Then I shall strive to be a suitable partner," she declared, a smile

on her face once more.

With her current riding skills, this was the most she could promise.

When Theodore nodded, Nanao held out her empty cup.

"Lord McFarlane, may I trouble you for another cup?"

"Mm? Oh, but of course."

He pointed his wand at the cup, but as he did, Nanao added something he did

not expect.

"The headmistress first, if you would. She seems to want another herself."

Theodore glanced Esmeralda's way—and indeed, her cup had somehow

grown empty. He looked rather shocked. Experience had told him that she

would never take so much as a sip if she did not intend to speak further.

"…Right you are. My apologies, Emmy. I should have noticed."

"..."

He received only silence in response, and her expression had not once shifted

this entire time. But Theodore was certain—she was enjoying this.

He shot Nanao a look of gratitude, and then a thought struck him.

"If I could ask one thing, Nanao—are you not afraid? Of her?"

Nanao looked baffled. "? The thought has not once crossed my mind. Though

she is certainly intimidating."

Most people would consider fear and intimidation to be two sides of the

same coin, but clearly Nanao saw them as entirely separate.

Theodore slapped his knee, laughing. "Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Excellent. That is

exactly how you should be, Nanao!"

He happily refilled both their cups, praying this precious moment would linger

a while longer.

Oliver's group rode their brooms around the Library of the Depths for some

thirty minutes before the door opened and Gwyn's group entered. They flew

down to meet them.

"That took a while. Rough one?" Karlie asked.

"Assignment was a poor match for us," Gwyn said. "No injuries sustained."

He, Shannon, and Teresa looked none the worse for wear. Oliver kept his

relief to himself.

"Cool. We did the basic library rundown, so should we head on out?"

Karlie took the lead again, and they passed through the doors at the far end,

leaving the library behind. Outside, they were bathed in sunlight. Like the

second layer, it was illuminated by an artificial sun, the ground blanketed in

well-maintained flowerbeds. The last thing Oliver had expected to see here.

"…A park?"

"More of a garden, really. Like the harpies inside, the gnomes look after it."

Karlie had taken a few steps forward, and now she swung back toward them,

arms outstretched.

"This place is a perk for any mages who can make it this far. They got

everything from herbs to mushrooms; whatever ingredients you need to brew

your potions. With gnomes looking after it, you know the quality's guaranteed.

Course, if you harvest too many, the reapers come after you."

Oliver nodded. This clarified some things. When they'd been searching for

Pete on the third layer, Miligan had suggested Ophelia might be gathering

materials on a floor below—and she'd likely meant this garden. Anyone who

made regular use of this area needed the proper strength to reliably clear the

prerequisite assignments, which was why Miligan had deemed it still too

dangerous as a fourth-year.

Looking around the garden, Oliver frowned. "I don't see any gnomes," he

said.

"They're pretty timid. They hide when we show up. We won't eatcha!"

Karlie cackled, and Oliver's eyes found gardening tools abandoned here and

there. A few minutes before, gnomes had been at work in the garden, and the

group's arrival had forced them all to take cover behind the foliage. He felt a

pang of guilt.

"You'll need a proper tour of the place, but that can wait till the return trip.

We're on a mission, so let's hit our destination first."

Karlie clearly knew her way around the place and moved swiftly ahead. The

garden wrapped all around the library tower and was pretty large, so it was a

solid twenty minutes before the greenery gave way to a large tunnel some fifty

yards in diameter. The cross-section was a perfect geometric circle (thus, it was

clearly no cave) and the walls themselves were coated in something very

smooth.

"This is one of the passages to the fifth layer, commonly known as the

helicoid halls. It's just one of twenty. Each of the halls connect to a different

point on the fifth layer."

Following her, they stepped carefully inside. A strong gust of wind ruffled

Oliver's hair. Ahead, the tunnel curved, and he couldn't see the end—as the

name suggested, it was a long and winding spiral.

"If we're h-hitting…Enrico—th-this is the pl-place."

"The reason being?" Oliver pressed.

"First," Karlie said, "less foot traffic than the second layer. We don't want any

surprises dropping in, so anything on the higher floors is out. Third layer could

go either way, but the terrain sucks, and there's too much aggressive wildlife. If

we wanna rule out flukes, tough to call the marsh a good choice.

"So we use the fourth layer's barrier to our advantage. Only mages with the

skills to pass the assignments can even get here, which means much less chance

of anyone passing through than up above. And most people who do come here

are after the books. Unless you got a real good reason to dive further, you don't

hit the tunnels."

He nodded. It all made sense. The battle before them was going to be fraught

enough as is, and any and all precautions against a third party jumping in were

well advised.

"Naturally, there are students who dive to the fifth floor and beyond," Gwyn

added. "But they won't be using Hall Eleven here. It leads somewhere extra

perilous. The only people unhinged enough to use it are a handful of

teachers…"

"…And one of those is Enrico Forghieri?" Oliver said, increasingly convinced.

These conditions sounded highly favorable.

"Exactly. And all this is only half the reason," Karlie replied.

When Oliver looked surprised, Robert took over.

"T-try using a barrier spell. Aim it at the f-floor. D-don't hold back."

"…?"

Puzzled, Oliver drew his athame and aimed it down.

"Clypeus!"

The spell's light hit the floor…but seconds passed, and no barrier formed.

Oliver's frown deepened.

"…We can't alter it?"

"That's right," Karlie said. "The fourth layer is highly neutral, which means the

terrain here is extremely resistant to magical interference. Even on other floors,

if you smash a wall down, it fixes itself, right? Basically just an extra strong

version of that. Labyrinth homeostasis."

Oliver experimented with a few more spells, but the results were always the

same. No matter the element, spells cast here vanished uselessly into the

terrain.

"And then there's the reapers. They patrol the library heavily, keeping the

valuable books safe. But the helicoid halls are out of bounds. They maintain

homeostasis, but we can go buck wild, and the reapers won't show. Best of

both worlds." Karlie grinned.

Oliver nodded, and Karlie looked further down the tunnel.

"Point is, it's nigh impossible to mess with the terrain magically. Given our

objective, can you see why we'd want that?"

"Golem interference," Oliver said. Not a difficult conclusion to reach.

"Yep!" Karlie said, beaming at him. "You've tried chasing Enrico around down

here before, so you know how bad it gets. We hit him anywhere else, no telling

what golems or magic traps'll come at us. That happens, the fight'll just be pure

chaos. And we either wear ourselves out and end up obliterated or get bogged

down long enough for him to escape—either way, it won't end well."

"…I've been wondering about that for a while. How does Enrico have so many

golems and traps ready and waiting?"

"I'm afraid n-nobody knows. W-we've tried tailing and s-scouting but to no

avail. But it's m-more than just the first l-layer. They s-swarm out on the second

and third, too."

Robert's frustration was clear. They'd spent a year trying to figure it out and

learned only that their opponent was not to be trifled with.

"B-but we can guess. We s-suspect there's a g-golem that plants other

golems. We h-have s-several theories about how that works but…he c-can't use

it here. The fourth layer's homeostasis is t-too strong."

Robert seemed sure of that, at least, and Oliver took him at his word,

nodding. They might not know everything, but what they did know was enough

to dull their target's advantage. And that was why they'd chosen the helicoid

halls.

"We'll still have to fight Enrico Forghieri himself and however many small or

medium golems he has on him. But fighting here limits him to that," said Karlie.

"Meanwhile, our side has thirty-two committed to the attempt. We go all out,

we've got a viable shot."

Enrico Forghieri was a builder. His threat level was concentrated in the

golems the man himself designed and constructed. This was a big part of why

they were hitting him before the other five targets. If they could peel him away

from his golems, fighting only the man himself, then in theory, he'd be one of

the easier opponents.

But Oliver was very aware that theory was but a small comfort. There was no

chance of starting within the spellblade's range, as he had with Darius. With

one Kimberly instructor already taken out, the rest would be on guard against a

spellblade. And Enrico himself was hardly a close-range fighter.

And the nature of Oliver's spellblade meant he couldn't hide his intentions

until the last possible second. It required extreme concentration, and to

activate it at all, he had to be in combat mode, both mentally and physically. His

hostility would be more than evident. That was one reason why he'd gone after

Darius head-on, baiting him into a duel.

But for all the reasons mentioned, a duel would not be possible this time

around. Like Karlie said, victory was only achievable with the full support of his

comrades. Armed with that conclusion, he asked, "How long is this hall?"

"Just over seven miles," Karlie answered. "Even at top broomspeed, you can't

get through it fast. The tunnels also serve as safety valves, preventing the real

nasty customers from wandering up from down below. If we're hitting him,

we'd do it somewhere in the middle."

"And it never branches?"

"Not even once. Can't even make one because of the homeostasis. Even if he

could, it'd be faster to just kill us all."

Oliver could think of nothing else to ask. He took a few deep breaths. Decision

time. With all the advantages this provided, any further hesitation would just be

cowardice.

"Very well. We hit the mad old man here."

Even as he said it, a shiver ran down his spine. Fear, tension—and a dark glee

that overshadowed those apprehensions.