······Two hours earlier.
Sylvia left in a car at seven in the evening. In her hands were a notebook, flowers, and a pen, and her mood was less than pleasant.
She sat quietly in the back seat and grumbled inwardly.
How could he assign that much work as if it were nothing? There had been the condition that “you only need to do two out of the three, and an excessively high level is not required,” but still. Even if it was a five-credit course, this was far too unreasonable······.
“We have arrived.”
While she was worrying over the assignments, they reached her destination.
Sylvia got out of the car without a word.
The evening air was cool. The sun sinking toward the western edge of the land scattered the sunset, and that cluster of light diffused across the sky, dyeing it pink.
It was scenery suited to the place.
Sylvia walked with the flowers in one hand. Her elegant shoes clicked along the cleanest path.
The place she arrived at was a gravestone adorned entirely with flowers.
[ Cielia von Elemin Iliade ]
[ Wife of the proud mage Giltheon, and mother of her beloved daughter Sylvia. ]
The place where her mother slept forever.
Her mother had wished to be buried in her homeland, and Sylvia had followed her to the imperial capital.
“I’m here.”
Sylvia knelt and set down the flowers.
“They say my little brother took an aptitude test at the estate today.”
Her father’s remarriage had already been five years ago. The younger brother who had appeared out of nowhere was now already four years old.
“They say he has no talent for magic. He looks like a potato, too. A whole potato. I think he’s still underdeveloped. Or maybe he was born lacking something.”
Today’s complaints continued softly.
“Professor Deculein is a bad person. He thinks I only take his class.”
She no longer remembered her mother’s voice. Even her sadness had grown faint now.
Even so, once a month, on an irregular day, the taciturn girl would come to speak.
Today’s excuse was Deculein’s assignment bomb, but whatever the reason, when she confided things here, her heart became somewhat lighter.
“······Then I’ll go. Take care.”
When her knees began to ache, Sylvia stood and turned away without hesitation.
She was about to leave the cemetery when—
What was this?
Beneath the sparse moonlight of the sky that had grown dark before she knew it.
A person she had never expected to encounter in a place like this, the person who had put her in a bad mood today, was standing not far away.
Deculein.
Without saying a word, he was looking at a certain gravestone.
However, he was not the only one who caught her eye.
There was also a beautiful knight clad in light armor, with snow-white hair holding the darkness within it.
She wondered if the two had come together, but it did not seem so. The woman was watching Deculein’s back from a little ways away, and Deculein was in a position where he could not see her.
“······.”
Deculein simply gazed at the gravestone.
For quite a long while, as though quietly pondering that name.
As though caressing the memories within it.
Then he knelt on one knee. With his bare hand, he gently stroked the gravestone.
The eyes with which he looked at the stone soon emptied completely. Moonlight gathered in his hollow pupils.
They were tears.
“······!”
More startled than she had been all year, Sylvia unconsciously let out a breath. Rustle—she had stepped on leaves, and so she was discovered.
Deculein flinched and sprang to his feet.
“······You.”
Then he glared at her with reddened eyes.
“I wasn’t trying to spy.”
Sylvia spoke plainly, as always. Unconsciously, she looked toward the place where the white-haired knight had been standing, but the knight was already gone.
Deculein followed Sylvia’s gaze.
“Was someone else there?”
Sylvia shook her head. She was tight-lipped by nature.
“No.”
At that, Deculein closed his eyes and let out a deep breath.
“Haa······.”
Sylvia worried that she might be scolded, but for Deculein, he was rather grateful.
Thanks to her, he had been able to escape the current of emotion.
It had been a raging wave.
Truly out of nowhere, in an instant, he had been seized by it.
Had he been caught any deeper, he would surely have drifted away.
“It is fine. Let us return.”
Deculein walked off somewhere. It was in a completely different direction from the entrance.
Sylvia hesitated, wondering where he was going, but for the moment she followed.
“Please don’t scold me.”
She said it out of impatience, but there was no answer.
Deculein kept walking.
As they went deeper, deeper, and deeper still, Sylvia grew a little uneasy.
“I won’t tell anyone what I saw today.”
Still silence.
Should she run away even now? But what if he said he would punish her? Could he punish her over such a private matter? No, he could belatedly punish her using the previous incident as an excuse.
“Sylvia.”
Deculein finally stopped and spoke.
“Yes.”
He looked here and there at the surrounding ground and sky.
“······Where is this?”
Sylvia blinked for a moment.
Deculein seemed, in any case, to be a little out of his mind.
Considering his tears had been exposed, perhaps that was understandable.
“The exit is the other way.”
“······I see. Lead the way.”
And so they turned around, but they could not take even a single step.
At the path deep within the cemetery.
On that narrow forest trail leading to the exit stood a hooded suspicious figure. He had not been there just moments ago, and at a glance he carried killing intent; he was plainly blocking their way.
Deculein looked at him with tired eyes.
“Who are you?”
The man did not answer. Deculein used telekinesis to draw back his hood.
When his bare face was revealed, Sylvia grew tense.
Long hair and a scar engraved around his eye. The eyes of a bird of prey and a slender jawline.
That face was one she knew, though she had never met him before.
The Wizard Killer she had only seen in composite sketches—Rockhark.
“Sylvia.”
“Yes.”
Deculein looked at him with 「Fate of a Villain」. A terrifying killing intent had gathered into a dark red mist.
“You run. Even if you go back the other way, you should be able to get out.”
Deculein took one step forward and placed Sylvia behind him. Sylvia asked back in a small voice.
“Really?”
“Yes. You cannot face him.”
Deculein knew. An ordinary mage could not be Rockhark’s opponent.
The trait he possessed was 「Magic Nullification」, the kind that could be called overpowered in any game.
It was not even something that had to touch his hand, nor his body. Simply within a certain radius around him, no one could use magic. Even magic fired from outside his territory would vanish once it entered his range.
The price for that overwhelming performance was the sacrifice of his own mana.
“Sylvia. Leave at once.”
Sylvia did not answer. Deculein’s eyebrow twitched.
“Do not be stubborn. Go.”
There was still no answer. Deculein clenched his teeth.
“Sylvia. Even if you stay, you will only get in the way. Do not do anything foolish······?”
Deculein, who had been about to turn around and shout, paused blankly for a moment.
Sylvia was gone.
No, she was far away.
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat—tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat—
It was an extremely dynamic sprint in dress shoes.
“······.”
Yes. Rather than hovering around and interfering, that was better.
Deculein gave a hollow laugh and faced Rockhark. Rockhark seemed to have no intention of letting Sylvia go, so a swift resolution was necessary.
The man held a dagger in one hand. It was a weapon of rare grade or higher, wavering with a chilling edge and aura.
Deculein merely stood there and put on his gloves. He adjusted his collar and straightened the creases of his suit.
“······You will not be able to use magic before me.”
Deculein calmly looked at Rockhark as he said that.
“Very well. I shall receive you without magic.”
Rockhark’s temple throbbed. Soon, he twisted his mouth and charged in, the dagger gripped in his hand trailing behind him.
Deculein stood still where he was.
As if expecting him to enter his embrace.
Without any defense or preparation.
As he glared at that arrogantly haughty noble······ Rockhark thought.
Mages were always beasts like that, haughty and arrogant.
They relied on the petty trick called magic, simply forgetting their own weakness while deluding themselves into thinking they were superior, pitiful beings who distinguished superiority and inferiority, nobility and baseness among humans.
That was why, the moment they realized that “magic cannot exist” within his territory, they despaired. They lost all their proud confidence and self-respect, weeping and begging for their lives.
That damned professor would be no different.
No, if anything, that professor was the very archetype of a mage. The end of his shabby life, as natural as the sun setting and the moon rising, was······ that he deserved to die.
Having closed in on Deculein, Rockhark swung his dagger without hesitation.
“······Kugh!”
And then he was thrown back. An unknown impact struck his abdomen.
Rockhark tumbled across the road, but rose again and glared at Deculein. Deculein still stood in the exact same place, not having moved a single step.
Cough—!
Blood mixed into his cough. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth.
So, he had hidden a blunt weapon in his pocket.
“Hup!”
Rockhark dashed sharply forward, extending his arm as if to stab with the dagger, then stepped back.
It was a feint meant to identify the type of weapon—
But a long leg flew in and struck down at the bridge of his nose.
“──!”
Rockhark retreated, clutching his nose.
“······Rockhark.”
Deculein’s eyes as he looked at him were so composed they seemed indifferent. That tranquil gaze was, if anything, chilling.
“How much do my hands and feet hurt?”
Deculein asked. He sincerely wanted to know.
The “quality of mana” was not limited simply to magic. With a little exaggeration, calling it the “quality of a human being” was not entirely wrong.
The quality of mana applied to everything in which mana was involved—that is, even to 「Traits」.
Therefore, 「Iron Man」, which helped him use his body more efficiently and more destructively, should also have risen by one stage.
That was why Deculein was curious.
“Do not make me ask twice.”
Rockhark stemmed the flowing blood and glared at Deculein.
“How much do my hands and feet hurt?”
Deculein looked down at him from afar. Haughtily, as though looking at someone beneath him, and that gaze made Rockhark’s emotions surge.
“Answer.”
Rockhark turned and ran. But at some moment, his legs lifted into the air—and he was slammed into the road, the back of his head first.
Thud──!
With an immense shock, his vision overturned, and he met the gleam of someone’s eyes descending like the sky.
Blue eyes.
Alone in the darkness, blue crystals shining like a devil.
······The eyes of Yukline.
“Answer.”
In that state, Rockhark thrust his leg upward. A dagger shot out from the sole of his foot and surged toward Deculein’s neck. Deculein avoided it merely by taking one step back.
It was a graceful movement, like dancing a waltz.
Rockhark hurriedly got up and staggered.
“······I admit it.”
You are strong. You are of a different grain entirely from the mages I have faced until now. However, the method to kill you is certain.
Within Rockhark’s territory, no magic could be realized. That principle could not be explained magically. If he had to express it, it was a principle of hatred.
However, within it, he alone—
Could take “one step” more than you.
Rockhark looked at Deculein.
His body was full of openings, but Rockhark could not be fooled. He already knew from experience that this itself was a trap.
······A trap was to be repaid with a trap.
Rockhark ran again. The safe distance was soon shattered, and as Rockhark lowered his body, Deculein thrust out his fist.
This time, he had identified it clearly.
Not a blunt weapon, but a fist.
At that moment, Rockhark’s leg moved once more.
A distance of only one step.
However, that difference was enough to divide the line of death.
Crunch—
The sound of a dagger biting into flesh.
Done!
Rockhark looked up at him with a sneer.
But that smile······ soon scattered faintly away.
“You use truly curious tricks.”
Deculein, the dagger buried in his side, was gazing at Rockhark with complete calm.
“If it is to this extent······.”
His face instead seemed to be calculating something. Rockhark twisted the dagger sideways. A faint tremor rose in Deculein’s brow, but soon settled back into composure.
“It is more than bearable.”
Then he brought his elbow down into Rokhak’s brow, where he lurked at his side. Crunch—! Immediately after, he slammed his opposite fist into Rokhak’s jaw.
──!
A bursting sound, like a watermelon being smashed with a bare fist.
Rokhak was sent flying and crashed into the pavement.
“……Rokhak.”
Clack, clack. Deculein slowly approached the man sprawled out on his back.
“I will ask you one final time. To what extent—”
“……You crazy bastard. It feels like I got hit with a hammer. Happy now?!”
Deculein nodded and looked down at Rokhak as he asked.
“One more thing. Why did you murder the mages?”
He was curious. Even if the man had nothing to do with the main story, he wanted to know.
“Because mages are a cursed breed! Apostates who betrayed God!”
The man shouted as if coughing up blood.
“The Floating Island, Bercht, the Magic Tower—all of them are rotten to the core. Vermin who can do nothing without magic. Madmen who delight in slaughter.”
“……”
“But you…… you……!”
Rokhak struggled to move his whole body. But he had no feeling below his neck.
“Fuck, just what the hell are you……?”
Deculein considered whether to kill him.
But there was no killing intent toward one who had acknowledged defeat. The “Fate of a Villain” was easily overcome.
Above all, he had learned one thing from the man’s words.
“I see. You are of the Red Casket clan.”
In that instant, Rokhak’s eyes flew wide open. His bloodshot pupils reflected Deculein.
“How did you know? Does Yukline still remember the Red Casket?”
“At the very least, I remember.”
They were called the Red Casket clan because they were born with their entire bodies enclosed in a red casket. Since ancient times, they had been known as a bloodline born with demonic blood.
However, since magic was an invention created to execute demons, mages and the Red Casket clan could only be natural enemies.
That explosive, interlocking conflict was one of the major threads of the game’s story.
“I understand your hearts. I pity the years of persecution and oppression you have endured.”
“……”
The Red Casket clan lived hidden somewhere on the continent, but their fate was precarious. They feared the magic that could descend upon them anytime, anywhere, in the name of judgment.
If the emperor were to change in the not-so-distant future, a full-scale massacre might be carried out. For the reason that the Red Casket were no different from demons.
No, even now, that “cleaning” was being carried out in ways both seen and unseen.
“However, if you kill innocent mages, then you are nothing but the same kind of monster.”
“……Just kill me.”
Rokhak, saying that, seemed strangely resigned.
“I will not kill you. Killing the likes of you would only diminish my dignity.”
It was then. A commotion rose in the distance. Numerous reinforcements were approaching. It seemed Sylvia had successfully asked for help.
“Enough talk! Kill me! Hurry!”
Deculein shook his head.
“I know. That the Red Casket have committed no sin.”
“……What? What would a mage like you know—!”
Rokhak flew into a rage. He screamed as if in a fit. The footsteps from afar were drawing closer.
“I am Deculein of Yukline.”
As he said that, Deculein straightened his crumpled sleeves and tightened his loosened tie. He arranged his collar and set his shirt and jacket back in order.
“I am the origin of magic that has continued since antiquity, and of a bloodline of hunters who convulse at the sight of demons.”
Rokhak merely lay on the pavement, looking up at him.
“Rokhak.”
A cold wind blew, brushing through his hair.
“Did I lose my dignity while facing you?”
Looking at the nobility with which he murmured those words.
“Or was I shaken by a provocation from the likes of you?”
Looking at the majesty that had not faltered for even a moment.
“You may trust my words.”
There was a single word that surfaced in Rokhak’s mind.
“You are not demons, but humans.”
Noble.
A true dignity, different from any counterfeit in the world.
“……”
The rage that had burned in Rokhak’s eyes died away. In the empty place it left behind, an inexplicable sorrow settled in.
That lyrical emotion annoyed Deculein, so he drove his foot into Rokhak’s brow.
“Guh!”
The struck Rokhak immediately lost consciousness, and soon after, the police force surged in.