Chapter 156

“Very good, my children.” Relva left no corpse. When a spirit used up all its power, it dissipated, and its mana returned to the corresponding Spirit King. But the cruel witch’s Rose Fortress had devoured all Relva’s mana before it could begin the journey. The flame spirit dissipated, and the suits of armor were all destroyed. There were no longer any threats, but the man-eating roses continued to propagate, searching for their next prey. They traveled quickly, and for a moment, it seemed they might fill the whole forest. But once the fortress expanded a certain distance, the curse engraved on the witch’s neck glowed purple. “Cursecraft? …How vexing.” She softly stroked her neck, then closed her eyes drowsily and fell to the ground. Surrounded by roses, she drifted off to sleep. “Hngh… Please don’t overdo it, Great Witch…” Tormented by the curse’s nightmares, Raul’s brow creased in discomfort as he tossed and turned on the ground. “Urgh… I can’t go on… I can’t keep running any longer…” Ray clung to a nearby tree, his legs shaking. Sweat dripped from his pale face. He truly looked like he was about to draw his last breath. Glenn stopped and turned back; he’d been running ahead, alongside Sezhdio. “You all right, purple kid?” “If I look all right to you…then you must be blind… I didn’t sleep at all last night on that carriage…and I’ve been walking since morning… My body can’t take any more…” Glenn gave a start and looked back the way they’d come. “Wait, then will that rose guy be okay?” “With how loud he snored on the carriage, I’m sure he’s fine… I wish I were even half as shameless…” As he listened to the others talk, Cyril looked down at the boyish spirit in his arms. His charge was still limp, eyes firmly shut. As beings of pure mana, spirits didn’t sweat, and their complexions never changed. The one in Cyril’s arms looked like a broken doll. Glenn glanced between the two of them anxiously. “VP, I can take a turn carrying him.” “No, wait.” The denial came from Sezhdio. The wolflike creature set his orange eyes on Cyril—more specifically, on the broach around his neck. “Human. I see you are releasing ice mana.” “Oh, yes…” Cyril nodded and looked down at his broach as well. He had a condition known as mana hyperabsorption. The broach—a magical item—helped him by releasing excess mana whenever he drew in too much. Sezhdio snorted, seeming to bite back his disapproval. “That mana is keeping him alive. You must carry him.” “…All right.” Cyril tightened his grip on the spirit. He was light, like a doll filled with cotton. Even now, bits of mana continued to drip from his wound. Cyril glanced at Sezhdio’s front paw. His injury had nearly healed, and mana had stopped dispersing from it. But Ice Spirit’s gut wound shows no signs of closing up… The spirit had told him before that he didn’t have much mana left. Maybe that was slowing his recovery. “Humans,” Sezhdio rumbled, “I will look around for any nearby enemies… Do not run off.” The spirit burst into a run, and his gray fur disappeared into the trees. They were a good distance away from Relva now, and Ray insisted he couldn’t move another inch. It was probably best to take a short break. Cyril reaffirmed his grip on Ice Spirit and turned to the shaman, who was still leaning against a tree. Perhaps, as one of the Seven Sages, Ray would know more about this kind of thing. It was a faint hope, but Cyril clung to it and asked, “Lord Albright, do you know of any way to heal spirits?” Ray slowly looked up and gazed at Cyril. His pink eyes glinted eerily behind purple bangs. “Are you contracted to that spirit?” “No, I’m not.” “…Then you have no reason to help him.” Cyril was about to call him heartless but stopped. Ray was a Sage. Cyril couldn’t afford to be rude. “I believe it’s only natural to want to help those who have grown weak,” he said instead. “Spirits are considered a type of magical creature, but they are closer to natural phenomena. Would you ‘save’ a natural phenomenon? They’re not human. And they’re not animals, either.” Cyril fell silent, unsure of what to say. He didn’t know enough about spirits to contradict Ray. Still, he didn’t want to give in. Still holding Ice Spirit, he lowered his voice and asked, “…Then you would have me abandon him?” “You’re still thinking about this the wrong way. You wouldn’t talk about ‘abandoning’ a natural phenomenon. All a human can do is watch over them as nature takes its course.” Ray’s tone was flat and detached, as though what he was saying was obvious. “Devout spirit-worshippers like to convince themselves that spirits are messengers of a god or kind neighbors…,” he continued. “But ask anyone who deals in magecraft or cursecraft, and they’ll tell you that while spirits might be our neighbors, they’re nothing but trouble.” Ridill’s chief religion was spirit worship. People had faith in the spirit god, who stood above even the Spirit Kings. In modern times, people seldom saw spirits in the course of daily life. Still, they were familiar—people sang about their legends and used their names for calendar months. Alteria chimes, too, were named for a spirit. But the more well-versed and connected a family was to magecraft, the more they kept their distance. They knew exactly how terrifying such beings could be. “At most, we deal with spirits through contracts or use magecraft to summon Spirit Kings. As long as our interests align, we can cooperate with them. But try to go any further, and…” Ray’s pink eyes gave an uncanny, crystalline glint. “…you’ll be destroyed.” Cyril gulped. Ray’s viewpoint was probably the correct one for a human being. But Cyril couldn’t accept it so easily. Everything seemed to clash—Cyril’s position as a human, what the spirits said, and Cyril’s own feelings. He couldn’t find a clear answer. As he fell silent, Ray glanced over at Glenn. “The ridiculously tall fellow probably understands them better than you… After all, his master—the Barrier Mage—has a contracted spirit.” Suddenly named in the conversation, Glenn scratched his cheek and gave a strained smile. “Oh, well, hmm… They’re unique, you know? Sometimes you can talk to them, and sometimes you can’t.” Ray turned back to Cyril, as if to say I told you so. But Glenn continued with his usual nonchalance. “Still! If we can save him, then why wouldn’t we?” His words were simple but clear—unaffected and pleasant. Their frankness washed away Cyril’s doubts and hesitations. “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?!” Ray ranted, clawing at his purple hair. “Not a word of it, right?! Damn it… A curse upon the both of you…” Ignoring the Sage’s whining, Glenn turned a cheerful smile on Cyril. “Aren’t you always saying we have to stick to our decisions?” Glenn’s response had caused all the tension to leave Cyril’s body, and he wanted to shoot the boy a wry smile… But at the same time, he felt deeply relieved, so he settled on nodding instead. “Right. Yes… You’re right.” He’d promised to help this forest’s spirits, and that included the one in his arms. …I’m going to save him. He held the spirit to his chest as his fingertips touched his broach. His condition had always been a burden on him, a cause of suffering. But for the first time, it was proving useful. That fact alone cheered him up, if only a little. Sezhdio rushed around the forest, patrolling. Ice Spirit won’t survive the day like that… He and Ice Spirit hadn’t known each other for long. The boyish spirit had drifted into the forest one mild winter and lived there ever since. After that, he’d begun to weaken. Eventually, he’d forgotten his own name. Spirits close to dissipation tended to forget who they were. Even so, he was one of only a few high spirits, and Sezhdio respected him and didn’t want him to disappear. Sezhdio had lived for a long time and experienced the loss of many of his kind. We must not lose any more spirits. Perhaps they could survive by forming contracts with humans. However, not many humans had the strength to form a contract with a spirit—and you needed a special stone for it. Above all, Sezhdio disliked humans and didn’t view such contracts positively. It was humiliating to be bound to a human by a stone and toil as their servant. The spirit kept their volition, yes, but how was that any different from being forced to power a magical item? And so, Sezhdio had prepared an offering should things go south. Fire spirits preferred alcohol and roasted offerings. For water spirits, it was clean, clear water and the bounty of the seas. Wind spirits liked songs, earth spirits favored the blessings of the land, and lightning spirits appreciated metalwork. Through such offerings, they gained power. Ice spirits favored a specific type of offering as well. And that is why I brought those two humans here. I cannot let them escape. Life and time, entrapped in clear, beautiful ice—that was what ice spirits preferred.