Prologue

Where there is risk, there are rewards. Hence the students of Kimberly delve

into the labyrinth's depths.

Rare flora and fauna, precious minerals, even ancient writings—to a mage,

the labyrinth is a veritable treasure trove. The density of resources is simply like

no other. One might have to search the whole wide world to find a material on

the surface, yet down below, that same thing could be found on any given

layer.

But claiming that bounty requires considerable skill. Coming back alive is

merely the premise—the true test lies in locating the specific item sought

within the labyrinth's sprawl. Distinguishing medicine from poison, identifying

mineral deposits, tracking magical beasts, and hunting them efficiently—master

all these skills, and the labyrinth's gifts are positively abundant.

"…Nee-ha-ha! You'll not escape us so easy!"

A fifth-year student, Pamela Gorton knew a lot about feasting on the

labyrinth's plenty. On a far corner of the third layer, the Miasma Marsh, she

was leading a group of younger students in pursuit of a richman. An amphibious

magifauna, its fins could be sold as high-quality spellstones. The fish itself used

these fins to maneuver through the wind, sailing across the bog below.

Pamela's crew was just barely keeping up.

"It's turning! Hit it, Hugh!"

"Tonitrus!"

Their relentless pursuit had made the richman flinch—it banked left, just as

the beaters had planned. A group of students was lying in wait; one hit it with a

spell. The richman landed flat on its side, not moving, and two hunters tackled

it, holding it down. The caster poked their head out of the brush nervously.

"Did…did I get it?"

"Yep! It's snagged!"

"Whew…!"

Like Gorton had taught them, one stabbed a vital spot, finishing it off. The

kids hoisted their catch high, cheering.

Many beasts would attack on sight, but on the labyrinth's lower levels, that

just made them easy to hunt. Cautious creatures that lay in hiding—those

tested a hunter's skills. And the majority of labyrinth fauna fell in the latter

category. This group had spent days tracking this richman.

"Brilliant," Gorton called, smiling at the hunters' celebration. "It's a big lug,

but bring the meat back, too. The part 'round the tail is prized, and the

Gourmets'll pay a pretty penny."

"This thing's edible?!"

"I'd rather not…"

"They'll eat anything."

Grumbling, they dressed and packaged their catch, each shouldering their

share.

Gorton turned her back toward them. "You guys go ahead," she said.

"Mm?"

"What's wrong?"

"Gonna take a gander 'round this layer. You handle my share of the catch."

She waved them off. Her party shrugged but moved on. When she was sure

they were out of earshot, she spoke again.

"So…what can I do for you, Rivermoore?"

The ground in front of her welled up. From the mud rose a sinister sphere

constructed of innumerable bones. And within: a grinning warlock, possessed of

a clerical gravitas that boded well for no one.

"Well spotted," he said. "I knew you were a good piece of meat."

"We're off to a grand start already. You sure know how to flatter a lady."

Pamela kept her sarcasm light, but her eyes never left him. "You after grub? I'm

selling at fair market prices."

"Your catches are well worth it. You know how to make a clean finish. But I'm

here on other business today."

Rivermoore shook his head as he ran his eyes over Gorton's form, peering

through her clothes, past her skin, and beyond the muscle.

"I'm after your second lumbar vertebra. Name a price and I'll consider it."

"Don't be daft. My body ain't for sale." Her tone grew harsher. She was well

aware this entire interaction was a ticking bomb. "I told you last time I wasn't

selling. If you're still gunning for it, then you're a thief."

"Fair," Rivermoore admitted. He turned his gaze in the direction her party had

run. "You knew this would happen and got them to clear out? You're a regular

mentor now. How time flies."

"Don't it, though? I'm already a fifth-year. Can't stay scared of you forever."

Even as she spoke, she remembered their last encounter, when they were still

in the lower forms. The man who'd saved her that day had said, "Make yourself

stronger. Next time, it'll be you keeping the kids safe."

"I'm the Labyrinth Seller, Pamela Gorton. Star mentee of the Survivor, Kevin

Walker. Ready when you are!"

She drew her athame—and the warlock's lips twisted into a ghoulish grin.

"Impetus!"

The Seller threw the first spell. Rivermoore calmly let her gust spell slam

against his bone barrier.

"Hrm," he grunted. He'd spotted a bottle at Gorton's feet—hidden by her

robe. She'd placed it there as they spoke, without his noticing. It was nearly

empty—so whatever it contained was already loose. But to what end?

Before he came upon an answer, the results presented themselves.

Rivermoore found himself surrounded by creatures with spindly bodies and

translucent wings, the sheer number of them severely limiting his vision. As

their number increased, Rivermoore snorted.

"Skyfish. You scattered a lure scent on my bones."

"I ain't a match for your power, sir. But I know more about the third layer

than you do!"

Gorton grinned. The bottle at her feet had contained a vaporized potion that

the wind had carried toward Rivermoore. Even if he'd blocked her spell, the

potion still wound up on his bones. All this had done was lure in a swarm of

insects, but if this many creatures gathered anywhere on the third layer—it

would attract interest. Rivermoore spotted several other marsh magifauna

closing in, and he narrowed his eyes.

"Wind snakes drawn by their favorite snack…and longtongue lizards to eat the

snakes. You've activated the full food chain. Which means—"

Even as he whispered, the ground nearby erupted, and something giant

leaped out. A wyrm—the largest predator of the third layer. Rivermoore

dodged the attack from the back of his bony serpent, genuinely impressed.

"—you do fight like the Survivor. You've learned well, Gorton."

"Know your environment, harmonize with it—and then use that! Survival

basics, sir. Here, your bones don't belong."

Gorton had forced Rivermoore into the food chain effect but kept herself

outside, free to fling spells from the sidelines. He was no longer just up against

the Labyrinth Seller but the entire third-layer ecosystem. Gorton spoke the

truth, and it made him wince.

"You've got me there," Rivermoore replied. "But do you know what used to

rule this layer?"

As if in answer to his call, a chunk of the ground liquefied, whirling—and a

giant toothy bone maw emerged. Gorton leaped back, and the flow pulled in

the wyrm—where it was bitten clean in half. The last thing the Seller expected

to see here.

"…?!"

"The apex predator of yore. Only its bones remain."

That was not the sole table that had turned. The second coming of the longdead ruler put flight to every creature's heels. Wyrms and skyfish alike

scattered like newborn spiders. And in the deserted space they left behind

stood Rivermoore—and the skeleton he controlled.

"The ancient terror lives on within them," he growled. "You spend your days

rummaging through corpses, all you can see is the past."

He spun slowly. Gorton had long since stopped firing and was out of sight—

but Rivermoore caught the faint sounds of her receding footsteps. Three

skeletal creatures assembled themselves at his feet and darted out across the

bog; one of them locked its jaws around his target's leg.

"Gah…!"

"I knew you'd turn tail and run the moment things turned against you."

He rode out on his serpent and soon found where his bony beasts had the

Labyrinth Seller pinned. The serpent's tail slapped the athame from her hand—

her last resistance.

Rivermoore slid down from his skeletal mount. One hand took a firm grip on

Gorton's throat, hauling her body upright.

"Meat that lives with all its might leaves better bones behind. I'll help myself

to just one small piece of your life, Gorton."

"…The interest's…gonna be a bitch…!"

But words were the sole resource the Labyrinth Seller had left. Rivermoore

savored them with evident pleasure—and slid his athame into her flesh.

A few hours later, in the cave just past the end of the second layer—where

the Battle of Hell's Armies took place.

"This time, I just sailed straight through. Shame! Clear it once, and you've

gotta wait a whole year to try again! And it was so much fun."

Muttering to himself, Yuri Leik moved through darkness. Each passing day

took him farther into the labyrinth's depths, and half the third layer was already

in his range.

"The Library Plaza sounds pretty neat, too, but I bet soloing that would kill

me. Wonder if Oliver would be up for— Mm?"

His thoughts were interrupted, and he paused his advance. There was

something on the ground ahead. Spotting a uniform, he ran over.

"A student? Hellooo? Are you alive?"

There was no answer, so he bent down and looked her over. It was a girl from

the upper forms, unconscious, her complexion pale. Yuri recognized her

distinctively large mouth. He'd bought things from her shop on the first layer.

"Gorton, fifth-year. No visible injuries…"

He peeled her robe back for a quick inspection but saw nothing that needed

urgent healing. However, something struck him as odd. He probed at that

feeling a moment and then whispered:

"Hmm…it's like something important's been taken out of her."

Meanwhile, on the Flower Road leading into Kimberly, the spring warmth had

the buds starting to loosen.

"So I said, 'Yo, you've got that spell all wrong. An ordinary's shiny bald head

ain't gonna sprout hair just because you chant Progressio. It's not like you

scattered seeds on it.'"

A man stood before the dahlias, surrounded by students of his year, speaking

with enthusiasm. It was the student body president, Alvin Godfrey himself. He

was performing a classic magical comedy routine, but both his voice and

gestures were oddly stiff, ensuring that the humor of it was entirely lost. He

was, quite frankly, being a giant ham.

"And he said, 'Makes sense. Next time I'll sow some seeds first. But what

seeds should I use? Some sort of dense vine?' I couldn't stand listening to

another word of this nonsense and left him to it. But the next morning—"

"Ugh, enough."

"Go away. Next!"

The dahlias were not about to sit through the whole routine and mercilessly

sent him packing. Godfrey stood frozen for several seconds, then turned away,

shoulders heaving. He sat down next to Lesedi, who'd long since taken her turn,

and his head did not lift.

"…Ngh…!"

"You're straight-up shaking there."

"I practiced…for six months…"

"You're such a try-hard," Lesedi said with a snort.

It was very Godfrey to go all out on these things, even if nobody asked him to.

He'd been like that since she first met him and had grown no better at

navigating the world. Grinning, she turned her eyes back to the performers

ahead.

"Well, the dahlias have always been a tough crowd. But this does bring it all

home. Once upon a time, it was us coming down the Flower Road. And here we

are, casting the spring spell."

Her tone was light, but the meaning was weighty. They'd survived six whole

years at Kimberly but knew far too many students who hadn't. And the missing

faces included those who'd been precious friends.

Seeing them once more in his mind's eye, Godfrey clenched his fists tight.

"I don't want much from our last year. But at the least…"

He opened his eyes. The burden of the presidency was resting squarely on his

shoulders.

"…until I graduate, I don't want anyone else to die."