——Priscilla Bariel does not look down on the "Star Readers."
A pitiful existence plagued by mental illness, one that appeared only in the Volachia Empire.
That was the common understanding of those who kept Star Readers close, and moreover, they were not the sort of people one frequently encountered who had developed this condition through engaging in dialogue with the world.
And yet, there were positions that made it easy to come into contact with those who had developed the Star Reader condition.
Those were people close to the Volachia Imperial Family.
The Imperial Family themselves, or perhaps those who attended to their daily needs. Those placed in positions such as chamberlains or bodyguards could encounter Star Reader patients.
After all, the Star Readers seemed compelled to involve themselves in the Empire's history, and whenever a significant event worthy of recording in imperial history occurred, they would all flock there to deliver their tidings.
That said, the ramblings of those dismissed as lunatics—the Star Readers—were never taken seriously.
Undoubtedly, there were some eccentrics who lent an ear to the words of a Star Reader here and there, but at the very least, not a single history book recorded that such proclamations had ever proven useful.
It was only when the current Emperor, Vincent Volachia, granted
Could it not be said that the Star Readers were like spurned suitors, burning with unrequited devotion to the Empire?
Suitors blessed with a divine mandate, who had abandoned everything blindly in pursuit of its fulfillment. The majority of the Empire's citizens despised them for it, but Priscilla did not despise them. Nor did she pity them.
The Star Readers were not special enough to warrant either contempt or pity.
In the first place, the vast majority of living beings were slaves to something greater than themselves.
Whether that something was a king, a family, or a spouse; love, hatred, or destiny—the only difference was what it was.
And that—— "—Even I am no exception."
With a jangling clink of the shackles locked around her wrists, she murmured into the darkness.
When she wove her words, she paid little heed to whether anyone was listening, but at the very least, that murmur was not meant for herself—it was spoken for someone else to hear.
However, that someone apparently had no desire to respond.
Still, if they were trying to hide their presence, that paltry wish would not be granted.
"You may try to hold your breath, but the presence of a creature such as yourself cannot be concealed. Or must I come in person before you'll show your face?"
"—As long as you remain in those shackles, that would be an impossible feat."
"Indeed. Then, as before, you have no choice but to come to me. I have no intention of exchanging words with someone who won't even show their face."
"————"
For a brief moment—hardly long enough to be called hesitation—there was a pause before the footsteps resumed. Then, slowly, the sound of boots tapping against the cold floor drew closer, and a small figure emerged from the darkness.
The dungeon's light was meager, and she could only dimly make out the other's form.
Even adjusting one's eyes to darkness had its limits. Moreover, this was not someone who had kept her eyelids closed to acclimate to the dark.
"I shall not skulk about like something lost in the pitch-black dark. When I emerge, it is in the light—boldly and with dignity."
"How entirely like you—arrogant to the last. Caution: required."
No sooner had that emotionless voice sounded than something harder than a heel struck the stone floor with a sharp crack. A high-pitched note tore through the cold air, and then a pale blue light forcibly pushed back the dungeon's darkness, gently but inexorably.
"————"
In an instant, what materialized within that light was a white, beautiful face— Orange hair, crimson eyes, and a stunning beauty draped in a blood-red dress: Priscilla Bariel.
Chained in the dungeon before her, holding a staff that glowed with pale blue light, was a girl with long pink hair—matching the description of cracked skin and horrifying eyes. A zombie.
If there was any difference, it was that this child-like zombie, whom Priscilla was seeing for the very first time, was the mastermind who—— "—So you're the one behind this 'Great Calamity.'"
"I won't deny it, but where did you hear that word? You shouldn't have had an opportunity to."
"The one who brought me my meals was one of yours, yes? Did they starve me of conversation so badly? Even without my asking, they chattered on and on to while away the boredom."
"First General Temegryph requires a warning. However—"
There, the child zombie cut her words short and took one step closer to Priscilla.
She was still far away, though. No matter how long and gracefully slender Priscilla's legs might be, she wouldn't be able to reach forward and straighten the other's bangs even with a raised foot.
"Were you able to endure it? The boredom."
"————"
Maintaining the distance between herself and Priscilla, the child zombie continued from where she had left off.
Priscilla narrowed her eyes slightly at the question. The child's words carried an odd sense of intimacy—as though she were peering into Priscilla's face.
Not a physical closeness, but an emotional one.
"Almost as though you already knew me from before."
"How so? Do you remember me? Do you believe you have some recollection?"
"Unfortunately, I am not so eccentric as to bother committing unworthy things to memory. Either you are not worth remembering, or this is the first time you have shown me your face—most likely one or the other."
"That is correct. This is the first time you have seen my face."
The child zombie's nodding answer, however, was not a complete response to Priscilla's suspicions.
But since it was yet another statement that left an unresolved thread, the other's true intentions were clear. —She was testing Priscilla. Observing whether a chained beast would take the bait.
Sensing this, Priscilla gave a small, dismissive snort.
"One might call it impudence bordering on a complete lack of fear, when directed at me."
"It is true that I do not experience the emotion of fear. My ignorance is not limited to fear, however, and as a substitute for my mother—who was driven by intellectual curiosity—the implications are dire—"
"You claim to know me unilaterally, then. —The specter that plagued Caffulton, that village, was you, wasn't it?"
"————. Explanation: required."
The child zombie halted her own monologue, which had begun in an emotionless tone, and froze when Priscilla named her connection.
The muttered words that followed were proof that Priscilla's recollection was linked to the child, but it seemed the child did not understand how Priscilla had made the connection.
"Hmph, it's hardly a difficult matter. Previously, in my territory in the Kingdom of Lugnica—no, across the entire Empire, actually—an incident similar to what is happening now occurred. When one encounters such a rare event in one's own vicinity twice, it is only natural to draw a connection between the two."
The incident that had occurred in the Bariel territory of the Kingdom of Lugnica had centered on a village called Caffulton, and its nature had been the zombification of the village's residents.
That said, at the time, it could hardly be said that the dead were being resurrected—it would be more accurate to say their corpses were being manipulated at will. The culprit, the Queen, had been defeated, and since then, no further reports of similar phenomena had surfaced. It was assumed the matter had been resolved.
"You changed your nesting ground and continued your 'tests.' That repulsive puppet play of embedding insects in corpses seems to have improved somewhat."
"Under the previous approach, there were too many obstacles to achieving the objective.改良 required."
"I won't deny your involvement with Caffulton."
"I see no point in that. Isn't this a pointless exchange?"
The child zombie's responses, devoid of any visible emotion, conveyed not merely a distaste for inefficiency, but a visceral revulsion toward it.
Setting aside the fact that she showed no remorse, the absence of denial was useful in extracting the information Priscilla sought. On the other hand, engaging in dialogue with such an opponent was— "How insufferably boring you are."
"Is that something of importance?"
"If one sets aside whether something is useful or not, the only point at which a conversation can hold value is precisely there."
"Then, would it not suffice to simply not set aside whether something is useful or not?"
"That is precisely why I say conversations with you are boring. It is like conversing with the dead. I would rather speak with a tombstone—at least then, there would be no irritating responses."
"————"
At Priscilla's words, the child zombie narrowed her dark eyes and took another step closer. She then placed her free hand—the one not holding the staff—against her chest.
"Not merely like it, but precisely a dialogue with the dead. Upon seeing my appearance, you would not call this the form of a living person, surely."
"To apply the concepts of life and death to something that can hardly be called alive is rather inelegant, I admit. However, your being a zombie was somewhat surprising, I must say."
"————. Why is that?"
"For the mastermind behind the 'Great Calamity' herself to become a zombie—that can only be described as a reckless gamble. At the moment of death, the incantation might have been severed, and all of her plans could have come to nothing."
Undoubtedly, there was the possibility—based on information and reasoning unavailable to Priscilla—that this concern was unfounded. But considering this child's nature, the question remained.
This girl detested inefficiency and never reached for something she assessed as having low certainty.
And yet, she had treated even her own life as one of the cards used to bring about the "Great Calamity."
"Did you face inevitable death and, because of it, reluctantly entrust your hopes to the afterlife? Or had you already become a zombie before this incident? If neither—"
"If neither?"
"—Then perhaps you had accepted that once your life reached its end, it was enough for everything to simply stop there."
Speculating on the true intentions behind the child zombie's enigmatic nature, Priscilla voiced three possibilities.
She ordered them roughly by how unlikely they seemed based on the personality she had been analyzing, saving the most improbable for last.
However— "Praise: required."
It was precisely when Priscilla voiced the possibility she considered least likely that the child reacted with those words.
In other words, the child's scheme—which had its origins before, during, or after the Caffulton incident—was something she would have accepted being crushed simultaneously with the end of her own life.
That fact alone was enough to furrow Priscilla's beautiful brow, but what truly drove the furrow deeper was the child's reaction to having her true intentions laid bare.
The child zombie—whose pallid face had been drained of life itself—smiled with an expression that said, "You've got me."
In the light cast by the staff, Priscilla witnessed that smile while furrowing her brow.
"You have finally demonstrated that you are worth conversing with, if one sets aside whether it is useful or not."
"————. Has something changed?"
"If you cannot see it yourself, then allow me to spell it out. Calling it the sprouting of life after death is perhaps too much irony, but..."
There, Priscilla paused and closed one of her crimson eyes. A single beat of beautiful, precious deliberation passed before she opened the closed eyelid.
And with both crimson eyes, she looked squarely at the child zombie, whose smile had vanished.
"No, that is not it. It did not sprout after death. You wagered your own life to reveal that fact."
"I did not commit suicide. The opportunity arose of its own accord. So, your speculation that I faced inevitable death is also not incorrect. Correction: required."
As she responded, the child zombie's lips once again traced the same smile as before.
In that reaction, Priscilla could clearly sense the child's vitality—the presence of emotion. It was likely something the child had not possessed before.
And without it, the dead could not be resurrected as zombies.
Therefore, the child had proven it with her own life.
That she had the qualification to become a zombie, that she had a reason to cling to this life by placing her soul back into a vessel of clay.
It was a strategy that carried low certainty and could not remotely be called efficient.
"But, isn't it emotion that drives one to make such choices?"
"Indeed."
With her hand still pressed to her chest, the child zombie radiated something almost like fearlessness.
The empty, doll-like quality that had characterized their earlier conversation was gone. In its place was the tension of facing an entity whose very existence was fundamentally different from that mechanical hollowness.
"In the past, I neglected this, and that is why my plan in the Kingdom was thwarted. However, while I failed to become the '
"Chosen, you say. Is that the reason you bring calamity?"
"Correction: required. That is not my motive. It is my basis."
To Priscilla's question, an answer without hesitation.
Listening to the child zombie's reply, Priscilla began to give shape to the formless doubts that had clouded her mind.
Those doubts, which had been submerged in shadows darker than the dungeon's own darkness, were gradually brought into clarity by the child's words and expressions—much as the child had brought the staff's light into the dungeon below.
And then— "—My name is
"————"
Yes—the child zombie, Sphinx, who looked Priscilla dead in the eye and declared her own name: her words and bearing finally conveyed their full meaning to Priscilla.
The deliberate annotation that she had been called the "Witch" in the Kingdom of Lugnica was surely meant to clearly distinguish her from the other beings known as "Witches" in other nations.
The six "Witches" who had existed in the past, aside from the Witch of Envy, had nearly vanished from history, but they were still widely known as "Witches" throughout the world.
But if one were to specifically limit it to the "Witch" of the Kingdom of Lugnica, there was only one who fit.
That she had been involved in the "Demihuman War" was easily discovered by delving into the historical record.
However, what this self-proclaimed "Witch," Sphinx, wanted to convey to Priscilla was not the boring information of her true identity.
What the "Witch" wanted to convey to Priscilla was this— "—The reason you overcame a futile death and gained the dawn of life as a zombie... was because of me."
It was a declaration of war—proclaiming that Priscilla herself was the reason Sphinx had become the "Great Calamity."
△▼△▼△▼△ In truth, the situation was too obvious to even require thought.
In the Imperial Capital battle where the
During the battle, Priscilla and Jorna had been focused on their confrontation with
Now, Priscilla was chained in a dungeon, and the safety of Arakiya and Jorna was unknown.
During the fight with Arakiya, the "Soul Marriage Art" that Jorna had implanted in Priscilla was still in effect, so Jorna's survival was all but certain. Even setting that aside, Priscilla had accepted captivity in exchange for Jorna's safety—Jorna, who had been shaken by the appearance of the zombies during the fight with the unconscious Arakiya.
That trade would only have been possible if the other side had intended to capture Priscilla.
In other words, the fact that Priscilla was alive and chained in this dungeon meant it was only natural that her captors had a use for her.
"I had assumed it was Princess Ramia Godwin who was so insistent on keeping me alive."
"Princess Ramia Godwin was in favor of sparing your life as well. She was deeply attached to you. In those final moments—"
"—I have no intention of sharing the time between myself and Ramia with anyone else."
Priscilla cut that down cleanly, calling it a base curiosity.
At Priscilla's declaration, Sphinx withdrew without protest, simply saying "I see." She had raised the topic, but it seemed she had no real interest in it.
This was also evident from the fact that Priscilla was still alive even after Ramia's second death.
"Attachment is a curious thing. It is influenced too heavily by elements that contradict rationality. And yet, that irrationality sometimes overrides rationality—that outcome was difficult for me to comprehend."
"Is this conversation with me the result of prioritizing rationality, or irrationality?"
"Which one, I wonder? Consideration: required... and the act of doing so is itself novel."
Did Sphinx realize it?
Whether she was aware of it or not, in this moment—while conversing with Priscilla—Sphinx's words were rapidly gaining a sense of humanity.
The sprouting humanity was being watered with the nourishment of dialogue with Priscilla, and its growth was remarkable.
"————"
The true intentions that Priscilla had discerned in Sphinx were not denied.
Sphinx's refusal to dig any deeper only served to further confirm that this matter lay at the core of her motivation.
The only point where Priscilla was frustratingly behind Sphinx was this: she had absolutely no recollection of the source of Sphinx's intense attachment.
Of course, for someone of Priscilla's standing, it was not uncommon for people she had never met—or who only knew her name—to harbor a one-sided obsession with her.
But Sphinx's obsession clearly went beyond the pale of mere self-interest.
There was a reason. A reason behind the "Great Calamity's" inception.
"You said something rather interesting earlier, didn't you?"
"————"
"That all living beings are slaves to something greater. I couldn't understand it before, but I feel I'm beginning to now."
Sphinx, who had begun by calling it "interesting," was met with Priscilla's silence.
It was neither dismissal nor contempt—it could be called a dangerous curiosity. What Sphinx had called interesting was equally interesting to Priscilla.
She was curious to hear what this "Witch" would say—this Witch who had shown understanding of something she previously could not, and who had even expressed agreement with Priscilla's words.
Sure enough, urged on by Priscilla's silence, Sphinx continued.
"And it is precisely because of this that one can discover new rationality within irrationality. Attention: required."
So saying, Sphinx struck the glowing staff's tip against the floor once more. The flash of the Magic Crystal set into the staff flared brilliantly, and in an instant, its surface underwent a change.
—Reflected upon the faintly transparent Magic Crystal was a scene from outside the dungeon: the Imperial Capital.
Was this the same principle as a conversation mirror reflecting the image on the other side? Though she sensed an elaborate incantation far beyond what was needed for mere scrying, Priscilla narrowed her eyes against the light.
Sphinx had told her to pay attention.
"What do you wish to show me?"
"Proof of the truth of your words, and the results of my new equation."
Priscilla considered: if the truth of her words was connected to what Sphinx had just said, what could possibly be shown? And then it dawned on her.
And her realization and the clarity of the Magic Crystal's image happened simultaneously.
What was reflected in the image was— "Emotion and attachment—I had to understand them before I could figure out how to use them. She is admirable, isn't she? She won't spare herself if it's for your sake. —Consideration: required."
△▼△▼△▼△ —At that very same moment, at the scene real and true, depicted in the Magic Crystal.
"Oh dear, I've done poor Groobee a terrible disservice, haven't I? I had built up quite the reputation for my instincts never failing me when it mattered most... and yet I've gone and failed spectacularly."
The breezy tone of voice belied the humiliating failure it described.
But there was not a trace of shame in the voice color or the expression—not because he was indifferent to his failure, nor because his apology was insincere, but because his conclusion was that his intuition had been half right and half wrong.
He had left the flashy diversion to his allies and raced through the zombie-infested Imperial Capital to the top of the city wall—point number two—and there, at that designated location, something he was looking for should have been.
Of course, the basis for that expectation was pure intuition, and calling it a certainty would earn him a rebuke from many.
But at the very least, he had been certain. —This would be his stage.
If he came here, his own brilliant performance—his dazzling turn as the star actor of this world—could be witnessed by the noisy, clamoring audience watching from beyond.
And yet— "...So, you got anything to say for yourself?"
"Well, how about this? My intuition isn't wrong. After all, it's because what I truly desire is right here!" Cecilus answered Al's resentful words with exuberant confidence, all while holding the charred remnants of the leather cloak that had long since ceased to serve as a disguise.
Whether this was actually true or not existed on a plane beyond Cecilus's knowledge, but believing in yourself rather than doubting yourself was surely far more positive.
"Don't you agree, half-naked lady? A gloomy face invites a gloomy outcome. And so, the face a star actor bathed in light should wear goes without saying."
"————"
Cecilus raised his voice toward the figure floating in the sky above—the sky above the wall they had reached—but received no answer.
He had, however, received an initial greeting from the other party. It had come in the form of turning the entire surrounding area into a sea of flames, attempting to burn both Cecilus, hidden beneath his leather cloak, and Al to cinders.
And yet, despite all that, there was not a shred of hostility or killing intent perceptible in the figure toward Cecilus or Al.
All there was, was a girl—her slender body baring much of its brown skin—clutching something immense and overwhelming inside her, and the desperate, sobbing plea of that overflow.
How that something had come to reside within her, no one knew— "It seems you've swallowed something rather nasty. —You really are nothing but trouble, aren't you?"
"————"
"Huh? That strange sensation just now..."
What was that? Before Cecilus could even reach for the answer, there was movement overhead.
The light flashed, and with tremendous force, something descended from above to obliterate them. In the face of it, Cecilus licked his lips, and Al beside him cast off the leather cloak.
"Ah, goddammit! —Domain Re-expansion!!"
His desperate scream was swallowed by the impact, and the greatest clash in the Zombie Capital began.