Chapter 125

The skinny old man spun around and began to run. They couldn’t let him get away. I have to chase him, thought Monica. But just as she prepared to take off, Ray fell to the ground, clinging to his staff. He had a hand over his mouth, and his already pale face looked even worse than usual. “His curse is giving me indigestion,” he moaned. “It was stronger than I thought… Blech.” Peter’s cursecraft was vicious enough to kill a young dragon. Monica thought Ray was pretty amazing for being able to eat it without suffering anything worse than indigestion. “I, um, I’ll go follow him!” she said. “Thanks… Urrrp.” Monica scampered off as fast as she could in pursuit of Peter. She wanted to attack him with magecraft, but the man knew these gardens like the back of his hand; he was deftly moving between trees, keeping himself hidden. And with how bad her vision was at night, it was difficult to attack him at all. She wanted to use more flames for illumination, but there were too many decorative trees around. If one of them caught fire, it would quickly spread, resulting in a real disaster. In that case… Monica struck the ground once with her staff. She’d just cast a simple spell without chanting—all it did was imbue the earth nearby with mana. Immediately, a bunch of the flowers planted in the garden began to glow and blossom, releasing particles of white light. The garden was full of spiritrests. By imbuing the land with mana, she had caused them to bloom, and she could now use their light as illumination. Now she wouldn’t have to worry about starting a big fire. And she only had to imbue the ground once, too. The flowers would continue to glow without her having to maintain the spell. She didn’t see Peter anywhere in the flowers’ range. He was probably hiding in the shadow of a tree, watching her for an opening. It was possible Peter had more than one cursed tool. If she attacked recklessly, he might land a nasty counterattack. I’ll just have to smoke him out of the shadows. Monica squeezed her staff and focused. An enormous quantity of numbers rushed through her mind. Then she used a magecraft formula to perfectly re-create them. “…Burn this into your memory.” The staff gave off a faint glow, and Monica’s round eyes glimmered green, reflecting its light. The Silent Witch broke her silence and declared mercilessly, “This is what your curse has wrought.” Hiding in the darkness, Peter Summs waited for his chance. He still had the cursed tool in his hand. It was a failed version of the curse meant to make a living human into a puppet. It was too strong for its intended use, however, and would kill its target instead. But that was enough to get Peter out of this situation. He couldn’t afford to be picky about keeping her alive. She was a Sage. So what if she’s a Sage? So what if she’s a genius? They’re a band of freaks! Peter was a talented man. That was how he knew. The Abyss Shaman, who had devoured his curse, and the Silent Witch, who used advanced magecraft without chanting—they were beyond the realm of mere geniuses. They were monsters. If you show me even the slightest opening, I’ll curse you to death! As his hand closed around the cursed tool in his pocket, a large black shadow suddenly appeared between him and the Silent Witch. Wait, what is that? It was a giant mass, crawling along the ground—a creature covered in green scales, being eaten away by a dark shadow. Its beautiful wings were full of holes, its mouth was burned to a crisp, and its limply hanging tongue was charred and black. Its big golden eyes were clouded with white, and he couldn’t sense any life behind them. But then, suddenly, they turned to look straight at him. The pure hatred in those eyes made Peter cry out in spite of himself. “Ah! Ahh, eeee, ahhhh!” Wasn’t that the green dragon who had eaten the cursed tool? What was it doing here? How was it still alive? The beast slid along the ground, closing in on him. “Noooooooooo!” Peter couldn’t keep still anymore. He burst out from behind the shadow of a tree and ran away as fast as he could. Once she saw him, Monica released her illusion. Illusion magecraft was an extremely advanced technique and held a special place in the field. To be frank, while Monica could manage it unchanted, she hadn’t completely mastered it. She couldn’t move while using it, nor could she use any other spells at the same time. The illusions she created weren’t very precise, either. They were far from the real thing. Whenever she tried to make them move, they looked very unnatural. That was why Monica almost never used illusion spells. If she was able to perfectly re-create a living thing with them, she would have made a copy of herself to attend events in her place. It’s a good thing it’s nighttime… Because it was harder to see at night, everything had worked much better than usual. And the awkwardness in her illusion’s motions didn’t seem so unnatural for a green dragon on the verge of death. Peter wheezed and whimpered as he ran around a corner of the mansion. Everything was going as Monica had planned. Immediately, she heard the man scream and a dog bark behind the building. She scampered off after him, turning the corner herself. “Hey, kiddo. I waited right here, just like you asked.” As she rounded the corner, she saw two people. The first was Peter, who had been bitten in the leg by a dog and was now down on his rear. The second was a black-haired servant commanding the hunting dogs—Bartholomeus Baal. When the latter saw Monica, he waved. “Ha-ha! How do you like that?” he said. “I’m pretty good, aren’t I?” “Um, thank…you. Could you have the dog stand down?” Bartholomeus said “back” to the hunting dog, and it quickly came away from Peter. Once it was clear, Monica immediately put up a sealing barrier around the traitorous shaman. Peter’s face twisted with hate, and he held up the shamanic tool in his hand. The black shadow dripping from the tool transformed into a slender, snakelike shape and tried to break the barrier. But the black snake was blocked by an invisible wall and fell to the ground. Monica gazed at Peter impassively. “It won’t work. I used an anti-curse formula.” “Damn it! Damn it, damn it, damn it all!” Peter swore, spittle flying from his mouth. Bartholomeus looked at him with pity and sadness. “I never dreamed old Peter would turn out to be a shaman…” At this point, Peter wasn’t paying any attention to Bartholomeus. His wide-open eyes were fixed on Monica, and his body shook terribly. Why was there such fear in his eyes as he looked at her? Why did he seem so flustered? It was almost as if he’d come face-to-face with a dead man. In a trembling voice, Peter moaned, “I knew you would never forgive me… Venedict Reyn…” Monica’s thoughts instantly stopped. “…Huh?” Bartholomeus seemed confused by the unfamiliar name. But Monica knew who Peter was talking about. How could she forget? Venedict Reyn was her father, executed seven years ago. Why would he bring up my father’s name…? Monica was disturbed, but Peter seemed even more upset than she was. A greasy sweat broke out across his whole body, and he began to claw at his own face. “Ah, ahhhh, Venedict! Even in death, you hunt me! Is this vengeance for selling you out to His Excellency…?!” His bloodshot eyes no longer saw Monica. They looked past her at someone who wasn’t there—someone long dead. Peter’s trembling lips twisted into a grin. “Ahhh, hah, ha-ha, ha-ha-ha! I won’t be like Arthur! I… I’ll… His Excellency will acknowledge me, and… Hee… Hee-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” He thrust another shamanic tool out in front of him. It looked similar to the first one, but bigger. A black shadow dripped from the tool and expanded. It happened much more quickly than before—and it grew much larger. It’s stronger than the last one! Monica clenched her teeth in panic, wondering if her anti-curse barrier would hold out. The shadow, however, had other plans. Once expanded, it didn’t attack her barrier at all—instead, it coiled around Peter’s arm. “…Huh?” Monica wasn’t the only one in shock. Peter yelped as well, looking at his arm in astonishment. “Wait. No! Not me! Your prey, it’s— Eee, noo, ahhh!” He opened his mouth wide, but before his scream could come out, the shadow lurched into his throat. He’d lost control of the curse. “Hey, Peter!” shouted Bartholomeus. But it was too late. Monica’s magecraft couldn’t stop the onset of curses. Especially not when they moved as swiftly as this one had. In two blinks of an eye, Peter had collapsed to the ground and stopped moving, his entire body dyed black. As the shaman met his end, consumed by the curse, his lips trembled, and he muttered his final words. “…Venedict… Is this your revenge…?” Peter’s body, now a black shadow in the shape of a human, quickly collapsed and disappeared like ashes scattering in the wind. All that remained was the shamanic tool—that jet-black gemstone decorated with gold. But…why…? Monica wasn’t yet able to process the shocking scene before her. More than anything else, Peter’s final words had disturbed her. Why was he saying my father’s name? Peter must have been linked to her father’s death. He’d sold her father out to someone…to the one he’d referred to as His Excellency. Was that person the mastermind behind the cursed dragon incident, too? Monica hung her head. Hands shaking, she covered her face. Why would a shaman who cursed a dragon know my father? “Hey, kiddo, you all right? Hey!” Monica didn’t register Bartholomeus’s worried voice, either. Her brown eyes tinged with green clouded over as they stared out from between her fingers. Her chest hurt. Every time she took a breath, she felt like she was absorbing some of the residue from the dead shaman. It made her want to throw up. Why? How? She had so many questions. But there was nobody here to answer them. The only man who knew the truth had just been devoured by a curse right in front of her. She only knew one thing for sure. …My father was killed. Someone wanted to get rid of him. The sight of her father burning flashed across the back of her eyelids. Deep in her ears, she heard the voice of the executor passing judgment on him. “This man, Venedict Reyn, has been conducting research on class-one forbidden magecraft in secret. He has plotted to overthrow the state. Thus, he will now be burned at the stake. Let the flames of our great spirit god scorch you and purge the sin from your body!” No, she thought. No, no! My father isn’t a criminal! Her breathing now ragged, Monica glared at the shamanic tool Peter had left behind. It had to be the key to finding out the truth. Wait for me, Dad… Monica picked up the tool, squeezed it in her little hand, and made a promise. I swear I’ll prove you’re not a criminal. As those people hurled stones at her father’s body hanging from that tree, and as the executor burned his books, the young Monica could do nothing. But she wasn’t that helpless child anymore. She was one of the Seven Sages—the Silent Witch. Slowly, she rose from her squatting position, the cursed tool in her hand. Then she looked up at Bartholomeus, who was watching her with concern. “I have, um, a request to make of you, Mister Bartholomeus.” “Hmm? You do?” Felix, who had known about the cursecraft. Peter, a shaman devoured by his own curse. The two men Peter had mentioned—His Excellency and Arthur. Maybe all four of them were involved not just in the cursed dragon incident but also in the death of Monica’s father. She needed to know the truth. She wanted to clear his good name. And to do that, she’d need a helper—someone she could rely on, who could operate outside of Serendia Academy. “I’d, um, like to hire you!”