Episode 56
In the male dormitory of the Academia.
In one room, Ocell Lampit Borg, a pawn of the Goddess Church, was squeezing his head, feeling the cognitive dissonance wash over him.
No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t understand his own actions and emotions. He had hated that guy so much, and yet… Every time he thought of him, he felt an opposing emotion growing stronger.
“Y-You… Schugenharz…!!”
Bam!
Unable to contain his rage, he slammed his fist onto the desk.
But that didn’t solve anything. In fact, with every throb of pain in his hand, feelings of loyalty and respect for that existence only bloomed higher.
He was trying to use me.
The faction he belonged to within the Goddess Church wanted to investigate the Formists, who sculpted the beauty of the goddess in this world.
It was the same this time.
Vargan obtained information about the believers belonging to the Formists through him. He even got intel on ‘bugs’…!
This was something he absolutely must not speak of to anyone. Every time he was asked, his mouth opened automatically, revealing everything he thought.
This was the ultimate humiliation.
That such a pious person like himself would betray the goddess!
He wished to inform the Goddess Church about the disgrace of being played by that guy, even if that meant tarnishing his own reputation, and request someone to get rid of him.
“Hah…!! Huh, Huhhh….”
His breath hitched painfully again. It felt like he had been thrown into a dark forest like a lost child, and overwhelming terror slithered up his spine.
Damn it, this is why.
This is why he couldn’t do anything.
Every time he had unholy thoughts about betraying that guy, his brain seemed to explode with a specific emotion. Mostly, it was fear like right now, and that intensity only grew stronger over time.
Ever since that day.
Ever since that guy fed him that strange Slime Monster and hypnotized him, his body had been manipulated to be easily controlled as he wished.
“…!”
Suddenly, it felt like he had caught a cold, and his body trembled.
“N-No, no, no! I didn’t think about it! I swear, I didn’t think about it…!”
Borg, face hidden on the desk, vehemently denied it, shaking his head.
The fear he was instilled with wasn’t just about betrayal towards Vargan. There was another safety measure imposed by Vargan to keep Borg from getting too close.
“I-I didn’t think about Erica! Not at all!! Please, just stop…!”
The concentration of the curse tied to thoughts of Erica was stronger, and his complexion was completely pale, looking like someone about to die.
Any time he thought even a little about her, a powerful curse would activate, and Vargan’s Familiar inside him would suck up all the mana, crushing his will to resist.
I want to die.
I’d rather just die.
Sometimes, that kind of desire would surge, but it would extinguish quickly like a candle in the wind, leaving no trace. This wasn’t because of Vargan’s curse. It was just because of Borg. It was his own fundamental fear.
Borg, now huddled on the floor instead of the desk, continued to tremble, but a small smile crept onto his face like a crazy person.
It’s hard.
I want to die.
But today is the last day.
“Hee, hee hee… hee.”
A ghostly laugh whispers through the air.
It’s all over today. Liberation from this hell.
What an incredibly arrogant and foolish fool.
What can a mere first-year would-be hero do? It’s practically a suicide mission.
Borg recalled Vargan nodding at the information he had provided. Today, he went to the theater where Bishop Caliculea of the Formists was located, within the Goddess Church.
He didn’t explain the reason, but it was obvious he intended to harm Bishop Caliculea. Foolish. So clueless about the world. How he knew the bishop was there is a mystery, but the fact that he didn’t bring any professors is the end of his luck.
Die.
Die, Vargan.
Be torn to shreds and become a sacrificial offering over there.
“Hee, hee hee hee. Kyaaa… huh??!”
Laughing, then terrified.
Borg, off to one side of the small room, is increasingly consumed by Vargan’s curse.
*
Her eyelids felt frozen, refusing to open.
She wanted to dispel the darkness and look ahead, but the horrific nightmare held young Erica captive. Sad. Scared. Longing. …She was pulled into an endless cycle, chattering away.
Erica resisted, trying to shake off all those hands.
This situation is strange. Something is definitely wrong.
Trying to move her completely unresponsive body felt oddly lighter than before, as if the grip holding her down had weakened. Perhaps the spell’s caster couldn’t concentrate, or they had just lost sight of her…?
?!
With all her might, Erica strained against the pressure, managing to reclaim some control over her body. Though her surroundings remained shrouded in darkness, her senses were dulling, she could at least manipulate the flow of mana within her.
Hoooon…?
She began to channel mana.
Melting the ice of the valley, she created a waterway.
Slowly. Gradually. Every bit of ice dripped away.
The stream that flowed down began to converge like branches coming together.
As the internal mana moved properly, her body’s sensations rapidly recovered. She could open her eyes now.
Erica started to lift her long, fluttering eyelashes.
The intense lights. The stage lights barely allowed her to focus her eyes.
Erica’s delicate brows furrowed, and her pupils adjusted their focus. Two figures came into view. No, one of them had arms protruding grotesquely long.
Erica concentrated on them once more.
“You damn bastard! You interrupted my lover’s awakening from her blessing, didn’t you???!! If it weren’t for you, by now she would be in…!”
Erica gasped in surprise.
As she looked straight at them, it became even more bizarre. This was no human. A monster… no, that thing… Altife…? But such a human-like figure clearly belonged to the third danger level—bishop class or higher?
“Caliculea. Didn’t I tell you to keep your mouth shut?”
A distinctly audible male voice cut through the frozen air.
It wasn’t particularly loud, yet within the chaotic theater, his voice seemed to magically reach Erica’s ears.
There was an unmistakable hint of anger in that voice.
The mocking smile that was always seen on the man had vanished.
“……”
For just a moment, Erica locked eyes with Vargan. He casually glanced to assess whether the items were undamaged, before shifting his gaze back to the monster in front of him.
Erica tried to call out to him.
She didn’t even know what she was going to say herself.
She attempted to lift her creaky body, which was just beginning to regain function.
Vargan stopped Erica’s movement.
“Think about returning to the Academia, Erica. If you strain yourself to move now, you won’t take a single step after this battle.”
Despite this, Erica couldn’t just remain silent and opened her mouth to insist she was fine and ready to fight.
But her lips merely moved; her voice didn’t resonate.
She still hadn’t fully recovered.
He hasn’t recovered.
“What did I say?”
Only then does he show a smile.
A faint smile.
“I don’t want to go back riding on someone I utterly despise, so you might as well ‘sit back and sleep’ there.”
“…!”
With the power of the curse imbued in those words, Erica’s legs weaken and the focus in her eyes starts to fade. Normally, she would be able to escape it, but now the situation is different.
Erica finds herself sitting down again.
Her furrowed brow is forcibly smoothed, and her eyelids grow heavy.
“Shugen… Hartz…”
Just before her head droops completely, she barely manages to mutter his name. She catches a glimpse of Vargan’s profile. It blurs gradually.
With those last words, Erica falls into a deep slumber, looking more comfortable than anyone else in the world.
She probably won’t have the same nightmare as before.
*
The reason I didn’t fall victim to his power, ‘Nightmare,’ is simple. I had already cast a curse upon myself beforehand.
For example, like this.
You can’t fit two cars in a parking space meant for one. Even if it’s the goddess’s power, it’s impossible to dream two dreams at once.
It’s not that surprising, really.
Swoosh?!
The arm of Caliculea that was sliced off grows back, reaching out like a bow.
The speed is significant.
It’s enough to make me squint at the vibrating sound of the rift.
Indeed, a bishop-level opponent is different.
The tentacles of the priests Alicia faced were much slower than this. Just as I expected, he’s no walk in the park.
He continues to thrust his arms.
His body, stretching and retracting rapidly, is as elastic and fast as a massive rubber band.
“Hey! Haven’t been able to cast a single decent spell, have you?! All that jabbering and all you can do is dodge? How ridiculous! Too ridiculous!”
Caliculea seems to think he’s dominating the current situation, and he accelerates his attack even more.
He may not be enveloped in an aura like a hero, but his pure physicality alone is profoundly destructive.
I dodge his onslaught with grace, continuing my analysis.
“I see your body is harder than stone. Maybe going to a mine instead of a play would’ve been better.”
Caliculea’s gaze intensifies.
It seems that mentioning plays is more effective against him than any other insult.
At that moment.
His eyes, which met mine, seem to blur like paint.
He’s using his power again.
The method of pre-emptively casting a curse won’t work this time. I might not fall under his curse, but if I fall asleep, I’d be completely defenseless anyway.
Smirk.
He grins.
Even that smile becomes hazy.
My eyes gradually close.
I feel my body slowing down.
His iron-fisted punch hurtles directly toward me.
?Oh no. I can’t dodge this one.
Crack?!
The punch lands squarely on my face.
It shatters my nose and breaks my facial structure.
The impact sends me flying like a projectile.
Caliculea stretches his lips into a grotesque grin, as debris piles up in the background, filling the space with dust.
Caliculea watches the swirling particles, then strikes again at the writhing black shadow within.
An enormous shock that I couldn’t counter.
His attack was horrifying, piercing through my abdomen?
?So it should be written as per the script you desire.
Life doesn’t just flow as planned, does it?
Isn’t that right, Caliculea?
『……!!』
As he awakens from the illusion, Caliculea’s eyes grow wide like a fish’s.
Despite not being human, he looks just as dazed.
Tap, tap.
I gently tap Caliculea on the shoulder. A signal to look at me, in that empty space, aside from the remnants of props.
“Your fighting style is not beautiful. You seem to label yourself a playwright, but your tendencies are far from that. Being this violent and destructive is your true nature.”
“Not being able to move. This is your true nature—violent and destructive.”
Creek, creak.
The pathetic Bishop, cursed with overlapping spells, can’t move.
Caliculea’s entire body trembles as his face twists with intense fury.
Creeeak? The guy’s head turns.
Despite the pain of tearing muscles and dislocated bones, he defiantly denies reality with his furious eyes.
“Strange… Strange… You… are inferior to me. It must be true… You should be my prey… This situation doesn’t make any sense…!!”
Hmm.
I can’t guarantee it’s accurate since I can’t quantify combat power like Liam, but he isn’t wrong.
Caliculea. This guy has a higher raw combat power than me.
With a robust body, magic resistance, and an annoying curse harmony, he’s genuinely threatening; if it were the previous Vargan, he would have definitely been pierced in the abdomen.
“Vision… Hearing… Touch, Smell, Mana… and more….”
Caliculea recited the names of the curses I inflicted upon him one by one. Though he appears in a pitiful state, it seems that as a Bishop, he’s assessed the curses well.
What he says is true.
It’s difficult to deceive him with just one curse. Binding a grown man with a thin thread won’t bind him.
So, I overlapped the threads.
One to blind him. One to cover his ears… As I wrapped them up, even a grown man couldn’t escape.
Well, if the difference were too great, it’d be useless, but at least in our positions, it worked.
Creeeak.
His teeth shatter. A pitiful byproduct of not being able to endure his intense rage.
He can’t believe the current reality.
“The amount of Mana… There’s no way there would be ‘two’ humans like that in this world… What, what… Who the heck are you…?!”
One is the Chancellor of the Academia, perhaps.
After all, in his eyes, that person belongs to the pinnacle of magic, the Transcendent.
Sorry to say, but I’m not at that level yet. Giving a monster such an undeserved evaluation.
“I know you’re curious. Yeah, it’s strange. It far exceeds the level that can be rationally understood.”
I pulled out the mace I had tucked away.
Clack, clack.
Gently tapping it, I continued speaking.
“…Didn’t I say? I never allowed you to ask questions.”
“Do you really think I’ll speak under such torture?! To a mere human?!”
“Well… I can’t guarantee it, but if the pain is overwhelming enough, wouldn’t you open your mouth?”
Raising the mace, I continued.
Hmm? Showing a contemplative look is my little performance for this self-proclaimed playwright.
“Where does the sense of touch come from?”
He doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he struggles to escape from the curse I cast.
I gently placed my hand on his struggling body.
Carefully, like a Saint comforting a child.
Eventually, Caliculea notices the change.
“The answer is the nerve.”
I swung the mace. Imbued with normal aura.
He screams.
I didn’t apply any extra power.
The only thing that changed was his body.
Crack?! Crack?!
Ah, that’s good.
Let’s have a bet.
If he screams less than half the times I swung the mace, he wins. If it’s more, I win. The winner gets to ask the other whatever they want.
Oh, how true of human nature this is.
To give an opportunity even to such a lowly being.
Pursuing humanity and cherishing even trivial creatures, this virtuous heart makes even the devil shed tears of repentance.
? Kriiiieeeaah!!!
How is it, Caliculea? I want to hear your opinion.
Don’t just cry—answer me.
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