Chapter 29

4. Hidden Hands “How about we leave this castle?” Erik asked Shizuku. It had been one week since the incident, and they’d finally finished compiling their written testimonies. Shizuku, who’d been cleaning around the place to fill the time, stared back at him. “You want to leave?” “Yeah. I’ve more or less finished going through the records, but there hasn’t been any useful information. Besides, it’s dangerous here. I’m sorry for bringing you all this way. Let’s try Gandona next.” Gandona was a large nation that bordered Farsas. Erik explained that the region in which the incidents had occurred two hundred and forty years earlier was currently part of Gandona, and that Gandona was on par with Farsas in terms of age. It was also home to advanced magical technologies and an abundance of records. “Okay.” Shizuku nodded. “…But will we be able to leave the country? Leuticia might give us the okay, but I’m not so sure about the king.” “I’m sure we’ll work something out. I doubt he has that much time on his hands right now anyway.” Hoping that Erik was right, Shizuku packed her things that very night. It didn’t take her long; since arriving in this new world, she’d had to make numerous hasty departures, so she always kept her luggage to a minimum. However, despite being ready to go, the pair did not leave the castle the following day. Before they had the chance, they were unexpectedly summoned by Lars and Leuticia. The pair were guided into one of the halls deep within the castle, where the royal siblings were already waiting for them. They were seated apart from one another, and Leuticia encouraged Erik and Shizuku to take a seat, too. “I’m sorry for calling you here on such short notice. To be honest, we had planned on doing this at an earlier date, but then…well, everything happened,” the king’s younger sister said with a strained smile. Shizuku remembered back to the day of the incident, when Lars had told her there was something he wanted to discuss the following day. After that, it seemed like the matter had been brushed to the side, but now that the incident had been dealt with, the opportunity to discuss it had finally come back around. Leuticia glanced toward Lars, and the king turned his gaze on Erik and Shizuku. There was no warmth in his eyes, just like during their initial meeting. “I don’t want to drag this conversation out, so I’ll start by sharing my conclusion. Regarding those cases from two hundred and forty years ago that you’re both so interested in, it would be impossible for you to return home using that same method.” “Huh?” Shizuku replied, unintentionally raising her voice. She turned toward Erik, who was seated beside her. He, too, was visibly surprised. The king had been wanting to do away with Shizuku ever since she’d arrived in Farsas. She was astonished, and he was staring at her intensely. She felt uncomfortable, as if she was being monitored, and it was plain to see that she had yet to gain his trust. Erik replied to the king’s statement with a question of his own. “What do you mean, impossible? How much does Farsas know about the case?” “Almost everything. That’s why I know it would be impossible.” Lars took his eyes off Shizuku for a moment, and his usual annoyed expression returned as he recrossed his legs. “The string of cases in question was brought about by a powerful cursed artifact, which was destroyed at that time.” “Is that why it came to a sudden halt?” “Yes. There’s only one cursed artifact like it in the world, but it’s no longer usable.” Shizuku leaned back in her chair, feeling discouraged by this straightforward conclusion. Her arrival in this world had been unprecedented—and her only clue as to how she could return was this similarly unprecedented series of events. Yet the king now claimed that the cursed artifact behind it no longer existed. Unsure where to go or what to do next, Shizuku felt the darkness closing in around her. Her companion, however, was far more coolheaded than she was, and he posed another question. “Do you know where that cursed artifact came from?” “I do—but it wasn’t Farsas that made it.” “Are there any other artifacts like it?” “Apparently, there are. I don’t know where to find them or what kind of effects they have, though.” Shizuku felt like they were clutching at straws. She glanced at Erik’s face from beside him and gulped. Could she dare to hope that another cursed artifact might help her, even if its whereabouts were unknown? There was no kind of magic that could transport someone from one world to another—Erik had told her that from the very beginning—so she’d had no choice but to pin her hopes on this unexplained phenomenon. As the mystery began to unravel, Shizuku couldn’t determine whether she should continue to hold on to that hope or accept that they’d reached a dead end. Erik glanced at her troubled expression, then continued his exchange with the king. “Could you tell us where that cursed artifact came from?” Lars’s blue eyes narrowed. He didn’t respond right away—most likely because he didn’t actually want to. Erik must have suspected that was the case, so he changed his line of inquiry. “Why was the information about the witch in the book altered?” “You don’t hold back, do you?” “No less than you.” The blatant disdain in Erik’s words elicited a smile from the king. Still, it didn’t look like Erik had hurt his feelings. Erik showed no signs of backing off, either, instead voicing the suspicion he’d once shared with Shizuku. “Was that witch, Fystoria, the older sister of the king at the time?” “No. If that were the case, we wouldn’t have altered the text afterward—we never would’ve written about it in the first place.” Lars made a good point, but the question of why the text had been altered remained unanswered. Still suspicious, Shizuku furrowed her brow, and the king gave her another intent stare. She didn’t know why, but there was something else that scared her more than her concern about not knowing the truth. She wanted to jump to her feet and run away, but she didn’t even know what she should be running from. Shizuku suppressed her trembling nerves and locked eyes with the king, relying solely on her willpower to keep herself from faltering. Lars raised his eyebrows slightly, then directed a question at her. “Remember that question I asked you before? ‘What would you do if something was controlling you and watching your life without your knowledge?’” “…Yeah.” He’d asked Shizuku that just before the forbidden curse incident. She’d found it a strange question but still told him that it would anger her. “If I told you that something just like that was currently happening here on the continent, would you believe me?” “Huh?” “Not just right now, in fact—it’s been going on for a long time.” Lars interlocked his fingers and rested them on his knee. Shizuku thought she saw him let out a noiseless sigh. “Simply put, what I alluded to is actually happening. Someone is using this continent as a testing ground for their own experiments. The beings from outside our world who toy with our people and keep records of them are collectively referred to as ‘interlopers.’” The king’s words were delivered in a casual tone of voice, yet they made such an impact on Erik and Shizuku that they couldn’t bring themselves to reply right away. A paralyzing silence ensued. After a considerable number of seconds had gone by, Erik followed up with a question. “Beings from outside of this world? What do you mean by that?” “It’s exactly how it sounds. They’re not from our world. And I have proof—their cursed artifacts wield powers that defy our established conventions.” “They do?” “They have the power to create replicas of humans, to separate the mind from the body, to interfere with time, and to bring human memories to life. All of those abilities violate the laws of magic and are impossible for humans to achieve.” To Shizuku, all of those just sounded like examples of magic; however, judging by the stony expression on Erik’s face, they were evidently abnormal powers. It was impossible for magic to turn back time, let alone turn a person’s past into reality. Lars said that these interlopers had the power to bring human memories to life, so did that mean—? “So were these otherworldly beings involved in what happened two hundred and forty years ago?” “Yes. Now that the cursed artifact is gone, there’s nothing we can do. Magic used by humans is supposed to adhere to certain laws, right?” “Correct,” said Leuticia, now that she was a part of the conversation. If one of the best mages in the world agreed, then these otherworldly beings’ powers must be truly abnormal. Shizuku was half satisfied with his explanation, but she’d realized something else at the same time. She already knew why Lars was suspicious of her and had tried to kill her. Leuticia had explained it to her. “You’re not the only one who’s come from elsewhere. There are meddlers who’ve come here from outside this world—and there’s a legend that says that the royal family of Farsas must be the ones to eliminate them.” It must have been those “meddlers” who were watching them. These were observers who’d trampled over humanity’s pride and turned the world into their own personal playground—abnormal foreign entities who had snuck their way in. “So you think…that I’ve come from another world to experiment on the people here using strange powers?” Shizuku asked, her voice quivering. Three sets of eyes were directed toward her, but the quiet, unbridled fire in the king’s eyes was the only answer Shizuku needed to tell her she was right. When Shizuku had had her first audience with Lars, he’d asked her whether she’d come to see if “that” really was broken. At the time, she hadn’t known what he meant, but now she realized that he’d been asking if she was there to make sure the cursed artifact had been destroyed. She wanted to tell him that he was making an incredible mistake, but she knew that she was in a difficult position. It was far more difficult to prove that she wasn’t a meddling outsider than the other way around. Shizuku might have been a human with no special powers, but if they accused her of simply pretending to be a powerless human, there wasn’t a lot she could do about it. That must have been why Lars had been trying to test her both mentally and physically. She’d shown that there was nothing strange about her, but it was clear that Lars still wasn’t satisfied with the results. How would she be able to get through to him? As Shizuku puzzled over this, Erik tapped her lightly on the shoulder. He gave Lars a cold look. “This is ludicrous. You must know that she possesses no such powers. First of all, she’d have no reason to visit this castle if she were one of them. She’d be able to get home using her own abilities.” “I tried to tell him that, too,” said Leuticia. “She might have come here to steal Akashia. This sword is the only weapon capable of countering the cursed artifacts that these outsiders bring in.” “…If that were the case, I would have tried to grab the sword before you pushed me into the moat,” Shizuku muttered softly. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet, and the atmosphere between the two siblings seemed particularly frosty. Erik silently began to rise to his feet, but Shizuku hurriedly stopped him. Meanwhile, Leuticia shouted fiercely at her brother. “You idiot! What were you thinking?!” “I made sure to help her out. I mean, she’s still alive, isn’t she?” “You aren’t absolved just because she survived! Don’t you have any respect for other people’s lives?” “I do—but I don’t believe they’re of equal importance.” Lars casually waved it off, trying to get his sister to back down. She knew her brother wasn’t joking or trying to avoid the question, which was probably the only reason she went quiet. Lars didn’t look at his sister’s distrustful gaze or meet Erik’s icy glare. Instead, he turned toward Shizuku, who had already inhaled for a deep sigh, and began to speak. “My family are more important to me than anyone else. I can’t declare that publicly, nor do my actions always adhere to that principle, but that’s still my personal view. And as a king…I prioritize my own countrymen over outsiders, even if they have the same skills or nature.” As an older brother, and as a king, he didn’t view people as equals. He didn’t treat them as equals, either. Shizuku understood full well what Lars was trying to say. Rather than letting out a sigh, she surmised what he was attempting to express. “People from your own world are more important to you than a suspicious outsider. That’s what you’re trying to say, isn’t it?” “Yes. Am I wrong for feeling that way?” “No.” Shizuku couldn’t say that he was wrong. It was natural for a king—someone whose job was to “eliminate anomalies”—to take such a stance. He had a role to play. That meant that he had people to protect and enemies he couldn’t leave at large. However, Shizuku couldn’t bring herself to surrender, either. She might have seemed suspicious, but that didn’t mean she should be killed for something she had no knowledge of. All this meant that Shizuku and Lars would remain at a constant stalemate. Shizuku had had a sneaking suspicion they would end up like this, and she tiredly scrunched up her forehead. With no further clues that could help her return home, she’d reached a dead end—and there was nothing she could do about it. Shizuku’s shoulders slumped. Why had she ended up in this world? That initial question resurfaced in her mind once again. The silence was eventually broken by Erik’s voice, which was even icier than before. He turned to the two members of the royal family and brought the conversation back on track. “So why was the information about the incidents two hundred and forty years ago—when the cursed artifact was destroyed—and the very existence of these beings you call ‘interlopers’ concealed? Also, you still haven’t answered my previous question about why the record of the witch was removed.” “You really are persistent, aren’t you? I’ve just disclosed one of the Farsasian royal family’s most important secrets—give me permission to gloss over a few details, won’t you? I feel bad for whatever woman ends up marrying you.” “I pity your future wife even more, Your Majesty.” Leuticia dropped her head into her hands, and Shizuku found herself speechless. Like Shizuku, Erik didn’t seem like he was going to get along with Lars—although their dynamic was different again. I should have known they’d butt heads, Shizuku thought to herself as Lars waved his hand casually from side to side, pretending not to have heard Erik’s comeback. “I don’t trust that girl, but I appreciate she didn’t run away, so I’ll tell you an extra snippet of information… There are two things in this world that can counter the interlopers’ cursed artifacts.” “Two? Does that include the Farsasian royal family?” “Yes. Number one is Akashia. And the second is a cursed artifact from this world.” Yet again, this was new information. Out of habit, Shizuku got the urge to take notes, but unfortunately, she didn’t have a pen and paper with her. She reminded herself to write everything down when she and Erik discussed the situation later on, and she concentrated on listening instead. Erik’s expression hardened upon hearing this new term from the king. “‘A cursed artifact from this world’? What do you mean by that?” “It’s a cursed artifact that was created in this world for use against outsiders, one that’s capable of rejecting outside interference. Its powers surpass the laws of this world, and it’s what was used to destroy the interlopers’ cursed artifact two hundred and forty years ago. The erasure of the records related to the witch took place after the wielder of our cursed artifact came to the castle and explained the situation. The castle erased all mention of the object’s wielder.” “So the person who wielded the cursed artifact was mistaken for a witch? That must mean she was a woman.” “Pretty much.” “Did the man who was involved in the twenty-five-year-long royal feud also wield a cursed artifact?” While Erik was going through the royal family’s sealed records, the mention of a certain individual had aroused his suspicions. This was the man who Erik was now referring to. Leuticia had implied that he had some connection with the events of two hundred and forty years ago, meaning he must have wielded that same cursed artifact. This question brought a slight smile to Leuticia’s face. The king appeared momentarily surprised, but his face soon turned bitter. “You…you really are annoying. You’re never going to find a wife.” “I don’t care. More importantly, is my assumption correct? If Akashia is passed down within the royal family, it stands to reason that the cursed artifact would also be used by people closely associated with the royal family. That also explains why they’d show up at the castle, doesn’t it?” “Who knows? I’ve never met such a person. I don’t know where they are, nor how to get in touch with them. But—” Lars looked at Shizuku. For a fleeting moment, any trace of hostility vanished from his blue eyes. Shizuku stared at him in amazement, then the king shut his eyes. “The wielder of that cursed artifact can use powers that go beyond the laws of this world. I don’t know where you’re from, but they might be able to send you back there.” “Huh…?” All of a sudden, the focus had shifted back to Shizuku, catching her off guard. She opened her mouth, about to ask the king a question. Did that mean she still had a chance? That she wouldn’t have to give up? The king’s words seemed both understandable and incomprehensible at the same time. Her mind was in such a state of confusion that she simply couldn’t decide what to feel. Lars rose from his seat and stood in front of the bewildered Shizuku. He checked the clock that was sitting on top of an ornamental cupboard, suggesting that perhaps it was time for him to get back to work. “Still… Even if we do manage to find them, I think there’s a high chance that they’ll assume you’re an interloper and kill you.” Shizuku had already felt restless, but these quiet words sent a shiver down her spine. She felt as if a bottomless abyss had silently opened up before her. Unable to say a word, she looked down at her clenched hands. They were far too small to be able to grab the very few chances offered to her by this huge continent. The pair had been reminded by Leuticia not to tell anyone about their conversation, and they looked at each other across a table in a private room in the castle. They were both frowning—which was understandable, considering what they’d just heard. Shizuku had brewed some tea, and she broke the ice as she offered Erik a cup. “I wonder if that was really true…” “It’s hard to believe. It’s preposterous.” Erik smoothed his furrowed brow with his fingertips as he took a sip of his tea. “When I started investigating that case, I suspected that it might involve some rules of magic we were yet to discover, but I never thought they would go beyond our established laws. And what was all that about beings from outside our world?!” “Yeah, exactly. If someone suddenly told me that aliens were the culprits for some unsolved crime, I’d be pretty surprised, too.” Erik seemed baffled by Shizuku’s analogy, but he didn’t press further. Shizuku sighed as she tore part of her pastry off for Mea, who was sitting on the table. “That said, Leuticia didn’t look like she was lying.” “Well, no. If it is a lie, then it’s likely the story that the royal family has been told is false, too.” “Whoa, really?” “It’s only natural for me to be skeptical. Plus, I haven’t seen any evidence of extraordinary powers, so it’s hard to fully believe their side of the story. But then again…” The two exchanged glances, their faces blank. Of course, Shizuku understood what he was implying. “Then again, there’s me.” “Exactly. There’s you, an otherworldly being who actually exists.” “Aha-ha-ha-ha.” Shizuku pressed her temples as she let out a strained laugh. It was just so rare for Erik to let his worries show on the surface. Still, as unusual as it was, Shizuku realized she wasn’t in any sort of position to laugh, so she pulled herself together and took a notebook out of her bag. “Let’s take a moment to sort things out. We can start by discussing whether I really am one of those otherworldly beings or not.” “I didn’t expect you to bring that question up, though I’ve briefly considered that possibility myself.” “Well, considering my memories are so hazy, the most obvious conclusion is that I’m simply imagining my entire past, isn’t it? So let’s start from there.” If Shizuku couldn’t convince people that she was telling the truth, then her only option was to eliminate any doubts. She began jotting down notes about herself. However, there was one major flaw in this hypothesis—her belongings. Erik must have realized it as well, because he pointed it out while he was looking at her notebook. “Your memories could have been tampered with, but the things you brought with you all originate from a different culture—from a place with different technology. Plus, all your books are printed ones.” “That’s true. Even if we assumed that the books were written in a unique script I’d made up, there’s still no explanation for my smartphone and music player. There’s no way I could have made those myself.” Both of these complex devices, which currently sat on the table, were switched off. Shizuku tapped her music player, which had nothing but piano music on it. Erik asked her a question, just to make sure. “You could make those devices in this world if you tried, couldn’t you? Or would they go against the rules of our world?” “I probably could, if I had the right skills and materials. They’re just machines.” However, at this point in time, no such devices could be found anywhere on the continent. The technology wasn’t just more advanced than that in Erik’s world—it was light-years ahead. If the idea that she’d come from another world was all in her head, this part didn’t add up at all. Erik picked up a pastry. “Another possibility is that you’re actually from a different continent,” he suggested. “Whoa, nice one. That could be interesting. Maybe there’s another continent with more advanced science and technology, and they altered my memories and sent me to investigate this continent.” “That sounds rather preposterous to me.” “Just enjoy the fantastical aspect of it,” she urged, her voice monotonous. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Erik asked with a grin. Shizuku’s eyes had glazed over for a little while now, but Erik decided not to mention it, instead pointing out the flaws in her hypothesis. “There are far too many strange aspects to that scenario for it to hold true. Your memories don’t seem like the kind you’d implant in someone you were sending to this continent. And even if you ended up here by accident, it’s unclear what they’d be trying to achieve by making you think you were from another world.” “Maybe my memories weren’t implanted by someone else at all. I could have convinced myself of these things by myself—like a whole new world inside my head.” “I suppose so, but if that were true, I feel like it would be pretty hard to make your belongings, memories, and knowledge all remain consistent with one another.” “Oh… Yeah, that’s true.” As one would expect, Shizuku’s English dictionary contained many terms relating to science and technology, and there was information about history and geography in there, too. This made it implausible that the dictionary simply had originated from another continent. For their current hypothesis to be true, everything from her memories and belongings would have to have been deliberately fabricated—otherwise, inconsistencies would arise. Still, what would be the point in fabricating her backstory in such a way? Shizuku agonized over why anyone would go to all the trouble of turning her into a “girl from another world.” Eventually, she began to feel dizzy. “You know…I feel like I’m going to lose my mind if I think too hard about this,” said Shizuku. “Well, it is mentally draining to doubt everything you think you know about yourself. So let me disprove that theory. This hypothesis is probably wrong.” “Why?” “You weren’t affected by the Negativity in Candela, were you? Even if you were from another continent, you’d still be connected to the same realm structure. We live in the same world, and our people are the same, too. If you saw the indigenous people from the continent to the east, you’d realize that. Even if the continent you originated from had a vastly different culture and civilization—and even if it lacked magic—it would still be impossible for you not to be affected by the Negativity. In this world, our connection to different realms is part of what makes us human.” “Oh…” “That is to say, I truly believe you’re from another world. For the time being, I think you should trust that your memories are reliable.” Erik’s words had finally reminded Shizuku of something. When she’d confronted the forbidden curse in Candela, the Negativity—which existed on the lowest stratum of the world—had referred to her as an “outsider” and a “lost thorn” who’d wandered into this world. Those words were undisputable proof of her otherworldly nature. After all, in this world, the Negativity was a pervasive force that underpinned all else. Shizuku exhaled the stale air from her lungs, brushed her bangs back with both hands, then looked up at the ceiling. “I can rest assured that I’m actually from another world, then.” “Probably. Next, let’s examine the possibility that you and these interlopers come from the same world.” “Arrrrrrrgh.” The issues kept coming, one after another. Ultimately, the pair determined that it would be difficult to create a cursed artifact in Shizuku’s world at this point in time—the technology just wasn’t there yet. It took yet another hour of debate, however, for them to finally conclude that Shizuku and the interlopers were likely from different worlds. “My head hurts…” “Then let’s take a short break.” Mea, back in her girl form, made them some more tea, since their first pot had gone cold. Shizuku decided to add two sugar balls to hers, which was rare for her. As she dropped them into her tea, she let out a sigh. “If what they say about these interlopers is true…what do you make of it? Turning people into experimental guinea pigs without their knowledge…” “It would be unthinkable. The very idea of it makes me feel sick to my stomach. My opinion of King Lars is far from favorable, but I can understand the legends passed down by the royal family that he has to eliminate them,” said Erik forcefully. He almost never let his feelings come to the surface. “I-I’m not one of them, though!” claimed Shizuku, waving her hands in front of her face. “What are you talking about? Shall we go over everything one more time?” Shizuku graciously declined. Erik had hated the idea of technology being introduced into his world from an outside source when it had come up before, so from his perspective, the idea that these interlopers were interfering in a crueler sense must have been simply intolerable. Looking annoyed, he gathered his hair in his hands. It had grown a little long. “It’s unthinkable, but if these interlopers are indeed actively interfering from another world, this could work in your favor.” “Huh? Could it?” “I mean, they’re able to traverse worlds as they see fit. If they’re alleged to have sent a cursed artifact here for experimental purposes, then they must have the necessary technology. Maybe you could use it to return to your old world.” “Oh, right.” “That said, there’s a chance that they could take you to their world instead.” “Nooooooooo!” Shizuku almost wanted to cry. She slumped across the table, and Mea glanced at her master with worry. Ignoring Shizuku’s exhaustion, Erik checked his notes. “For now…if we’re to believe what we just heard, we have two choices.” “Two?” “Yeah. Either we search for another cursed artifact that the interlopers created, or we search for the wielder of the cursed artifact that can counter the interlopers.” It was a difficult choice. They didn’t know where to find either, nor how to recognize them. On top of that, they had no idea what kind of effects the former would have, and the latter would potentially kill them. We’re between a rock and a hard place, thought Shizuku, but she stopped herself before she could give voice to this thought. It didn’t quite seem to fit their predicament. “I’m not sure which approach to take. If we find one of the interlopers’ cursed artifacts and it turns out to have a totally different effect, we’re stuck. Have the interlopers visited this world themselves?” “We don’t know—but the story we just heard gave me the impression that they’ve just sent their cursed artifacts here.” “Hmm…” Shizuku twirled her pen around in her fingers. Suddenly, a simple question came to mind, and she looked up at the young man sitting across from her. “How does a cursed artifact differ from a magic implement?” “Cursed artifacts aren’t created using magic. The ‘cursed’ just part stems from the fact that spellcasters can place their own unique definition of a curse on them, but in reality, it’s just a description of tools that work in a way that people don’t fully understand. Most so-called ‘cursed artifacts’ are simply powerless fakes, though.” “They’re even more confusing than magical items, then. That’s impressive.” “Well, magic has rules to it.” At the end of the day, Shizuku was in a situation she didn’t really understand—so she had no choice but to rely on equally confusing information. She crossed her arms and frowned in thought. “We’re at a bit of a loss here…” Was it okay for her to keep flailing about, trying to escape her situation? That doubt crossed her mind. If she had been the only person involved, it wouldn’t have bothered her, but her refusal to give in made life harder for Erik, too. Wouldn’t it be better to abandon the idea of going home and look for somewhere else she could live in peace? She was sure she could carve out a life for herself in this world. After all the traveling she’d done, she’d gradually grown accustomed to the different environment, and the trials and tribulations she’d undergone had helped her gain confidence. Before she realized it, the idea of being the “lesser sister”—something that had constantly haunted her in the past—had faded from her thoughts. Although being continuously compared to others was painful, it was equally distressing to be so different that she couldn’t even be compared to those around her. The situation she found herself in now was the total opposite of her situation at home. Sometimes, she’d wished that weren’t the case, but she’d persevered nonetheless, and that experience had definitely helped her find some inner strength. Her arms crossed, Shizuku puzzled over things in her mind, but no matter how hard she thought, she couldn’t come up with an answer by herself. In times like this, she was grateful—and relieved—that she had someone else on her side. At other times, though, being part of a pair could be a hindrance for them both. Their concern for one another stopped them from being able to say, “Let’s give just up already.” “Do you want to give up?” asked Erik. “Ack!” exclaimed Shizuku. Erik’s question had made her jump. The timing was just too bizarre—it was as if he’d read her mind. She looked at him in a flustered attempt to hide her surprise. “Wh-what are you talking about?” “I was just wondering if you wanted to throw in the towel. That’s another viable option. You’ve already put more than enough effort into this.” Shizuku’s eyes widened. Erik never indulged her just for the sake of it. He always told the truth. This wasn’t an expression of frustration or concern—he was simply asking whether or not they should stop. Some people might have found that question to be cruel, but to Shizuku, it was an unmistakable show of kindness. Even when the situation made it difficult for Shizuku to move forward, Erik would always take one step ahead for her. “If we stop…what will you do?” “I have no particular plans. I’ll probably just go back to my research.” This was a pursuit he’d earnestly invest his time in. Step by step, he’d continue striding toward the knowledge he sought, and when Shizuku imagined him immersed in his books, it made her feel warm inside. Their journey was about to become even more unpredictable. Shizuku had expected things to come together once they reached Farsas, but she’d been wrong. Now they were right back where they started—and to make matters worse, they were directionless this time around. Shizuku honestly felt bad for dragging Erik along with her. The person she’d been at the beginning of their journey wouldn’t have allowed herself to rely on him any longer. Half of her still felt that way. Yet now…she wished that he’d stay by her side, because of who he was. During their journey so far, he’d been her support. She trusted in him and admired his way of thinking. With Erik by her side, Shizuku was sure she’d find answers that she couldn’t uncover on her own. She was still hesitant about a lot of things, but she would overcome them. She lifted her head and gazed into Erik’s deep-blue eyes. “In that case…can you accompany me a little while longer?” she asked. “Sure. That was always my plan anyway,” he replied. This simple response came as such as a relief that all the energy drained from Shizuku’s body. Erik’s eyes widened with astonishment as her head fell forward onto the table. “What’s wrong? Are you having some kind of fit?” “I’m just relieved… All the tension left my body…” “It’s funny how you experience these highs and lows that I don’t quite understand.” “I’m a regular person… Of course I experience emotional highs and lows. Life has its ups and downs,” Shizuku grumbled, peering up at him. Erik cracked an amused smile. “It’s very you. I think it’s a good thing.” His words and voice held a kindness that hadn’t been there at the beginning of their journey. Uplifted by Erik’s response, Shizuku came to a decision. “One year from now, if we’ve still haven’t achieved any results, we should give up on this.” In a corner of Farsas’s sprawling castle city was a research institute where general papers on the history of the entire continent were kept. While the majority of the most talented scholars who specialized in history served in the castle, around half of all historical scholars did not, either due to their abilities or to their own personal inclinations. The Continental Institute for Historical and Cultural Studies compiled papers contributed by a large number of scholars, including those unaffiliated with any institution, and published them in a journal. A branch had been founded in the castle city of every large nation across the continent. Inside the institute, in a room too small to be called a lounge, Harve listened to his mentor and sipped his tea. The middle-aged man had returned from traveling around the world the month before, after stepping down from his government post, and he let out a warm breath toward the ceiling. “And then the woman says, ‘Don’t you want to hear about some history that no longer exists?’” “‘History that no longer exists’?” Harve reiterated. “Was she talking about a dark period that there’s no record of anymore?” “That was what I assumed, too, but that didn’t seem to be the case. She said she was talking about ‘a history that no longer transpired.’” It all sounded pretty far-fetched. The young mage furrowed his brow. It sounded as if that woman was playing a childish prank. “History that hasn’t happened isn’t really history, though, is it? What if she was just imagining it or making it up?” “That’s what I said, but she just laughed and said, ‘This continent is a testing ground, and I possess the book that contains all the records about it.’ That was when she claimed to have records of experiments that were erased—ones that have been wiped from the passage of time. I laughed it off as absurd, but once the alcohol wore off, I started to get scared. She was aware of the history surrounding several great nations—even confidential, forbidden curse-related parts of history. What if it wasn’t mere fantasy? What if that suspicious book really exists?” Harve’s mentor handed him a piece of scrap paper. It was covered with unique, scrawling handwriting, with the words dispose of afterwards written at the bottom. Having been under his mentor’s tutelage for a decade, Harve had no problem deciphering his script. On the piece of paper, he’d divulged various details regarding forbidden curse incidents from history. His hastily written notes delved into cases from the distant past—ones that not even those who worked for the royal court would know about. While the series of accounts were not implausible, Harve wasn’t in a position to verify their authenticity by himself. “I’ll ask a friend about this,” he said, putting the piece of scrap paper in his pocket. “Have you seen the book in question?” “Only the outside of it. She wouldn’t show me what it said inside. It was a deep-crimson leather-bound book with gold edging. It looked ancient, but at the same time, it didn’t feel old. When I touched the cover, it felt strangely alive, which was…extremely unsettling,” his mentor said, picking up his teacup again. Casually glancing at the man’s hand, Harve noticed for the first time that his bold and fearless mentor’s fingers were trembling slightly. That was when his deep interest in this mysterious book began. They could pursue either the interlopers’ cursed artifacts or the wielder of the cursed artifact that could thwart the interlopers. After discussing which one to search for, they opted to defer making a decision. They had no clues, and the continent was vast, which made it an impossible choice. Erik and Shizuku had ended up postponing their departure and were having dinner together in Shizuku’s room. Having finished the tasks they’d each been assigned, they’d chosen to dine there instead of heading to the large dining hall that the court ladies and soldiers frequented. Their conversation was of a sensitive nature, after all. Erik cut off a piece of his well-cooked pork. “You know what? I think there’s probably more than one person who can wield an interloper-repelling cursed artifact.” “More than one? Does that mean that there are several of those cursed artifacts, too?” “I don’t know that much, but do you remember our conversation with the king? He referred to the wielders of the cursed artifact in the plural. I referred to the wielders of the cursed artifact as ‘them,’ but that was just because I was grouping together the one from the incidents two hundred and forty years ago and the one who was involved in the Farsasian royal family’s internal conflict. But then, the king said that ‘they’ might be able to help you get home. Doesn’t that seem odd?” “I don’t know… Does it? What if he just said that because you did?” “Maybe. If the cursed artifact were passed down from person to person like Akashia, he wouldn’t have used the plural to talk about sending you home now, in the present. That implies he knows there are multiple people who are capable of using that cursed artifact—or cursed artifacts.” Shizuku lifted a crisp baked carrot to her mouth with an expression of admiration. “Now that you mention it, yeah…I’m impressed that you pick up on these things.” “It just struck me as odd. This relates to a legend that’s been passed down through the royal family, so there’s likely a lot he can’t tell us. Also, I assume the people who wield cursed artifacts possess significant magical power. The woman involved in the incidents two hundred and forty years ago was mistaken for a witch, and that man would have needed a fair amount of magical power to use the royal family’s mystical spirits, whether they were in a period of internal strife or not.” “Are you saying that he wasn’t a member of the royal family himself, even though he used their mystical spirits?” “Usually only direct descendants of the royal family who are also mages can command spirits—but at that time, there were no individuals who met those criteria. There’s no mention of him in the official documents nor in the sealed records. There were dozens of royal family members who died during the infighting, so there’s a chance that he could have been one of them, but it’s unusual for a name to be kept hidden. Perhaps, due to the abnormality of the situation, he was given control over the spirits indirectly, using a direct descendant as an intermediary.” “…This stuff is complicated.” No longer able to keep track of what Erik was telling her, Shizuku had stopped cutting her meat. Erik had tried hard to explain things in a way that was easy to understand, but there were times when he went into too much detail. If the discussion progressed slowly, Shizuku could manage to keep up, but when she was suddenly bombarded with details about a topic that she had little knowledge of, she was overwhelmed by the deluge of information, struggling to absorb any of it. Shizuku’s reaction made Erik smile awkwardly. “This person seems to have a link to the royal family, but it would be hard to use the royal family as a starting point for our research,” he surmised. This was a disappointing take on the situation, but it was a fact that couldn’t be changed. Regardless of what the past records said, Lars and Leuticia claimed that they’d never met the wielder of the cursed artifact in question. As Shizuku drank her warm soup, she thought through everything she’d found out. Then she put down the cup and tilted her head slightly to the side. “So there’s a high probability that the wielder of the cursed artifact is a remarkable mage. Are you suggesting that we start by looking for someone who fits that description?” “Exactly.” That might be easier than seeking out the cursed artifact itself, especially considering they didn’t even know what it was. “How do you tell whether someone’s a powerful mage?” Shizuku asked Erik. “Can you see their stats or something?” “What are you on about? Mages can gauge a fellow mage’s power to some extent, but after a certain level, it gets hard for me to tell. And if their power’s sealed off, then there’s nothing you can do about it.” “I see. Wouldn’t a mage that powerful be working for a castle, though?” “I think that’s highly likely.” As Shizuku listened to Erik’s response, Lydia and Lyshien’s faces came to mind. A short while ago, she’d begun to feel a sort of unsettling anxiety, but she wasn’t sure what exactly it was. Noticing her reaction, Erik stopped eating his dinner. “What’s wrong?” “It’s just, I kind of…” Just at that moment, someone knocked on the door. They called out and immediately entered the room. It was Harve, evidently with something on his mind. As Shizuku stood up to make some tea, Harve repeatedly apologized for intruding, then offered Erik a piece of scrap paper. Erik took one look at it and frowned. “What’s this? This handwriting’s so messy. I can barely read it.” “It would be a problem if it were too legible. I’m sorry to come to you with a bit of an odd request, but could you tell me if what’s written here actually happened?” “Sure, but you’ll have to read it for me. I have no chance of making it out.” It sounded like Harve had a complicated issue to discuss, and Shizuku couldn’t shake her sense of unease as she stepped outside to fetch some hot water. The hot water room, where you could fetch magically heated water at any time of day, was located on the far side of the dormitory building. There were several options, but she chose the water that was closest to boiling temperature and transferred it to her pot. Mea, who’d accompanied her, added some extra water from the tap to make up for what Shizuku had taken. When she reentered the room five minutes later, Harve wasn’t the only one looking concerned—Erik seemed to have been infected by the same worry. “I think you should report this all the way to the top.” “The top? To the royal chief mage?” “No—higher up than that. You need to tell the king or his sister.” “Gah… Is this sealed information?” Harve’s expression grew extremely tense. Shizuku didn’t know why that was, but some sort of trouble must have arisen. She silently served them the tea, and when the two pale-faced mages noticed she was there, they thanked her. Erik gave the scrap paper back to Harve. “I can’t say for certain whether this is sealed information or not—but I advise you to report it. That’s all I’m going to say.” Erik wasn’t in a position to confirm or deny whether the information was true, but the fact that he was advising his friend to report it said it all. Harve looked at the scrap paper again, his face the picture of disbelief. He started to fold it back up, but then, the last paragraph caught his attention. He opened the note back up and showed the part in question to Erik. “But this bit can’t be true, can it? Farsas and Sezal have never gone to war. Plus, it even says the Negativity materialized due to a forbidden curse. When the Negativity materialized in Candela, it was big enough to fill the castle hallways, wasn’t it? If a gigantic serpent of Negativity really emerged in the wilderness and started controlling an army of corpses, that would be impossible to conceal.” Shizuku didn’t know the context of this story, but she shuddered at the memory of the serpent she’d encountered in Candela. She glanced at Erik and met his gaze. His expression was full of pain. Why was he looking at her like that? Noticing an incomprehensible uncertainty in his dark-blue eyes, Shizuku blinked in confusion. Suddenly, Erik averted his gaze, leaving Shizuku none the wiser. “As far as I know, nothing like that ever happened—but, well, there’s more information there. It wouldn’t hurt to report it.” “Oh… Yeah, you’re right. Sorry for troubling you.” “It’s fine. I’d like you to tell me how things go, as long as there’s nothing to prevent you from doing so.” “Got it.” Harve drank the rest of his tea and stood up. He thanked and apologized to Shizuku again, then went to leave. With his hand on the door, he looked over his shoulder at Shizuku and Erik. “Keep this a secret until we get some answers. I don’t want to cause any problems for my mentor.” “Don’t worry. I don’t have anyone to share it with anyway.” “Sorry. Still, it’s really no laughing matter. According to that woman, this continent is all one big testing ground, right?” Harve stepped into the hallway, letting out a light chuckle, and Shizuku and Erik exchanged glances as they processed what he had just said. The color drained from both their faces. The parallels with what the king had told them the other day didn’t even bear discussing. “W-wait, Harve!” “Huh?” Harve was already about ten paces down the hallway when Erik caught up with him. Erik grabbed him by the shoulder and stopped Harve in his tracks. Without giving him a chance to object, Erik forcefully dragged him back into the room, where Harve ended up explaining in detail where his mentor had encountered the woman in question. According to Harve, the woman had first approached his mentor in the small country of Piaza, which was located north of Farsas and south of the northern superpower, Medial. She must have recognized him, because she immediately concluded that he was a renowned scholar, and after spending an hour asking him questions and debating with him in the tavern where they’d met, she broached the subject of the book. This had all happened approximately two months earlier. “It will be a problem if a book like that really does exist.” After listening to the story, Leuticia let out a deep sigh. Her melancholic blue eyes passed over Harve, Erik, and Shizuku in succession. She already seemed to have disregarded her brother, who was sorting through some documents at his desk. The king didn’t look up or pause what he was doing at all. Leuticia brushed her long hair aside and let out yet another sigh, then instructed Harve to summon his mentor to the castle. Once Harve had meekly exited the room, she turned her attention to the pair who were left behind. “So what are you two going to do now?” she asked. “I wanted to ask your opinion before making a decision. Do you think that book could be one of the interlopers’ cursed artifacts?” Erik asked. Leuticia’s expression turned bitter. She glanced briefly at her brother behind her—but seeing no reaction from him, she gave up and voiced her own opinion. “I can’t say for certain, but I think it’s very likely. It’s often said that interlopers’ cursed artifacts tend to have properties related to experimentation or record-keeping, but since I haven’t personally encountered such items before, I probably wouldn’t be able to tell simply by looking at it. If that turns out not to be the case, however, the leaking of sealed records is a major issue. I hope we can get our hands on that book.” The scrap of paper Harve had brought to the castle contained several pieces of information concerning both sealed and forbidden curse-related documents. If there had been only one piece of information, Leuticia might have just frowned and disregarded the issue; however, apart from the final item—which hadn’t happened—everything else was classified as top secret. That was concerning. The information relayed by the mysterious woman, which included details about forbidden curses, was too dangerous to simply ignore. Erik narrowed his eyes slightly at Leuticia’s answer, and Shizuku caught a glimpse of a sharpness that he never usually let her see. “It sounds like events outside of Farsas are documented in the book as well. What are you planning on doing once you get your hands on it?” “There’s no point in me saying I won’t misuse it. What constitutes misuse can vary, after all. But if it appears to be a cursed artifact from the interlopers, I’ll destroy it. Also…I wish to speak to that woman about something else.” “You do?” Leuticia nodded as she leaned on the desk. She suggested all three of them take a seat, then cast a glance toward Erik. “As for the forbidden curse incident in Candela…I only asked you to compile a report on the spell structure that was used—so you wouldn’t know this—but the mastermind behind that incident was accompanied by a woman. For some peculiar reason, she always carried a crimson book with her. Do you think that’s a coincidence?” Leuticia’s probing look made Shizuku catch her breath. If the same woman was involved in both incidents, Farsas wouldn’t be able to overlook it. Unable to grasp what that woman’s intentions could have been, Shizuku scowled. She didn’t even know her name or what she looked like. Erik, who was by Shizuku’s side, answered. “But there are no curses in the forbidden curse documents that have the same spell configuration as the one used in Candela. Some are similar, though.” “If these two women are the same person—and if the nature of the book is anything to go by—the spell configuration in question might have its roots in another country’s forbidden curse documents, or documents that have been lost… Maybe she even used a curse from one of those ‘erased experiments,’” Leuticia explained. She seemed uncomfortable as she said the phrase “erased experiments,” and Erik had the same reaction upon hearing it. If such experiments had really been carried out, it would cause nothing but humiliation for those who lived on the continent. “The nation of Farsas shall capture that woman and her book,” Leuticia declared. “You’re welcome to wait in the castle until we succeed.” “It’s okay. We’ll go and look for them ourselves,” Erik responded. Shizuku wasn’t sure whether he didn’t trust Farsas, or didn’t want to rely on it, but she agreed with his decision. Waiting behind might have been a wise idea, but there was nothing they could do until the problematic book arrived at the castle. There’d be no use in protesting or expressing their discontent after the book had already been brought back—or worse, damaged in some far-off location. Taking matters into their own hands seemed like the logical course of action. When Leuticia spotted Shizuku nodding, she gave them a weak smile. “In that case, maybe I should make you two Farsasian emissaries and give you special privileges.” “That won’t be necessary. We’re not from Farsas. All we need is permission to leave the country.” “Understood. I’ll make the appropriate preparations,” replied Leuticia. “Your memories regarding the sealed records will remain yours until this search is over. Once everything is finished, you must return to the castle.” There was a distinct haughtiness in Leuticia’s voice that Shizuku usually didn’t sense, which surprised her. She frowned. It all felt a little odd. Leuticia was the one who’d asked Erik to sort through those classified documents, but now she was acting like he would have his memories manipulated as a matter of course, which didn’t sit right with Shizuku. Ensuring the confidentiality of the royal family’s information might have been of utmost importance, but this seemed like an excessive display of superiority. The expression on Shizuku’s face showed that she was questioning the gravity of the royal family’s secrets, and Erik tapped her lightly on the knee, causing her to hastily look away. “I’m still sorting through the ordinary documents, so I need to finish that first… We’ll leave the castle the day after tomorrow,” said Erik. “Your conscientiousness always shines through at the strangest times. Very well, then,” Leuticia responded. Shizuku and Erik bowed, then turned to leave the office. As they did, the king, who hadn’t spoken to them all day, called out from behind. “If you find it, tell me where the book is. I’ll come and destroy it.” “Okay—but only when Shizuku no longer needs it to get back home.” “That’s fine by me. Just hurry up and leave. If I catch up with you and find that you’re dawdling, I’ll kill you.” Erik just gave the king an icy look, refusing to dignify the threat with words as he gently pushed Shizuku out into the hallway. Just before she closed the door, Shizuku heard the king say one last thing. “I’ll give that man your wages. Don’t waste it.” I’ve never wasted anything in my life, Shizuku retorted internally—but in the end, she never got a chance to voice that sentiment. “What’s Piaza like? If it’s in the north, does that mean it’s chilly?” “I think it’s cooler than Farsas, at least. I’ve never been there.” After leaving the office, the pair had sat down on the grass in the courtyard and were looking at a spread-out map, planning the journey they would be making a few days later. Realizing that they’d finally be able to escape the heat, Shizuku subtly punched the air. Erik pretended not to notice and pointed to a spot on the map. “I think we’ll be able to get permission to use the transit ring this time, so we can go directly to Piaza. We’ll confirm the exact location once Harve gets back.” “Okay.” Shizuku untied the scarf that was keeping her hair up; it had grown a considerable amount and was almost long enough to reach the middle of her back. This was to be expected—she’d been in her new world for almost six months and hadn’t cut her hair once. Shizuku used a ribbon to tie her hair up again, then started to put the scarf back in place. Before she could do so, however, there was a strong gust of wind, causing the thin piece of fabric to flutter from her grasp. Shizuku frantically attempted to catch it, but the scarf slipped through her fingers and blew away, disappearing behind some shrubbery. A few seconds later, she heard a cry, almost as if her runaway scarf had provoked it. “Huh?” “I wonder what’s going on. That sounded like a kid.” The pair folded up their map, rose to their feet, and peered over the shrubbery. There, on the grass, was a little girl around three years old who’d fallen over and was sobbing. She was thrashing around as Shizuku’s scarf clung to her face. Alarmed, the color drained from Shizuku’s face. She leaped over the shrubbery, swiftly removing the scarf and lifting the child up into her arms. “I-I’m so sorry. That was my fault,” Shizuku told the girl, but her apology didn’t seem to soothe the child. In fact, her wailing got even louder, leaving Shizuku at a total loss. She rummaged around in her pockets, but all she could find was a pen and a blank notepad. Shizuku put the distraught child down. “Hey, look at this,” she said, ripping off a square of paper and starting to fold it. She folded the paper a few times with her fingers, and by the time she’d made a small crane, the girl’s sobbing had finally stopped. Instead, a look of great interest had filled her eyes, and the girl reached out for it. Shizuku placed the paper crane in the girl’s small hand, then wiped her tearstained face with a handkerchief. “That’s fascinating, what you just made,” Erik murmured. “You created a replica bird out of paper?” “It’s a paper crane. Don’t you have cranes here?” “Cranes? I don’t know what they are. Is that the name of a bird?” It seemed like cranes didn’t exist in this world. As Shizuku confirmed Erik’s assumption, she sat down in front of the little girl, who was urging her to make another. Shizuku didn’t know too many origami patterns, though, so she started drawing pictures on her notepad instead. “Come to think of it, do you have zebras and giraffes here?” Shizuku had begun questioning this after playing with children on their journey. Erik, who’d sat down next to her, cocked his head. “What are those? Are they birds as well?” “No. Zebras are horses with stripes, and giraffes are spotty animals with long necks.” “Horses with stripes? That’s amazing. I’d love to see one.” “They look a bit like this,” said Shizuku, drawing stripes on the horse she’d just drawn. Erik and the young girl both looked at her picture with wide-eyed amazement. After a short pause, the girl shouted, “Kitty!” “Oh. I guess it looks like a tiger. It’s not, though—it’s a zebra.” Shizuku had wondered whether it was okay to teach the child about animals that didn’t exist, but she seemed to like the picture either way. “Kitty, kitty!” the girl exclaimed enthusiastically when Shizuku pointed to the zebra. Smiling, Shizuku drew a horse with no stripes to see how she would answer. “What’s this?” Shizuku asked. “Cat!” the child predictably replied. Shizuku had half expected her to say that, but hearing the little girl’s mistake, she couldn’t contain herself. Holding her side as she laughed, Shizuku glanced at Erik. “Aha-ha-ha. She’s so cute.” “I don’t see what’s so funny.” “It’s just adorable how genuine she is. Oh…I’m sorry. This is what a cat looks like.” Shizuku drew a picture of a cat for the girl, who tilted her head to one side. “Cat?” she asked questioningly. Shizuku smiled and nodded. “This is a horse, and this is a kitty-cat,” she explained. “Cat?” “A horse and a cat. Horses have longer necks, see?” “Horse!” “That’s right. Good job!” Satisfied that she’d solved the girl’s misunderstanding, Shizuku stretched her arms. She took another look around, checking to see whether the girl’s parents were in the vicinity, but there was no sign of any other people. “She must be lost. Do you think she’s the kid of someone who works here?” “Probably not. My guess is that she’s one of the children who was brought to the castle so they could research her illness.” “You think?” At first glance, there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with her. What illness could she have been suffering from? Erik noticed the frown on Shizuku’s face and filled in the blanks for her. “I told you about it before, didn’t I? The infectious disease that kids are catching. They don’t know what causes it.” “Oh yeah. The one that causes a language impediment… Does that mean this girl has trouble speaking, too?” “Can’t you tell just by watching her?” said Erik, sounding exasperated. Shizuku shifted her attention back to the young girl. She appeared to be at a healthy weight, and her physical appearance and limited verbal skills seemed typical for a child of her age. Shizuku couldn’t see what the problem was. She made eye contact with the cheery little girl, who was clutching the paper crane and the animal pictures in her hands. Shizuku tilted her head to one side. The child copied her and did the same. “Uhh… What’s wrong with her?” Shizuku asked, totally clueless. Erik’s eyes widened slightly—but when he saw the skeptical look on Shizuku’s face, his expression grew more stern than alarmed. “You just drew a picture of a cat and a horse for her, didn’t you?” “Yeah. I drew them in a slightly cutesy style, but that still works.” “Right. They looked like a cat and a horse to me, too. But when you pointed to the horse, that girl said ‘cat.’” “Yeah, she did.” “Strange, right?” “I don’t think so.” They both went quiet. The lines in Shizuku’s brow got deeper. Erik had explained what was strange, but Shizuku was still struggling to understand. Wasn’t it normal for a child her age to get a cat and a horse muddled up? Shizuku gave Erik a skeptical look, wondering if he just had exceptionally high expectations when it came to children’s knowledge. He seemed to be pondering something, his expression serious, and a short while later, he picked up where he’d left off. “This infectious disease has been gradually spreading from the east of the continent. It mainly occurs in children aged from one to two and causes language impediments.” “Yes.” “And this girl is one such child. You can tell she has trouble speaking, can’t you?” Shizuku took another look at the girl but couldn’t seem to spot anything strange about her. What was Erik talking about? Becoming slightly agitated, Shizuku argued back. “I don’t understand. Isn’t it normal for kids to learn the wrong names for things?” “No, it’s not. Language skills are generally innate, aren’t they?” “Huh?” Shizuku felt like she’d heard something she couldn’t ignore, and she stared at the young man in front of her. Something was “innate” if you were born with it. Humans were born with the necessary components for acquiring language skills, of course, but considering the context, that wasn’t what Erik was talking about. Something seemed incredibly strange about it all. Unaware of the anxiety she was feeling, Shizuku asked Erik a question. “Uhh, language is something you learn as a child, right? Isn’t it our ability to listen and form sounds that’s innate?” “Something you learn? No. Knowledge of basic vocabulary and grammar has to be something people are born with. There’s nothing to learn or memorize. It’s just a matter of whether you remember it or not, don’t you think?” “Uh, what? Don’t be ridiculous.” There seemed to be a significant misunderstanding going on. Both of them were taken aback when they realized this, and Shizuku slowly lifted her tense hand into the air, keeping her eyes fixed on Erik. “Uhh, can I ask you a question first?” “…Sure.” “What reaction would this girl have had to my picture if she didn’t have a language impediment?” “If she recognized it as a horse, she’d call it a horse. She’d never call it a cat by mistake.” “But don’t children learn words by observing how adults respond to things—for example, by calling a horse a horse?” This is how children learn languages from their surroundings—the reason that a child’s native language varies depending on the environment they’re raised in. Shizuku didn’t see why it should be any different here, just because everyone on the continent spoke the same language. When Erik heard this, however, he shook his head sternly. “As I told you before, no. If they recognize something, they’ll automatically call it by its name, even if they’ve never seen it before. Nobody needs to teach them anything for that to happen. Babies aren’t taught how to cry, are they? It’s the same thing.” For a moment, Shizuku felt dizzy, and she tilted her head to one side. Shizuku had never noticed this disparity between the two worlds. Unlike other ideas she’d had a hard time getting her head around, like magic, it lay in something far more familiar—something intrinsic to being human. She felt as if the ground were moving beneath her feet. Darkness pulled at the edges of her vision, and she pressed a hand to her forehead. It was Erik’s voice that brought her back to reality. He’d crouched down to stroke the young girl’s head, then turned to speak to Shizuku in a serious tone of voice. “Let me clarify. In your world, language is something you learn through education, right?” he said. “Yes… That’s right. That’s why there are so many languages. We learn words when we’re young by listening to what people are saying around us.” “I thought it was genetic.” Now that he mentioned it, a while ago, when the topic of whether spoken languages varied or not had come up, Erik had asked Shizuku whether it was her genes that stopped her from understanding foreign languages. At the time, Shizuku hadn’t thought much of his question—after all, it was the kind of thing Erik tended to say—but thinking about it now, that was a strange comment. In Erik’s world, knowledge of verbal language was something you were supposed to be born with. That was why the entire vast continent all spoke the same language, and it didn’t evolve across generations. Shizuku felt a little jealous—but once she caught herself losing sight of reality, she snapped out of it and focused on the situation that was playing out in front of her. “Uhh, does that mean you’re born knowing all spoken words? Could a kid this young understand a word like lugubrious, for example?” “No. That’s not basic vocabulary. When a human is born, they know approximately twenty-six hundred words, if you include all parts of speech. All other words are formed by combining basic pieces of vocabulary.” “Do you learn those combinations?” “Yes. Don’t you have basic vocabulary where you come from?” “Yeah, but I think it means something different… There’s no such thing as innate vocabulary in my world.” In Shizuku’s world, “basic vocabulary” just referred to commonly used words. There were no words that people knew without learning them in some way. Her head throbbing, Shizuku asked Erik about something that made her curious. “If it’s innate knowledge, what happens when a child knows the word for something they haven’t encountered yet? Would a child who has never seen or heard of a cat still inherently know what a cat is?” “If you don’t know about something, then you won’t just suddenly learn about it. We have innate knowledge of the words themselves, not the objects they represent, so if you don’t recognize an object, no words will come to mind. It’s like when you know something, but can’t remember it. The word comes to mind when you see the subject or something related to it…for example, a picture of a cat.” In other words, the word cat was basic vocabulary, something that all people were born with. If someone grew up in a place where there were no cats around and had no knowledge of their existence, that word would stay dormant inside them. Understanding Erik’s explanation, Shizuku moved on to her next question. “Then what happens if you describe an unknown subject to someone verbally? If I were to explain what a cat was to a child who didn’t know about cats, would they remember the word and go, ‘Oh, a cat!’?” “It’s not so much about how it’s explained, rather than whether you can ultimately get them to clearly recognize the subject. If someone’s good at drawing, for example, they could get a child to recognize a subject they’re not familiar with. In that case, the word comes naturally to their mind. Describing an unfamiliar subject verbally can be hard, but smart children might be able to immediately associate the words with an object. In the worst-case scenario, they end up remembering the sequence of sounds that represent that concept instead. As they grow older and experience more, the connection between words and objects tends to fall into place seamlessly.” “Hold on a minute. That part about the worst-case scenario—that’s the normal way of learning languages. You teach kids what a word means.” “That’s absurd.” “That’s my line!” Shizuku found herself shouting. The little girl startled, and Shizuku gave her a smile. On a new piece of paper, she drew a fairly realistic picture of an octopus. First, she showed it to Erik to check that he recognized the creature. Next, she showed it to the expectant little girl—but the child just stared at it in silence, seemingly unsure what the picture was of. “It’s an octopus,” explained Shizuku. “Oc’opus!” the girl repeated, smiling happily. “Is octopus a word you’re born knowing?” “Usually, yes. This is how we know she’s suffering from that illness.” “But she’s extremely normal, I assure you. She’s the picture of health.” The difference in their perceptions of normality infuriated Shizuku. Erik, meanwhile, crossed his arms and thought to himself. “If language skills can only be obtained through learning, what happens if someone isn’t taught them?” “They can’t speak. They have to express their emotions through grunts and gestures instead. There are several real-life examples of this. Also…there are stories of an experiment like that being carried out in ancient times. There was a king who wanted to know what the oldest language in the world was, so he ordered people not to speak in front of children.” “Oh. What happened?” Erik leaned in slightly, seeming interested. Perhaps no such experiment had been conducted in his world. Shizuku smiled awkwardly and continued. “After a while, the children began to use some words, which the king concluded must be the world’s oldest language. But in modern times, it’s thought that those words weren’t innate at all—instead, the kids must have heard them somewhere or been taught them by somebody else. Either that, or the children invented the language by themselves.” “They invented a language? From scratch?” “More or less. Humans can do that in my world—that’s why languages vary depending on the region or time period.” From Shizuku’s perspective, that was a given. Language was something that humans created, not something they had at birth. While humans possessed the ability to create new languages from scratch, they were not equipped with a common language that most people could understand from the moment they were born. Shizuku’s explanation made Erik frown even more. He openly looked her up and down. “Hmm… You do look like a human, but what if you’re just from a species that resembles us?” “Gah! That was savage! I was going to be the one to raise that question!” “Were you now?” The pair felt like everything they thought they knew had been turned on its head. Suddenly, a court lady emerged from behind the trees. She appeared to be searching for the missing girl, and once she’d hurried over, she noticed the various objects the child was clutching. Bowing to Shizuku and Erik repeatedly, she led the girl away. Shizuku felt an inexplicable sense of restlessness as she waved good-bye to the child. What seemed ordinary to her was considered an illness in this world and viewed as unusual. She felt like leaping to her feet and shouting, “It’s not an illness!” but she restrained herself and turned back to Erik. “Are there innate words that aren’t names of objects, then?” she asked, pressing her knees together. “Like words for abstract concepts or things that cannot be confirmed to exist?” “Yes, there are. There are also adjectives and verbs, as well as conjunctions and auxiliary verbs.” “So how do you recall the words for things that don’t exist, or abstract concepts? Some things can’t be drawn, so you’d have to teach them methodically, right?” “Hmm. Well, you can teach those concepts to people, but usually, they’ll recall the word as long as they grasp the concept behind it. Typically, by around age three, a child has acquired most of the words needed for everyday life, and by age ten, they’ve recalled about sixty percent of the vocabulary they were born with. Everything beyond that varies from person to person.” Still kneeling down, Shizuku was unable to process this information, and she couldn’t keep her disapproval out of her voice. “Huh… Can words and meanings really be matched up like that?” “They match up well enough for people not to notice any problems. Ultimately, when you get down to the core of it, we associate vocabulary with the corresponding concepts more than the things themselves. Even with abstract words, if you can define the concept or understand the meaning, the word follows. It doesn’t matter whether the object actually exists or whether you believe in its existence. If you think something is cute, the word cute comes to mind. When a child is in pain, they cry, don’t they?” “Th-that’s different.” “We don’t see it that way. Take Lyshien, for example. Nobody spoke to her until she was freed from her captivity relatively recently, but she didn’t have any problems speaking, did she? That’s because she had her innate language skills to fall back on.” “…Oh.” Now that he mentioned it, Lyshien had claimed that she’d never spoken to anyone—in other words, nobody had taught her how to use language. Yet despite this, she’d been able to converse normally. It was the orthographic side of things—reading and writing—that she’d had to learn. “I didn’t realize there was an example in such close proximity to me… I’m shocked.” “I’m feeling pretty shocked, too.” As Erik spoke, he appeared to be deep in thought about something. His eyes wandered around aimlessly, but it was obvious that he wasn’t just taking in the scenery. The intense sunlight of Farsas wasn’t bothering Shizuku anymore, either. There was so much on her mind that it was a struggle to keep her thoughts from spinning out of control. In this world, people were inherently equipped with language skills. It made no sense to her. As Shizuku pondered the absurdity of it all, she recalled something that had tugged at the corner of her mind. It was something that Erik himself had said to her. “Once, you told me that you we couldn’t be sure that everyone interpreted white to be the same color. But if that’s the case, doesn’t the possibility that people understand words differently contradict the notion that language is innate? If it’s something innate, wouldn’t all people understand things the same way?” “No. That hypothetical was extreme. When I mentioned that possibility, I was just talking about how the meaning of words can vary from person to person. There’s also the question of whether we perceive things differently, but that doesn’t affect the fundamental principle that language is innate. It’s hard to prove that everyone is completely on the same page when it comes to the meaning of each word, even when conversations seem to flow smoothly. We all have different ways of recalling the same word. It’s best to think of their meanings as a matter of probability.” Erik paused there and looked at Shizuku. “You shouldn’t assume that everyone experiences things the same way, just because something’s innate. For example, we were both born with the ability to see—but you can’t be certain that we perceive things identically, can you?” “Don’t we?” “Probably not. I mean, I can see magic.” “…Oh yeah.” There it was. The existence of magic was something that decisively separated the two worlds. Maybe if Shizuku chose to view these linguistic differences as something similar to that, they’d make more sense to her. If only this infectious disease with no known cause didn’t exist. Shizuku fell silent, and Erik gazed at her, his expression one of undeniably intense concentration. She gazed back, somewhat absentmindedly, as a shadow of gloom veiled his deep-blue eyes. According to the book of Genesis, there was once a time where people all spoke the same language and used the same words. It was a tale from a distant past. A fable. Was language the work of the divine or an example of human ingenuity? Was it a tool for thought or a means of communication? The narratives and historical accounts continued to pile up. These unknown, hidden answers were all— Shizuku held her head in her hands, confused. She was trying to make sense of what she’d learned, but all she could think of was how crazy it sounded. The idea that humans were born knowing certain words was unbelievable. First and foremost, she wanted to see the list of these twenty-six hundred innate words. Maybe people were mistakenly assuming that this knowledge was innate when, actually, kids were learning through exposure. She could question this all she wanted—but whenever she remembered how children who seemed ordinary to her were considered sick, she reached a mental dead end. How had it come to this? Shizuku’s expression was contorted with anguish, as if she’d swallowed something incredibly sour. She looked at Erik and frowned. He was lost in thought, his expression drawn tighter than usual. After a short while, he let out a small sigh. “The truth is, there’s something I’ve been skeptical about since I first met you… Or since I first heard you talk about language, at least.” “Is it whether or not I’m human?” “No. You’re starting to sound like King Lars. He’s been a bad influence on you.” “Argh.” It seemed like she’d grown accustomed to interacting with tyrants over the previous month. Sensing her legs going numb, Shizuku stopped kneeling and shifted to a more comfortable sitting position, then asked Erik another question. “What are you skeptical about? Are you questioning whether language is really innate or not?” “I’ve never doubted that. There have been plenty of experiments conducted in this world that prove that to be the case… It’s something else. I’ve been wondering where our innate language abilities originate from.” Erik’s train of thought had likely advanced far beyond this simple question by the time he voiced it; he was just a little slow in expressing his ideas to Shizuku. She took in what he was saying and examined it against her own thoughts, paying more attention to his words than to his handsomely chiseled features. “The first records concerning innate vocabulary trace back to around fourteen hundred years ago, where it was described as a ‘gift from the gods.’ However, all records from before that era have been lost—and not just those concerning language. All that remains from the distant past are stories that were passed down orally.” “Oh right. I remember you saying that about myths as well.” “Yeah. For a long time, innate vocabulary was believed to be a god-given gift to humans. A big reason for that belief is the fact that many words for man-made items are included within that vocabulary, like clock, ship, and lock, for example. These are objects made by humans, yet we’re born knowing the words for them.” Shizuku followed Erik’s explanation, though something felt very off about the whole thing. If innate language skills had their roots solely in human physiology, it was odd for them to include words for man-made objects. Shizuku didn’t know if there were primitive humans in Erik’s world, but humans must have made some technological advancements since ancient times—not all man-made objects could have existed that far back. So did the word clock lie dormant in the human psyche before clocks were invented, or was the word planted within them afterward? Which came first—a word or its meaning? Things fitted together almost too well, which must have been why people thought a divine force was at play. “So the idea is that when tools were invented, gods gave people the words to describe them?” “Yeah. Some legends even suggest that the inventions themselves were gifts from the gods.” “I see. But nowadays, there are lots of people who don’t believe in a god, aren’t there? How would they interpret it?” Apparently, most mages were atheists. Erik himself claimed not to believe in the god Aetea. How did people like him make sense of the unnatural aspects of innate language? Erik looked at Shizuku’s serious expression and smiled faintly. “Nowadays, most scholars—including mages—believe in a plane of existence called the common language realm. They think it’s connected to the human soul, and that’s why we’re born with language skills. The existence of that realm hasn’t been proven, and there’s still a lot of debate about what it actually is, but as with the concept of the Negativity, we’ve come to accept that words themselves are a fundamental part of what constitutes a human being… A part of our soul.” “Whoa…” Shizuku had been ready to point out any potential contradictions, so she felt stuck when one didn’t immediately present itself. Their concept of the soul was something she couldn’t easily grasp, being from another world, and the realm structure itself seemed to completely set their two worlds apart. “So you’re saying that grammar and those twenty-six hundred pieces of vocabulary exist in that realm?” “The number might be higher, but that’s all we know about. However, shortly before I met you…I started to question whether that realm was really what provided us with our innate vocabulary.” He had lowered his voice, which made Shizuku vaguely nervous. Where was the limit to human thought? After you attempted to shatter deeply ingrained preconceptions, would you uncover the truth or merely end up trapped in another prison of ideas? For some reason, Shizuku’s heart began to race, and she pressed a hand against her chest. Maintaining her outward composure, she asked, “What made you question it?” Erik raised a finger. If he’d had a whiteboard, this would have been the point where he turned around to write on it. “If the vocabulary we’re born with really originated from the soul, why would there be an illness that prevented you from retrieving those words? This has never happened before. According to records, there’s never been a widespread occurrence of people being born with damaged souls.” “Oh…” Shizuku couldn’t bring herself to call that little girl a person with a “damaged soul”—if anything, she thought she was the epitome of normalcy. However, cases like hers were an anomaly that this world couldn’t ignore. As Shizuku held back a sigh, Erik waved his hand in the air. “So I came up with a hypothesis. What if the language we’re born with is passed down through genes, rather than by the soul? If you think about it that way, this infectious disease isn’t an abnormality in the soul but a genetic one. We still wouldn’t know the cause, but I think a genetic abnormality is far more likely to occur than the former.” “Oh. Is that why you asked me about genes, too?” “Yeah. After hearing that people in your world used different spoken languages, I became more and more skeptical of this possibility. It never occurred to me that you weren’t born with innate vocabulary. You said it had nothing to do with genes, but the structure of your world is different, too, so I assumed that a different factor must have influenced your language skills there.” Shizuku had heard that being able to roll your tongue was genetic. That could affect your pronunciation, so perhaps genes and language weren’t totally unrelated after all. Still, genes probably had less to do with language than Erik had expected—and there was no way that words could be inherited through genetics. While Shizuku pondered this seemingly outrageous hypothesis, Erik continued. “Let’s talk about the continent to the east, for example. Due to the war, there are no records about what language was used there before it was colonized—yet after a massive influx of immigrants from our continent settled there, everyone started speaking the same language, proving that language is innate to everybody, regardless of their race. That said, there are many regions over there where their accents are stronger than here… I thought that might be due to genetic influences.” “Oh. So mixing people from different races accelerated the spread of the language, but there are still some areas where it hasn’t spread completely?” “Exactly. Still, there’s a lot that genetics alone can’t explain. Let’s keep using the continent to the east as an example. Shortly after people began migrating from our continent, people here started speaking with a slight accent—even though they didn’t have mixed heritage. People have conducted research into that, but we still don’t know why it happened.” “Hmm. That is a mystery. Perhaps this stuff is genetic, after all.” “I can’t say for certain. Genes might have something to do with it, but I doubt they’re the only reason for people’s innate language skills. After all, there’s you.” “Me?” Shizuku pointed to herself, cocking her head in confusion, and a cold sweat trickled down her back for no apparent reason. The young mage—who’d once earned himself a unique position within the magic kingdom thanks to his highly regarded knowledge and spell configuration skills—stopped speaking abruptly and looked up at the castle behind him. After checking there was nobody else around, he kept going. “Have you told anybody about how language works in your world? I know you’ve basically been banned from speaking about those things.” “Oh. No, I haven’t. I did show the king and Leuticia some of my books, though.” “Okay. I advise you not to tell anybody that there are different spoken languages in your world or that innate vocabulary doesn’t exist. Depending on the scenario, this could cost you your life.” “Huh?” Shizuku’s eyes widened. Their conversation had suddenly taken a strange turn. Shizuku wondered if Erik was joking, but it didn’t seem that he was. In a quiet voice, Erik expanded on his advice. “That infectious disease broke out shortly before you arrived from your world. What do you think would happen if someone turned up claiming that these symptoms were normal where they came from, while the whole continent is desperately searching for a cause and a cure?” “Gah… They wouldn’t think I caused it, would they?” “They probably would. At the very least, you’re a human from a world with a totally different understanding of how language works. I’m sure they’d do a thorough investigation of you.” “Argh.” Lars’s smile came to mind. If he were to find out about this, he wouldn’t waste time with an investigation—he’d come and kill her before anyone else got the chance, all the while telling people, “Once she’s dead, we’ll see the truth.” Shizuku was turning paler and paler. Seemingly aware of what she was thinking, Erik winced with sympathy. “Well, I’ve been curious about this issue for a long time, so I’ll do a little more research into it. Hopefully, I can effectively prove that it has nothing to do with you… I’m far from confident about that, though.” “It’s okay. I appreciate it.” It was hard to imagine Erik making empty promises, and Shizuku bowed her head to express her sincere gratitude. Why, then, couldn’t she shake that strange sense of unease? Erik stood up, and seeing Shizuku look around anxiously, he reached out a hand to reassure her. “Don’t be too scared. Your presence might become a means to combat the illness.” “Huh? My presence? How come? Are we going to open a kindergarten?” She didn’t even know how language was taught here in this world, so how did he expect her to teach children about it? Shizuku imagined herself wearing a kindergarten teacher’s apron, talking to the children. However, Erik just chuckled and cleared up this misunderstanding. “No, we’re not. You’re receiving the benefits of our innate vocabulary, aren’t you? If we find out the reason why, we might be able to use that to help the children.” Shizuku was scared. She didn’t want to acknowledge it. She couldn’t. But why? she asked herself. If she were to notice, or if it were to be noticed, then surely— “Innate vocabulary? I don’t have that. If anything, I was slow to develop my language skills as a kid.” As she spoke, Shizuku felt a hollow emptiness, as if her words were merely sliding across the surface of something. It was something that she knew—something that was already inside her—but she couldn’t remember it. She got the feeling that she didn’t want to remember, and a chill went down her spine. Erik seemed worried. As he helped Shizuku to her feet, he looked her in the face. “Haven’t you realized? I couldn’t help finding it strange, but I didn’t point it out because I thought it might make you uneasy. During our journey together, I’ve had to disregard the idea that innate vocabulary is dependent on the soul.” He was right in front of her, and for some reason, it felt like he was miles away. Shizuku shivered, feeling alienated and restless. “In your world, people speak different languages, don’t they? If there’s also no such thing as an innate vocabulary, then this is the only way it can make sense. Words don’t originate from the soul.” Shizuku didn’t know what was normal. She didn’t know whether she was abnormal, or this world was. She felt the urge to touch him. She wanted him to hold her hand. She was just that frightened. —Please don’t notice. Don’t say it. Don’t make me an anomaly. Forget about it. Don’t look. I don’t want you to tell me. “You weren’t affected by the Negativity. Your soul is different from the souls of the people in my world. So…why are we able to talk to one another?” Shizuku was grateful that they could communicate. How would she have made any progress in this unknown world if it wasn’t for that? In pivotal moments fraught with uncertainty, it was words and the people who were willing to listen that had saved her. It was extremely lucky that she could talk to people—yet she’d never wondered why that was the case. Why? Why didn’t she find it strange? “Wh-why? I-I’m not sure…” “Right. Initially, I didn’t think anything of it, because an inability to communicate wasn’t a concept that existed for me. When I heard that there were different spoken languages in your world, I thought that was a little odd. Up until this point, I just assumed that our innate languages happened to be the same.” Erik gazed into Shizuku’s eyes. He looked like he was trying to see behind them, which made her breath catch in her throat. “But if there’s nothing innate about language in your world, that doesn’t add up. You say that languages vary depending on the region or the time period, right? This world is completely different from yours, both culturally and in terms of its history. There’s no way that our people would speak a language that was constructed in your world.” Their languages couldn’t be the same. After all, when people in Erik’s world spoke about names or places, the pronunciation sounded foreign to her. Shizuku had realized that—but she’d never wondered why it was. “You haven’t been influenced by innate language in any way since coming to this world, have you? Do you remember when you started being able to communicate? Do you have any ideas?” Shizuku’s head hurt. It felt as if her insides were being hit with a hammer. She pressed her fingers against her temples and staggered, but Erik held her up by her arm. She felt like she was going to collapse, so he caught her and made her sit back down on the grass. When he spotted the beads of sweat on her forehead beneath her black bangs, his expression changed. “You don’t look well. Let’s go inside. Maybe the sun’s gotten to you.” “No, I’m fine. Just…feeling a little queasy.” “Come inside. You struggle with the heat. I’m sorry I didn’t notice before.” Erik effortlessly picked her up in his arms. Under normal circumstances, Shizuku would have asserted that she could walk by herself, but she had no strength in her limbs. She let herself take advantage of his good nature and closed her eyes. Why did she feel so bad? She remembered when she’d fainted from heatstroke in elementary school during morning assembly. Everything had suddenly become distorted, and before she knew it, she was being lifted up by her teacher. After that incident, she’d always been careful when she went out in the summer. When had she stopped wearing the hat she always wore on walks? It must’ve been when she first saw her sister walking with a parasol. The sight had left her mesmerized. With the large brim of her hat covering her face, Shizuku felt like the one person that the world had left behind, and she’d walked behind her sister with her head hung low. The emotion she’d felt was more akin to loneliness than inferiority, though she’d never spoken to her family about it. Despite all the time that had passed, that memory had reemerged. Shizuku wiped her dripping sweat with her hand. As she exhaled, it seemed like mist dispersing. She let out what looked like a hazy breath, then without looking up at Erik, she began to move her parched lips. “I have no recollection of it… I found myself in the desert, and the next thing I knew, I was able to talk to people.” “I see. Well, there’s no need to dwell on it. Your ability to communicate has been a great help.” “Yeah.” The pair entered the shade of the castle, but Erik still didn’t put her down. It seemed like he wanted to take her somewhere she could rest. She weakly pressed her hand against her forehead, trying to stop her vision from spinning. Just as she felt like she was about to lose consciousness, a question escaped her lips. “Why do you think we can understand each other, Erik?” He’d been the only one to notice. If anyone could figure it out, he would. That was why she was asking. The young man answered with serenity in his eyes. “There might be something in this world that makes language innate to us, which has been here ever since the age of myths. Alternatively…it may be something that infects people, and it propagates language in that manner.” His voice was gentle, his arms warm. Erik’s words made Shizuku breathe a sigh of relief. In the few seconds before drifting off into a deep sleep, she dreamed of something infiltrating her lungs and settling deep within her body, along with the sand of that desert. Sleep washes everything away. Distorting worlds, shattering memories—everything is swept away by the waves, leaving only tranquility in its place. Sleep strips away all but what is most essential, enabling everyone to live peaceful lives. Perhaps the reason that people couldn’t remember everything was because sleep was silently curating their memories for them. The physical body perishes and is renewed every single day. In the end, only a tiny fraction of a person’s memories remains within the grip of their small hands. By the time Shizuku regained consciousness, around two hours had gone by. When she woke up, she found herself in her own room. Mea was next to her, wringing a wet white cloth. “Master, are you okay?” she asked, her green eyes wide with surprise. “Oh, but my work…” “You’re taking half a day off. It seems there’s still some heat trapped within your body, so you need to rest.” “Ngh, thank you…” Shizuku had failed to notice how strong the sun was, and she had ended up collapsing like a little kid. She took the damp cloth from Mea and pressed it against her face. The cool sensation was soothing and made it feel like the lethargy that had been weighing down her sluggish mind was draining away. Taking a moment to catch her breath, Shizuku looked around the room. There were hardly any of her things there—after all, she’d already packed her belongings and was scheduled to depart for a country to the north two days later. She started to tell Mea of their plans, but her assistant demon confirmed that Erik had already told her. Things always felt so hectic. Shizuku wanted to apologize for all the chaos she’d put Mea through, but she knew Mea would take it very seriously. Instead, she offered a simple “Sorry.” After drinking a whole glass of water, Shizuku attempted to climb out of bed—but Mea promptly intervened. “You can’t get up, Master. You’re suffering from exhaustion.” “It’s okay, honestly. I’m fine now.” “No, it’s not. You ended up bedridden with exhaustion once before, remember? I’m going to fetch a magic remedy. Just wait here.” Shizuku didn’t feel that weak, but as Mea pointed out, she had pushed herself too hard once before, so she smiled awkwardly and nodded. The green-haired girl bowed and left the room. The sun was still high in the sky. Shizuku, now alone, took the water jug from her bedside and filled her glass—but before she had the chance to take a sip, there was a sudden knock on the door. “Yes?” Shizuku answered, expecting it to be Harve or Erik. It was too soon for Mea to have returned. The person who came in, however, was neither of those two. It was a young man with gray hair and a cynical scowl on his face. Shizuku had seen him twice before, and the sight of him made her go as white as a sheet. “Ah…!” It was the man who’d tried to take Lyshien away but had retreated; the man who she’d met at the back of the castle. This time, though, he wasn’t wearing a dark-blue mage’s uniform. Harve had conducted some further investigations into him since their previous encounter and claimed that there was no royal mage that fit his description. In which case, who was this man? Before Shizuku could ask, he began to speak. “Don’t make a racket.” The young man casually raised his right hand, warning her that he’d use magic if she raised her voice, and Shizuku bit her lip. Just then, another man entered through the open door. He was tall and muscular, and he looked like a soldier. The man stared at her with masklike impassivity, and the intensity of his eyes put Shizuku on edge. Keeping her voice low, she asked them a question. “What…are you two doing?” “We’ve come to fetch you.” “Huh?” They must have got the wrong person—but just as she was about to tell them that, the man who looked like a soldier covered her mouth with his hand. Shizuku was so shocked by the whole situation that it took a while for the horror to sink in. A moment ago, that man had been standing by the door. He’d closed the two-meter gap between them in just two strides. Intense alarm bells were ringing for Shizuku, and she immediately started trying to find something to defend herself with, but the man stopped her from moving her head, his hand still over her mouth. “We aren’t going to hurt you, but we know what you said earlier today. This disease that’s infecting children seems normal to you, doesn’t it?” They’d heard her. All the remaining heat drained from her body. She thought they’d been alone earlier. In fact, she hadn’t seen anyone anywhere near them. Yet somehow, this man had overheard her. Erik’s words, “This could cost you your life,” started replaying over the top of the alarm bells in her head. “Hurry up, Faneet,” said the mage with the dark-gray hair. He sounded annoyed. Meanwhile, the man called Faneet glared sternly down at Shizuku. “If you stay in this country any longer, your safety will be at risk. The king may capture and kill you. We’ve come to fetch you before that happens.” Shizuku tried to shake her head violently. She didn’t need to be “fetched” by them. She was leaving soon anyway. But with the man’s grip on her head so firm, she couldn’t even do that. The man looked down into her large eyes, which were filled with fear and denial, and sneered. Then he suddenly pushed her light body onto the bed and brought out the small bow he was carrying on his back. “You’re going to leave this country and come to mine. That’s a done deal, and it’s what you want, too. Isn’t it?” “Th-that’s not what I…” There was no way that Shizuku would want that. Was he threatening her? As Shizuku saw him set an arrow to the bowstring, she glanced toward the door in a panic, but the man’s monotonous voice continued heedless of her distress.