Prologue

The great Kingdom of Herzeth—also known as the Kingdom of the Sun—was characterized by strict class division. At the bottom of the hierarchy were the poor, abandoned by the system, lacking family registers and devoid of rights. Above them were common citizens, and higher still lay the nobility. Reigning at the very pinnacle of this society was the royal family, whose palace oversaw the entire capital from its elevated position.

Considered a sacred domain, the royal palace was accessible to only a select few. On its eastern side stood a white spire, towering so tall it seemed to challenge the heavens themselves. It was not widely known that the spire’s interior housed luxurious living spaces, including a glass-domed observation deck, a dining room, and a bedroom. Even less known was the fact that the entire tower had been built for a single person.

Within the tower, in a spacious bath filled with hot water drawn from underground, dotted with seasonal flower petals of various colors, sat a lone girl. A goddess, a heavenly maiden—those who laid eyes on her for the first time would likely have no choice but to describe her otherworldly beauty in such lofty terms.

Her pale pink hair, fanned out across the surface of the water, was so lovely it put the floating flowers to shame, each strand shimmering like spun silk. Her skin, pure and white like freshly fallen snow on a cold winter day, was flawless. In contrast, her eyes were the color of a stark, elegant blush rose, like a blooming flower in spring.

Winter and spring, coldness and warmth—she embodied a mysterious allure that even a master’s brush couldn’t hope to capture.

Amid the rising steam, the extraordinary beauty let slip a single word from her delicate lips. “Boring...”

Gazing at the cloudless blue sky through a small window, the girl pushed to her feet, water splashing around her.

“I’m so bored. I’ve had it with this life.” She brought her hands to her head and groaned. “Why does a maiden my age have to spend every day praying for the kingdom’s protection and prosperity?! Flowers wilt quickly! Does no one realize this?!”

“Lady Artemisia,” called out a maid waiting outside the bath. “Is something the matter?”

“No, nothing,” the girl replied, her voice ringing as clear as a chime in the breeze. “I was just talking to a little bird flying in the sky.”

“Indeed? Ah, it’s nearly time for your prayers...”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

Artemisia, the girl, left the bath and walked to the dressing room with a composed expression. The maid approached reverently, holding a change of clothes with both hands as if making a sacred offering.

The beautiful Artemisia glanced at the maid. “I’ve been wondering...do you always change out the bathwater?”

“Y-Yes, of course! Clean, sanctified water is used for each bathing.”

“It seems like a waste to throw all of it out after a single use. Why don’t you wash up too?”

“I-It would be improper for someone like me to soak in your bathwater, Lady Artemisia.”

“Hmm. What if I order you to?”

“W-Well, I...”

“Honestly, you smell of sweat today. If you’re going to attend to me, I’d appreciate it if you cleaned yourself properly.”

“Huh...?!”

The maid hastily brought her arm to her nose and gave it a sniff, then turned bright red and bowed her head low. “M-My deepest apologies! A-Allow me to escort you to the altar, and then I’ll—”

“How many thousands of times do you think I’ve performed this ritual? I don’t need an escort every single time. I know the way. I’ll go myself.”

“Th-That wouldn’t be—”

“Just get in the water already. Go on, strip!”

“What? Now?”

“Strip, I said! Get in the bath. Right now. In you go!”

“Y-Y-Yes, my lady!”

The maid quickly undressed, and Artemisia half forcefully pushed her into the bath before waving with a small hand, smiling angelically.

“Now, then. Enjoy your soak.”

***

An hour later, a noble-looking lady with her face hidden behind a purple mesh veil arrived at the spire’s first floor.

“I wish to speak to Lady Artemisia.”

“Welcome, Lady Minerva,” said a maid with a polite bow. “Lady Artemisia is currently praying.”

“Ah, it’s that time, isn’t it?” Lady Minerva said, checking the watch on her wrist. “I’ll wait, then.”

The noblewoman stepped into the tower and took the magical elevator to the floor where the altar was located. Before her was a door adorned with an elegant sculpture of a goddess. The altar itself lay beyond, but not wanting to disturb the prayer session, Lady Minerva decided to wait in the small hall in front of the door. She approached a circular window set into the wall and looked out at the sprawling royal capital below: the quiet nobles’ district with its elegant residences, the citizens’ district with its homes and shops...

On the opposite side from the main gate were extensive slums, located in an area known as the capital’s underbelly, where the lowest-class citizens—the poor—lived. This window, however, had been strategically placed so that the slums couldn’t be seen from here.

The city’s buildings, its people, their lives, all appeared as nothing more than dots from this height. The spire was a sanctum, a realm of the celestial cut off from the world below.

How strange, Lady Minerva thought as she glanced at her watch, tilting her head.

She’d been waiting for some time now, and the prayer session should certainly have already ended. Yet there was no sign of the person she’d come to visit emerging from the altar room. Could Artemisia be so absorbed in prayer that she’d lost track of time?

Lady Minerva approached the door to the altar room and gently tapped the surface with her knuckles. “Lady Artemisia? I beg your pardon for interrupting your prayers. I’m Isabelle Minerva, from one of the seven great noble houses. I’d like to speak with you.”

She waited for a few moments, but no reply came from inside.

“Hello? Someone!” she called out, clapping her hands.

The elderly head maid emerged from the staircase leading to the lower floors. “Did you call, Lady Minerva?”

“I’d like to confirm that Lady Artemisia is currently in prayer.”

“That should be the case, yes.”

“Should? Who escorted her to the altar?”

“Today’s attendant is a girl named Lamil.”

“And where is this girl?”

“I believe she’s already gone home, as her shift’s ended, but someone else should have taken over...”

As they spoke in the hall, another maid, this one much younger, came running up.

“This is the maid who took over for Lamil,” the head maid explained. “Say, girl, has Lamil already gone home?”

“I-I was just looking for her, myself. She hasn’t officially passed the responsibilities on to me...”

The head maid and Lady Minerva exchanged glances and hurried toward the floor with the bath.

Lamil’s final task for the day had been to assist Artemisia with her preprayer purification bath, then escort her to the altar. While unlikely, perhaps Artemisia was still bathing? They rushed to open the door leading to the bath, only to find the wrong girl standing in the changing room.

“Lamil? What are you doing?! The prayer time has already passed!” the head maid snapped sternly.

The girl, wrapped in a towel, replied tearfully, “I’m so sorry, ma’am! Lady Artemisia ordered me to bathe, saying I reeked of sweat...but when I got out, I couldn’t find them!”

“Couldn’t find what?”

“M-My clothes...”

Once again, the head maid and Lady Minerva exchanged glances, then burst in unison out of the room. Not wanting to wait for the elevator, the two dashed up the spiral staircase and practically tumbled out onto the altar floor before using their full weight to push open the door with the goddess motif.

The gentle flicker of candlelight and the scent of incense filled the dim room. Opposite the door, the wall was a single massive pane of glass, through which one could see a shrine on a small hill in the eastern part of the capital—the Sacred Garden. It was a holy place where the first king of Herzeth was said to have received divine revelation, and it was accessible only to the royal family.

Notably, no one stood upon the altar overlooking it all.

“Oh no...” Lady Minerva murmured through trembling lips. “Convene the Council of the Seven immediately! And inform the royal family!”

She bit down sharply on her perfectly manicured, navy-painted nail.

“The saintess is gone!”

***

That evening, in a detached wing of the royal palace—the heart of the kingdom’s political power—the seven great nobles of the realm assembled.

“What?! This is a grave matter! Unacceptable, Lady Minerva!” shouted a man with a face resembling that of a cunning bird.

The salt-and-pepper-haired gentleman seated beside him tried to intervene. “Lord Giesz, we should remain calm and hear the details first.”

“How can you stay calm at a time like this, Lord Fennel?!” Lord Giesz demanded. “It is House Minerva’s sworn duty to see to the safety of the spire and the saintess!”

“You’re right, but we cannot take action without fully understanding what is happening.”

Lord Giesz snorted wordlessly in frustration.

In front of the two, Lady Minerva bit her red lower lip and explained the situation: After her usual cleansing in preparation for prayer, Saintess Artemisia had come up with an excuse to force her attending maid into the bath. Then it was likely she’d stolen and put on the maid’s clothes, tied up her hair, pulled the maid’s cap low over her face, and left the spire in disguise.

“We found this under her pillow,” Lady Minerva said weakly as she unfolded a small piece of paper.

Written on it, in rounded cursive, was the following:

Do not look for me. I did this of my own accord, and neither my maids nor House Minerva bear any responsibility for my disappearance. I beg of you, do not punish them.

Silently, the seven great nobles exchanged glances.

The spire was surrounded by a powerful barrier, painstakingly crafted over several years by the kingdom’s foremost mages. It could only be bypassed through the use of a protective charm that the saintess’s attendants wore.

“We must admit we’ve all been negligent,” said the handsome Albert Baycladd, heir to the leading house among the seven greats. He sighed and crossed his long legs.

The barrier had been designed to keep enemies out, not trap people in. The possibility of the saintess herself escaping through it had never been considered. Moreover, the barrier’s existence had led to external security around the tower being quite lax. And since very few people even knew what the saintess looked like, now that she’d made her way out, the odds of her being recognized were slim to none.

It was the first time in history that a saintess had shirked her duties and run away.

Lord Giesz opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, then cleared his throat sharply and glared at the veiled noblewoman instead. “Either way, Lady Minerva, you bear most of the responsibility for this matter.”

“I do, yes,” Lady Minerva admitted.

“And we remain unsure of what the ‘most severe rot’ mentioned in the saintess’s prophecy refers to,” Lord Giesz continued, raising his voice. “Now, how will you answer for this?!”

Another voice—flat, mechanical, and devoid of warmth—cut through the room.

“The saintess’s disappearance is the most severe rot. Our kingdom’s protection and prosperity hinges on her very existence.”

The nobles all turned toward the chamber’s door, where a man with skin white as the finest porcelain stood. His appearance was so flawless that he could’ve been mistaken for a sculpture—not only were his features handsome, but they had an ethereal quality, lacking any trace of living warmth. His hair fell over his left eye in golden waves, and his exposed right eye appeared unfocused. One couldn’t tell whether he was looking just ahead or far into the distance.

“Prince Figaro!”

All seven of the great nobles—each of whom held enough power to rule different aspects of the nation—dropped to one knee immediately at the sight of the kingdom’s second prince.

The man, Figaro, walked into the room with unhurried steps. “So Artemisia has vanished from the spire.”

Lady Minerva, her head bowed deeply, responded, “Yes, Your Highness. My deepest apologies. During her cleansing bath before her daily prayer, she—”

“Silence,” the prince cut in.

“I beg your pardon?” the noblewoman said, instinctively lifting her head.

“House Minerva is hereby stripped of its noble status,” Figaro said in a dull monotone. “The head of the family shall be sent down the well. Now, it would be presumptuous for one who no longer bears any noble status to speak to me. I will hear the details from the six great nobles.”

Still on her knees, Lady Minerva bit her now-pale lips hard and trembled. “Your Highness, please, I beg you! Anything but the well—”

“Take her,” Figaro commanded, snapping his fingers without so much as a glance at her.

Immediately, sturdy guards came into the room to lead away the woman who mere moments ago had been one of the seven great nobles.

The punishment might’ve seemed inexplicably abrupt, and perhaps even unjust. But when the one doling it out stood at the pinnacle of the hierarchy, there was little anyone could do. Such was the way of the Kingdom of Herzeth—a nation built from its inception upon a strictly enforced class system.

“Please wait a moment, Prince Figaro,” the young Albert Baycladd said brazenly.

The prince’s left eye narrowed slightly. “Albert. Are you dissatisfied with my decision?”

“Of course not, Your Highness,” Albert replied. “But I am thinking of Lady Artemisia’s feelings.”

“What does Artemisia have to do with this?”

“Lady Minerva, please show His Highness the letter.”

All eyes turned to the veiled Lady Minerva, who had been about to be dragged out of the room. Figaro gave a small nod, and the guards released her.

Lady Minerva coughed a few times, then took a slip of paper from her bag and gave it to a guard, who then dropped to one knee and handed it to the prince.

“So Artemisia says neither the maids nor House Minerva bear any responsibility for her disappearance, and begs for them to be spared. I see.” Figaro put the saintess’s note into his pocket and dismissed the guards with a light wave of his hand. “Very well. Minerva, as a favor to my beloved sister, your punishment is hereby put on hold. Once we have safely retrieved Artemisia, I’ll reconsider.”

“Th-Thank you for your mercy, Your Highness!” Lady Minerva stammered, dropping to her hands and knees and bowing her head to the floor.

It hadn’t been brotherly love for his little sister that had made Figaro reverse his decision, but the understanding that the saintess herself had cautioned against mercilessness. After all, it was the saintess’s sworn duty to serve the nation’s best interests until her dying breath.

Figaro’s emotionless gaze slowly swept over the seven great nobles.

“The saintess’s disappearance is now classified as a state secret. You are to search every last corner of the land for Artemisia. Should you fail to secure her...”

He paused briefly before continuing.

“None of you will have the chance to regret it.”

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Find

Beyond the slums—home to the abandoned people of the capital—wild, uninhabited mountains crowded together. It was said the slums were left alone to serve as a buffer against monsters drifting down from the mountain range, but no one knew the truth for certain.

At the foot of these mountains, nestled quietly among the trees, was a round lake untouched by humans. Its water was crystal clear, and schools of fish could be seen swimming through it, swiftly flicking their tail fins. Reflected upon the mirrorlike surface of the lake were the leaves of the surrounding trees, showing the first signs of autumn. It was a picturesque scene—a vivid portrait of the changing season.

“Why would they want to go swimming in autumn, of all seasons...?” muttered a man seated at a table set up near the lake.

Zenos, the genius unlicensed shadow healer, was dressed in his usual jet-black cloak as he confusedly watched a group of girls in swimsuits make merry by the water’s edge.

“Aw, come on, doc. Leave us to our fun. It’s hot today, anyway,” said Zophia, leader of the lizardmen, as she turned around to face him. She wore a green swimsuit that matched the color of her scales.

If one went strictly by the calendar, it was already autumn, but the sunlight today was intense with the lingering harshness of the summer heat.

“I agree. So much happened that we didn’t get to have fun this year. I’m glad we get to hang out with you, Sir Zenos,” said Lynga, boss of the werewolves. Her wet tail swished in a circle, scattering sparkling droplets of water everywhere.

Resting his chin in his hand at the table, Zenos replied, “Well, you have a point. I’ve been away more often than not lately...”

He’d infiltrated an academy for nobles as a teacher, hunted down a calamitously powerful magical beast in the frontier, and just last month, he’d gone to a battlefield as a border patrol officer and fought a deadly battle with a group of mercenaries who had invaded from the west.

Why him?

“I’m only a healer, damn it,” he grumbled, letting out an involuntary sigh.

Loewe, the well-built chieftain of the orcs, emerged from the lake with a splash, sending forth white-crested waves of water.

“That just means everyone needs you, Zenos. It’s both fortuitous and not... I have mixed feelings about it,” she said with a melancholic smile.

“Loewe...” Zenos paused as he looked at the orc. “Where’s your swimsuit?”

Though the sunlight glittering off the lake’s surface made it difficult to see, it appeared Loewe wasn’t wearing anything at all.

“Ohhh nooo!” Loewe lamented loudly. “It’s gooone! It must’ve floated awaaay! My perfect body is on full display to the wooorld! How shamefuuul!”

“Okay, no one is buying that, Loewe!” Zophia snapped, hurriedly attempting to wrap a towel around the orc’s body. “Swimsuits don’t ‘float away’ in lakes!”

Loewe flailed wildly. “Stop it, Zophia! This was the perfect chance for me to inconspicuously show off my magnificent physique to Zenos!”

“How is this inconspicuous?! Quit it with the indecency in front of the doc!”

“Indecency? You call this perfect figure indecent? Look! Look at it and say that again!”

“And why would I ever look at your naked body?!”

“Oh nooo!” Lynga interjected. “My swimsuit floated away tooo!”

“Enough already, you exhibitionists!” Zophia yelled.

As she watched the three demi-humans splash and wrestle in the water, the wraith Carmilla elegantly sipped tea under a parasol.

“Hee hee hee... Ah, how I missed the sound of their vulgar bickering. I find it quite nostalgic,” she said.

“Carmilla, stop lounging around and do something about this!” Zenos said.

“Aw, come on, guys! We finally get to have fun camping together! Please don’t fight!” said Lily, a young elf, unable to watch any longer as she stepped in to stop them.

As Zenos stood to back Lily up, he noticed something. “Lily, since when do you have that?”

Lily, who also worked as a receptionist and nurse at Zenos’s clinic, was wearing a glossy, navy-blue one-piece swimsuit.

Teacup in hand, Carmilla gave him a smug sidelong glance. “Hee hee hee... You mean the school swimsuit? Why, I arranged for it.”

“School what now?”

“What?! Do you not know about school swimsuits?!”

“Why would you ever assume I’d know?”

“Fine. ’Tis a type of swimsuit once used in schools in the far east. A legendary item, said to be coveted by fanatical collectors the world over! A man of culture would be able to appreciate the sight of a young elf in one.”

“I know I keep asking this question, but are you sure you’re an apex undead? Like, really?”

***

“Ooh, dinner’s ready!”

As night fell and the surrounding mountains were wrapped in the deep hues of dusk, the group gathered in a circle around a campfire after setting up their handmade tents around the lakeshore. Dinner included bread brought from the clinic, as well as a bubbling soup filled with beast meat and vegetables brought by the demi-humans. The pleasant tiredness from the day’s fun and the fresh night breeze made for perfect seasoning, making the meal taste even better.

After taking a bite of her skewered fish, Lily said, “Wow, Lynga! The fish you caught is so tasty!”

“You’re so nice, Lily,” Lynga replied. “But I am, indeed, a fishing master!”

“You do know you’re a werewolf and not a cat?” Zenos asked.

“Man, doc, things were rough for a while. It’s nice that it’s all finally settled down, huh?” Zophia asked.

“Yeah,” Zenos replied. “I wanna take it easy for a bit.”

“But little did Zenos know, a new—”

“Keep your weird predictions to yourself, you floaty snake!”

The lighthearted banter continued around the crackling fire. Though the breeze blowing over the lake carried with it the coolness of autumn, the day’s warmth still lingered gently in the air. The peaceful meal went on, and once the large pot was finally emptied, Loewe looked up at the jet-black sky and smacked her knees.

“Looks like the perfect time to get started,” she said.

“Started?” Zenos asked. “With what?”

Loewe’s lips lifted into a grin and she chuckled. “Why, ghost stories, of course. A true summer tradition.”

“But summer is over.”

“Aw, c’mon, doc,” Zophia interjected. “It sounds fun. And tonight’s pretty muggy still.”

Lynga let out a small laugh. “Try not to faint from my story.”

Zophia and Lynga were excited to join in, but Lily was clinging to Carmilla with a nervous expression. “I’m scared...”

“I am no good at ghost tales,” the wraith remarked.

“You’re a literal ghost tale,” Zenos said flatly.

“Hee hee hee...”

After the pair was done with their usual antics, Zophia spoke up. “All right, I’ll go first.”

She lowered her gaze to the flickering campfire and began to whisper, setting a strangely fitting tone for her story.

“It was a night just like this, hot and muggy... I’d just started working as an honorable thief, trying to survive and help feed the people of the slums a little. I used to research the homes of nobles and rich citizens who profited off of shady deals and sneak in, night after night. But I didn’t have much experience yet, so I was really tired. On my way back from a job...I decided to take a nap in an abandoned house.”

She tossed a twig into the fire and continued.

“I started feeling something strange. Like someone was in the next room. And when I held my breath and peeked in...”

A warm wind suddenly swept through the camp, rustling the trees in the mountains.

“Ack! Was it a ghost?!” Lily exclaimed, brows furrowed with fear as she clutched the hem of Carmilla’s robes.

The sight of the young girl who was terrified of ghosts clinging to a being that was essentially their queen made for a truly surreal scene.

Zophia suddenly pushed to her feet and shouted, “And there they were! The Royal Guard! That abandoned house turned out to be a rest station!”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed.

The lizardwoman stood there with her hands on her hips, blinking at the others’ awkward stares.

“You guys don’t think that was scary?” she asked.

“I mean, it would be scary, but...” Lily mumbled.

“I don’t think that’s a ghost story,” Lynga said.

“Indeed. You just picked the wrong spot for a nap,” Loewe pointed out.

A thief accidentally sneaking into a base full of knights whose job it was to catch thieves was certainly a terrifying experience, but one that was distinctly lacking in ghostly elements.

“I...guess, but... I mean, my blood’s never run colder than it did that night...” Zophia muttered as she sat down with a dissatisfied look.

Lynga leaned forward. “Heh heh! My turn! Try not to wet yourselves!”

With a wide, toothy grin, Lynga began her tale.

“It was a night just like this, hot and muggy...”

“You’re stealing my opening line!” Zophia protested.

“Ahem. In the face of true fear, all you can do is laugh. That’s what happened to me that night,” Lynga continued, ignoring the lizardwoman’s retort. She gradually lowered her voice as she spoke. “I was once an avid gambler. Before opening my own casino, I used to frequent gambling dens of all sorts. That night, I was on my way to play a game of dice—players had to guess whether the two dice they rolled would add up to an odd or even number.”

Thinking back on that day, Lynga tossed two pebbles into the fire as though rolling a pair of dice.

“Even or odd... On my way to the den, while thinking about where to place my bets, I saw a pair of birds perched close together on a tree branch. Then, two cats crossed my path. I looked up to see two stars floating in the darkening sky. Signs from the gods, I thought, that even numbers were in the cards that day.”

“Uh, Lynga?”

“I bet on even. I lost. But that was okay. The dice were bound to add up to an even number eventually. I doubled my wager, and bet on even again.”

“Um, can I just—”

“But I lost again. Dang it! Still, it was fine—the gods were on my side. I kept doubling my bets on even, until eventually...!”

Lynga suddenly stood up and let out a dry laugh.

“I lost everything I had...”

“Hey—”

Ignoring everyone’s repeated attempts to cut in, Lynga hugged herself, trembling in terror.

“Horrors await unsuspecting gamblers who venture inside those dens...”

“That’s just a story about losing at gambling!” Zophia snapped.

“What the hell did we just listen to?!” Loewe demanded.

Lynga puffed her cheeks in protest. “Seven odds in a row! There’s nothing scarier than that!”

Loewe was next, slowly pushing to her feet. “Now for the star of the show—my story!”

For some reason, just seeing how confident she seemed made Zenos uneasy.

“Are we actually getting a ghost tale this time?” Carmilla asked.

“Of course. It was a terrifying experience! I feared for my life that day.”

With a self-assured nod, Loewe continued.

“It was a night just like this, hot and muggy...”

“You guys need to come up with your own openers, damn it!” Zophia shouted.

“Listen, I need to set the mood,” Loewe said. She cleared her throat loudly, then folded her arms. “I need to be honest with you all: I may not look it, but I’m quite the glutton.”

That was so obvious nobody bothered to comment.

“Maintaining my magnificent physique requires a great deal of energy. And that day, my stomach started to rumble. I looked around, hoping for something to eat, but of course...there was nothing in sight. My mind fogged by hunger, I wandered through my hideout in search of sustenance. Never did I expect what happened next...”

Loewe’s muscles quivered for dramatic effect as she continued.

“‘Food... Food...’ I muttered like a madwoman as I wandered. Then, finally, there it was. Tucked away in a wooden box, I finally found...a rice ball.” She lowered her voice and looked over the group. “It looked a little charred, but in the face of my ravenous hunger, such details were meaningless. My powerful stomach can digest anything! A bit of mold or spoilage would pose no issue. And so, I stuffed the rice ball into my mouth with abandon.”

“Um, Loewe?”

“That was when I noticed something was wrong. Very wrong. There was an unmistakable crunch as I bit down—it did not feel like a rice ball.”

“Wait, is that—”

Sensing where this was going, Zenos tried to interrupt, but Loewe continued, uncrossing her arms as she shouted into the sky.

“Indeed! It was not a rice ball at all! It was an Explosion Stone that I had mined with my very own hands!”

“I knew it!”

This had happened shortly before Zenos had first met Loewe. Orcs had asked him to come to their stronghold after their chieftain had mistaken an Explosion Stone for a rice ball and accidentally swallowed it. He’d had to surgically remove the manastone to save her.

“Bah ha ha! How was that?! Terrifying, right?! Imagine having a volatile explosive in your stomach, not knowing when it might blow. Nothing can be scarier than that!” Loewe declared with a proud snort.

Zophia spoke up gently. “Look, Loewe, I’m sorry, but...that’s not a ghost story.”

“Yeah,” Lynga agreed in a similarly soft tone. “That was just you being stupid.”

“Why are you two looking at me with pity...?” Loewe asked.

Meanwhile, the wraith Carmilla was holding her stomach with laughter, wiping at the corner of her eye.

“Pfft! None of you told ghost stories—only silly tales! Though I must admit that your ridiculous expressions of pride make for a very amusing contrast with the complete nonsense you have been spouting! Hee hee hee!”

The three demi-humans all puffed out their cheeks in protest.

“Then why don’t you tell a ghost story, Carmilla?” Zophia demanded.

“Yeah, you do it!” Lynga agreed. “I bet my story can beat up your story!”

“Make us shiver, then!” Loewe said. “Go on!”

“Oh? You dare provoke me? Amusing lot,” Carmilla remarked. She brought a sleeve up to her lips and chuckled darkly.

To be fair, her very existence as a floating spirit was by itself a major ghost story, but by this point, everyone seemed desensitized to her nature.

Carmilla gazed into the void, seemingly trying to settle on a story to tell.

“Tales of lesser undead would be quite dull, so...I shall tell you a tale from long ago.”

With that, she turned her gaze to the fire.

“You have heard of the Great Human-Demon War, have you not?” she asked.

“Yeah, the war between humans and demons from way back, right?” Zenos replied.

Originally, humans and demons had lived on separate continents. But about four hundred years ago, the demon lord had led an invasion from the southern continent into human lands. The demon invasion was horrific, with settlements pillaged and massacred, but humans fought fiercely in resistance. The war, which had spanned the entire continent and nearly a hundred years, had finally ended three hundred years ago with the defeat of the demon lord and his forces, restoring peace at last to human lands.

“’Twas a brutal time, but many new technologies arose as humans devised methods to counter demon attacks: devastating offensive spells that could level mountains, magic circles for teleportation, and weapons imbued with magical power, to name a few.”

“Wasn’t it a hero of some sort who defeated the demon lord?” Zophia asked, sipping the wine she had brought. “Though the way people tell it, it’s more like a fairy tale than history.”

Indeed, despite the hero’s monumental feat of ending a century-long invasion, there were curiously almost no records of the man himself remaining.

“Must’ve been one hell of a guy,” Zophia concluded.

“Bet he was a lot like Sir Zenos!” Lynga ventured.

“Makes sense to me! The guy saved the world, after all!” Loewe added.

“Maybe don’t imply a back-alley healer is on the level of a world-saving hero,” Zenos pleaded, clearly uncomfortable with being compared to such an illustrious figure.

Carmilla narrowed her eyes at the flickering campfire. “So that one is a hero now, is he...?”

“Huh? Carmilla, you knew the hero?” Lily asked, surprised.

The wraith glanced up. “Perhaps. Perhaps not...”

“Did you or didn’t you?” Zenos asked bluntly, crossing his arms. “You know, Carmilla, you’re always dodging the question. What were you doing three hundred years ago, when you were still alive?”

“I have told you many times that I do not remember such ancient history.”

“C’mon, you never talk about yourself...”

“That would be neither a ghost story nor a silly tale. ’Tis not worth wasting a drink on,” Carmilla said as she poured herself a cup of wine, which she downed in one gulp. “Now, do not rush me. I shall tell you a tale of a time even more ancient—before the Great Human-Demon War.”

“Really...?”

The group exchanged glances as Carmilla tilted the bottle over her cup again.

“Four hundred years ago, the demon lord invaded the human continent, as you know,” she said. “But ask yourselves this: Why did he not invade sooner?”

The demi-humans all tilted their heads.

“Maybe the demons didn’t know the human continent existed?” Zophia offered.

“I think they knew, but didn’t have a means to get here,” Lynga posited.

“I’ve always figured maybe they just didn’t feel like it,” Loewe ventured.

Carmilla glanced over at Zenos. “And what do you think?”

“Umm... Maybe they had other stuff to worry about,” Zenos replied.

“You could say that,” Carmilla said with a slow nod before continuing. “Before the demon lord unified the southern continent, it was a chaotic realm crawling with all manner of foul creatures. They had to stabilize their own domain before even thinking of invading human territory. Eventually, the one who would go on to become the demon lord conquered all other demonic factions. But even then, there was more work to be done. Several other powerful species remained on the continent.”

“Huh. Really?”

“Indeed. And the greatest threat of them all were the fell dragons.”

“Fell dragons...”

“’Tis said that the demon lord’s battle against Galhamut, king of the fell dragons, lasted anywhere from a decade to a century. In the end, after a fierce, terrible struggle, the demons triumphed. The demon lord then spent a century recovering, rebuilding the demon army, and finishing up preparations to at last begin the invasion of human lands four hundred years ago.”

The demi-humans nodded, but nevertheless began to complain one after the other.

“I see...but that’s not a ghost story,” Zophia said.

“Yeah,” Lynga agreed. “It’s just history.”

“And not scary at all,” Loewe added.

“Patience,” Carmilla said. “My tale is not yet over.”

The wraith licked the remaining wine from her cup.

“Word has it that the king of the fell dragons was so powerful that even the demon lord could not kill him,” she explained.

“Huh?!”

“Gravely wounded, Galhamut fled the southern continent, which was now under the demon lord’s rule...toward this continent.”

“Whaaat?!”

Satisfied with the demi-humans’ shock, Carmilla decided to finish her tale.

“But Galhamut was in a near-death state, his strength almost fully drained. He hid deep, deep beneath the earth, simmering in his hatred for the demon lord, waiting for the day when his wounds would heal and he could rise again—”

Lily gripped the hem of Zenos’s cloak. “S-So that scary dragon is hiding somewhere on this continent...?” she asked.

“Well, ’tis but a rumor—quite close to a ghost tale, no? In my great-grandfather’s time, children were often told that they had best behave, lest the fell dragon Galhamut eat them. But...once the Great Human-Demon War erupted, people forgot about that threat.”

The demi-humans were silent for a while, then tilted their heads.

“I guess that counts as a ghost story of sorts,” Zophia conceded.

“Not exactly the kind of ghost I was hoping for,” Lynga commented.

“Indeed. The story was a little too grand for me to keep up,” Loewe concluded.

“What?! ’Tis a valuable tale, unheard of in this era!” Carmilla countered.

“Um...” Lily interjected in a timid tone before the demi-humans and the wraith could get into an argument. “Th-There are six of us, right?”

“There are, yeah.”

Zenos, Lily, Carmilla, Zophia, Lynga, and Loewe. Six people total.

“S-So who’s that over there?” Lily asked, her voice trembling slightly.

“Huh...?”

Everyone held their breaths. Suddenly, a groan echoed nearby.

“...ooo...oood...”

“Wah!”

“Eek!”

“Whoa!”

The demi-humans all jolted upright in alarm. They all followed Lily’s gaze toward a figure standing in the dimly lit area just beyond the light of the campfire. The figure, dressed in dark clothes that blended into the shadows, weakly extended an arm.

“...eed...ooo...ood...”

“E-Eek! It’s a zombie!” Lily yelped, backing away.

Zenos quickly stepped in front of the young elf. “No, that’s...”

At first, he’d been wary that this might be a creature of some sort, but upon closer inspection, the figure appeared to be wearing a black apron dress, almost like a maid’s outfit. A hat was pulled low over the face, and if one listened closely, the delirious groans spelled out words.

“Need...food...” the figure said.

“That’s just a hungry person,” Zenos said with a shrug, relaxing his guard.

Though the figure’s face wasn’t clearly visible due to the darkness and the hat, from the voice, they sounded like a relatively young woman. She tottered closer to the campfire and collapsed to her knees in front of the large pot. Upon peering into it and realizing it was empty, she hunched forward with sorrow and despair. She appeared too weak to stand, holding on to the pot’s rim with both hands, unmoving, her head hanging low.

“Um...the pot’s empty, but we still have bread,” Lily offered timidly.

The unknown woman reflexively lifted her head. Her hat fell backward with the motion, letting her long hair slip loose. The locks were a soft pink color reminiscent of the height of spring, carrying a gentle fragrance like that of blooming petals. Her eyes, the same color as her hair, were slightly moist; like morning dew infused with sorrow, they had a compelling pull that held one’s gaze. Though her cheeks were slightly gaunt from exhaustion and hunger, the girl nevertheless looked like something straight out of a fairy tale, detached from reality.

“Sh-She’s so pretty,” Lily murmured.

Paying the elf no mind, the girl grabbed a piece of bread from the nearby basket and stared at it intently.

“This...is bread...?” she asked, strangely enough.

The bread had been made by the children from the school in the slums, so its shape was somewhat irregular, but anyone could recognize it as bread. Yet the girl stared at the piece in her hands as though it were incomprehensible.

Hunger won out in the end, however, and she cautiously brought the bread to her small lips.

“It’s...so good,” she mumbled. In a flash, the girl finished the piece she’d taken and cast a longing gaze at the basket Lily was holding.

The young elf offered the whole basket to the girl with a smile. “We have more, so help yourself.”

“R-Really?”

Eagerly, the girl began to eat one piece after another, and the basket was soon empty. Zenos gave her water, which she drank in large gulps before finally letting out a long sigh, seemingly at peace.

“Ahh... I thought I was going to die,” she said. “I didn’t know hunger could be so painful.” She lifted her head again, and only then did she realize something about the people around her. “Wait, you all...have tails and fangs? How come?”

Zophia folded her arms in exasperation. “You’ve never seen a demi-human?”

“Demi-human,” the girl echoed. “I’ve heard the term before. So you’re all demi-humans, then?” She slowly reached for Lynga’s tail, seeming oddly fascinated. “How does your tail work? Can I touch it?”

“No!” Lynga snapped. “Only Sir Zenos may fluff my tail.”

“I didn’t know about that privilege,” Zenos interjected.

“R-Right,” the girl stammered as she reluctantly withdrew her hand. She turned her gaze to Lily. “Now that I look closely, you have strangely shaped ears.”

“Yes, I’m an elf,” Lily explained.

“An elf! I’ve heard of those! They’re quite rare, aren’t they?”

Now that her hunger had been sated, the girl seemed to have regained her energy, leaning forward excitedly. Fortunately, Carmilla had vanished—if this girl saw the floating entity, she’d presumably have quite the reaction. Whether it would be good or bad was uncertain, but it was best avoided regardless.

“And who are you, miss?” Lily asked, making everyone’s eyes turn to the strange girl.

Her beauty was so pure and otherworldly that she looked as though she’d descended from the heavens themselves. Given her reaction to the demi-humans, she couldn’t be from the slums. Judging by her maid’s outfit, perhaps she was a servant in a noble household? Still, she didn’t give off the vibe of someone who worked under others.

“Um, I’m Arte—” She caught herself, shook her head, and then said, “Arty. Yes. That’s my name.”

“Arty,” Lily repeated.

Zenos, seated next to her, asked, “Why are you out here at this hour? You’re upper-class, right? Not exactly the kind of person who should be wandering around a place like this.”

“Um, well, you see, a lot’s happened, and...” Arty trailed off, moving to pick up her discarded hat. She gathered her hair and put the hat over it, pulling it low to cover her face. “Either way, you’ve helped me tremendously. I will be sure to repay the debt someday. But...I do have another favor to ask: Please don’t tell anyone that you saw me here.”

Zenos and the others exchanged confused glances.

“I figured something was going on,” Zenos mused. “Well, if you don’t want us to tell anyone, we won’t. We’d rather stay out of trouble anyway.”

“You have my thanks. I’ll be going, then.”

“Wait a second!” Zenos called out before the girl could run off.

“Huh?”

“You’re going where, exactly?”

“I was planning on crossing over the mountains while it’s still dark.”

“Don’t do that. There are monsters in these mountains. The vicious ones are more active at night too.”

“What? Truly?” Arty cast a troubled glance at the mountains looming in the darkness ahead. Nervously, she murmured, “But... I must leave now...”

Just then, a scream came from the direction of the mountains.

“E-Eeek!”Arty yelped.

Several men came running, practically tumbling through the distant underbrush. Ferocious growls echoed not far behind—though their dark fur was hard to spot in the dark, the creatures giving chase were likely night wolves, known to roam the mountains after dusk in packs.

“Huh? Why are these guys here?” Zophia asked, surprised.

The men running from the magical beasts were young lizardmen, werewolves, and orcs—subordinates of the three demi-human leaders.

“Boooss!”

“What are you doing?” Zophia asked.

“W-We’re sorry!” the lizardman at the front shouted apologetically. “We heard our bosses were out camping with the doctor, and there’s these mushrooms that sprout at night in the mountains, and they go great with drinks, and we figured we’d forage some, and—”

Loewe crossed her arms. “You mean golden waxcap mushrooms? Indeed, when grilled, they have a wonderfully rich aroma. Truly a rare delicacy. That was thoughtful of you, but...”

Lynga shrugged. “You’re all too young to go into the mountains at night! That was stupid.”

Zophia let out a sigh, then cracked her neck. “Honestly! Is anyone hurt?”

“Um, two of us got badly bitten, actually!” the lizardman at the front said.

Upon closer inspection, two young orcs were carrying what appeared to be one injured lizardman and one injured werewolf. The wounded youths’ eyes were shut tight, their bodies hanging limply from the orcs’ backs.

“What are you doing?! Hurry and lay them down! We’ll handle the beasts!” Zophia ordered.

“W-We’re sorry!”

“I’ll handle this,” Lynga announced proudly. “Loewe, you can go snooze in the tent. You must be scared.”

“Silence!” Loewe snapped. “I can handle them myself!”

“Stop bickering and let’s go already!” Zophia interjected.

Zophia, Lynga, and Loewe darted off, switching places with their men as they leaped into the pack of snarling night wolves.

“Zenos...” Lily murmured anxiously.

The shadow healer gently patted her on the head, then walked over to the two injured youths lying on the ground. “They’ll be fine. Let’s take care of these guys.”

The first youth’s arm had been torn in half, and the second youth was missing his right foot from the ankle down. Both had additional bite marks on their abdomens and shoulders, and blood was oozing freely from their torn flesh. Fortunately, their soft groans of pain meant they were still breathing.

Zenos looked ahead at Arty, who was blankly staring at the second injured youth, her hands clasped tightly together. The shadow healer had seen plenty of injuries as bad as these during his time in the western front last month, but an upper-class girl like her was probably overwhelmed.

If nothing else, this would make the dangers of the mountains at night abundantly clear to her.

“Okay, let’s start with this one,” Zenos said, gesturing at the first youth. “Lily, can you give me some light?”

“Yes!” Lily exclaimed. “Glow!”

A ball of light floated up from Lily’s palm, illuminating the dark night.

Accurate diagnosis was essential for proper treatment, so visibility was very helpful. Next came protective magic, to cover the exposed blood vessels and stop the bleeding. Then, Zenos held out his right hand and began chanting.

“High Heal.”

The torn skin on the patient’s abdomen and shoulder began to expand rapidly, closing over the wounds from every direction. Mindful of the fact that bacteria could’ve slipped in through the bite marks, Zenos channeled healing magic into the youth’s bloodstream. As the glowing magic shifted to the patient’s left arm, bone began to regrow from the stump like icicles, followed by nerves, blood vessels, and muscles, reforming the arm’s original shape.

White motes of light scattered over the newly formed arm like scales, and finally, layers of fat tissue and skin wrapped around the limb, restoring it fully.

“Man, regenerating limbs sure is tiring,” Zenos mumbled. He exhaled and rolled his shoulders as he pushed to his feet.

Zophia and the others, having driven away the beasts, had made their way back.

“Sorry about our dumb men, doc,” Zophia said. “We’ll bring the payment to your clinic as soon as we’re able.”

“Sure,” Zenos replied. “We should eat the mushrooms they brought. Would be a shame to let their effort go to waste.”

“Yeah! Oh, they smell so good. I can hardly wait,” Lynga said with a grin.

“Indeed. Light workouts always drum up my appetite,” Loewe remarked with a smile of her own.

Lily smiled too, albeit a little awkwardly. “Loewe, did you just call fighting those monsters a ‘light workout’...?”

“Sorry for the trouble, doctor,” said the young demi-human Zenos had just healed, bowing his head repeatedly. “Thank you so much!”

“Yeah,” Zenos replied. “Just be careful when wandering around the mountains at night.” He turned his attention toward the other injured demi-human, who had lost a foot; before resuming the feast, he had to treat that one too.

Arty, who had been looking over the injured man, walked toward Zenos.

“You get it now? These mountains are dangerous at night,” Zenos told her.

“Yes, I see now,” Arty said. “Those were magical beasts, were they not? I can hardly believe such things are out here...”

Her already pale skin had gone whiter still. On top of seeing the magical beasts, she’d just witnessed two severely wounded people. It must’ve been quite a shock.

Zenos walked past her and approached the second man.

“Wait...what?” he blurted out.

To his alarm, the demi-human’s missing right foot had now fully reappeared. Not only that, but the lacerations on the patient’s shoulder and abdomen from the beasts’ sharp fangs were also completely healed, and the young man was now breathing peacefully, fast asleep.

The demi-human was no longer injured—when he had, moments ago, definitely been severely wounded. And the only person nearby had been this girl.

“Did you just...heal him?” Zenos asked, gesturing at the second man as he turned to face Arty.

“Did you just heal this man?” Arty asked, gesturing at the first man as she turned to face Zenos.

A hint of surprise colored both their voices.

Having been taught first by an eccentric mentor and then learning through trial and error thereafter, Zenos had grown up unaware of what were considered common healing practices. He’d once believed all healers could regenerate limbs and organs, but over time, through experience, he’d realized that wasn’t the case at all. Yet somehow this girl had performed seemingly flawless treatment on a badly injured patient.

“I see. So other healers can regenerate limbs,” Zenos muttered.

“I...don’t think that’s the right conclusion,” Lily said.

The demi-humans all gasped in awe.

“Damn,” Zophia said.

“I’m shocked,” Lynga added.

“There’s a healer as good as Zenos out there?” Loewe mumbled.

Arty blinked her pale pink eyes. “I...see. So you can do this too.” She turned her gaze toward Zenos. “You’re Zenos, right? Are you an elite healer?”

“Uh, no. I’m just a back-alley healer, as you can see,” Zenos replied.

“A back-alley healer...and you can do that? No way! That’s incredible!”

“Are you an elite healer?”

“I’m...just a cute maid, as you can see.” After a moment’s hesitation, Arty gripped the hem of her apron dress and spun around. Now that she’d eaten, she seemed a bit more energetic.

“Zenos,” whispered a voice in the shadow healer’s ear.

“Yikes!” he yelped. That had to be Carmilla, whispering from the shadows into which she’d vanished. “Floaty snaaake! How many times have I asked you not to—”

“Something is not right about that female healer,” Carmilla cut in.

“What do you mean?”

“I do not think she used healing magic.”

“Huh...?” Zenos narrowed his eyes at the darkness. “But she regenerated his foot. If that wasn’t magic, what was it?”

“I know not.”

“You actually don’t know something? Wow.”

“Ugh. How humiliating for she who was once the greatest sage in all the continent!”

“You were the greatest sage in all of the continent? Really?”

“No.”

“Now’s not the time to make stuff up!”

In the end, though the means were unclear, one thing was certain: Arty had just saved the life of a young demi-human.

Zenos turned back to her. “Anyway, you saved him. Thank you.”

Arty’s pink eyes widened in surprise at the casual gratitude. “Did you...just...thank me?”

“Yeah. Is that a problem?”

“N-No...it’s fine. Honestly, I shouldn’t be healing people like that...” Arty glanced down at her own hands, then gave a small smile. “But I’m glad I could repay you for the bread.”

Still, there was the matter of what came next. Zenos didn’t know where Arty planned to go, but he couldn’t just let her cross the mountain at night. He considered suggesting she camp with them until morning, then take the safer route around the mountain in daylight.

Arty fidgeted anxiously with her fingers. “I can’t stay long. I really need to go...”

“Doc! Something’s coming again!” Zophia warned.

The rustling of bushes and the sound of heavy footsteps crushing overgrown grass echoed through the forest. But the sounds weren’t coming from the monster-infected mountains—they were coming from the direction of the city district. Torchlights dotted the distance, appearing here and there between the trees, gradually increasing in number.

A group was approaching them.

“Is that...the Royal Guard?”

Faintly visible in the glow of the flames was a flag adorned with a coat of arms showing a sword and shield flanking a sun—representing knights guarding the king.

Arty’s face suddenly grew tense. “Um, I have a request.”

“What is it?” Zenos asked.

“My...tummy hurts rather badly. Might I rest in one of your tents?”

“So you want us to hide you, basically.”

“You could put it that way.”

“What did you do?”

“How rude! I’ve only ever done good deeds!”

Arty looked genuinely desperate—she didn’t seem to be joking.

“All right. You did save that young man.” Zenos let out a sigh, then turned to Lily. “Lily, can you take Arty to a tent?”

“Okay! This way, Miss Arty!”

Lily took Arty’s hand and quickly led her into one of the tents in the camp. Shortly after, a group of Royal Guards from the capital swept into the lakeside camp to impose order.

A bearded middle-aged man looked down at the group from atop his horse.

“Slum dwellers, are you? What are you lot doing here?”

Zenos didn’t recognize the man. In turn, the man didn’t seem to recognize any of them—perhaps the dim lighting played a part, but still, Zophia was a very prominent figure in the slums. Perhaps this man was newly appointed.

“Camping, as you can see,” Zenos said nonchalantly.

“Camping?” the man echoed.

“Yes. We swam in the lake earlier, and just now we were gathered around the campfire telling some ghost stories.”

The man glanced over at the crackling fire and the tilted cauldron. “Has a girl come through here?”

“A girl?”

“Pink hair, servant’s clothing.”

“Haven’t seen anyone like that,” Zenos said with a small shrug.

The man, however, showed no signs of leaving. He fixed Zenos with an unpleasant, calculating stare.

“Is that so? I’ll have you know, hiding her comes with dire consequences. But provide useful information, and you’ll be rewarded handsomely.”

“And who do you think you are to barge in like this?” Zophia asked, looking irritated.

“She’s right! We were just having a good time,” said a young demi-human.

“Yeah, you’re ruining our camping fun,” Lynga protested.

“We’re not giving you any food,” Loewe pointed out.

“That’s right!” said another young demi-human.

The two youths who’d just been healed were still asleep on the grass, but without any visible injuries, they just looked like they’d passed out drunk. Still, the guard remained suspicious.

“I’ll check just in case,” he said.

He hopped off his horse, strode toward the nearest tent, and lifted the flap in one forceful motion. But there was nothing inside—just folded bedding in the corner.

Lily and Arty were hiding in a different tent further back. The man marched straight toward it, and just as Zenos was about to try and stop him, a sharp voice called out from behind the guard.

“Sir Seagall, we should go.”

“Why?” the man asked. “She might be hiding here.”

“They are poor. If they knew anything, they would already have said something to get the reward. Besides, if our target is trying to cross the mountains at this hour, we cannot afford to dawdle. She will be in grave danger.”

The man looked up at the mountains, looming in the dark.

“You have a point. If these rats didn’t jump at the reward, they must really not know. The mountains are dangerous—we must secure her, and quickly.”

He leaped back onto his horse, shouted “Hyah!” and led the unit off toward the mountains.

Zenos exhaled in relief, unclenching his fists. That had been close. If not for that intervention, things could’ve ended very badly for them. And the intervening voice...didn’t he know it from somewhere?

“Mr. Zenos!” cried the intervening guard who’d stayed behind in the twilight before rushing over and throwing her arms around him. Her flowing hair was the color of gold, her eyes blue, and she had a magic pistol perched on each hip.

“Krishna,” Zenos said. “It’s been a while.”

“Mr. Zenos! Oh, Mr. Zenooos!”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. You’re crushing me. Personal space, please.”

Zenos managed to push back the overly enthusiastic Krishna, who then clutched her chest as if overwhelmed with emotion.

“To think I would run into you in a place like this!” she exclaimed. “Truly, fate itself must be bringing us together!”

“You’re always so dramatic,” Zophia pointed out.

“Can’t say it’s good to see you again,” Lynga muttered.

“Just as things were starting to get peaceful,” Loewe lamented.

“Silence, demi-human chieftains! I could arrest you for interfering with official duties!”

It seemed Krishna and the demi-humans continued to not get along...despite having once linked arms long enough to sing together at the hot springs resort.

Zenos stepped between them and said, “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen you around lately, Krishna.”

“Excuse me? I tried to visit your clinic, and often!” Krishna protested. “I just...usually had trouble finding it, since my sense of direction is terrible...”

“Oh, right. That’s a thing.”

“And when I did manage to get there, you were always out! I thought you were avoiding me! I cannot tell you how many pillows I soaked with tears...”

“Sorry about that... I’ve been really busy.”

Zenos had been appointed to an academy for nobles, sent out to a remote region to hunt beasts, and forced to apply for border patrol duty—indeed, he’d been away a lot as of late.

“I see,” Krishna said. “But I believe our time apart has only strengthened our bond!”

“It’s good to be optimistic,” Zenos remarked, turning his gaze toward the mountains the other knights had ridden off to. Then, in a casual attempt to gather information, he asked, “Anyway, those guys sure looked like they had chips on their shoulders. What was that about?”

Krishna tilted her head. “To be honest, I am not quite certain myself.” The vice commander of the Royal Guard crossed her arms, looking displeased, her blonde hair swaying in the wind. “We have been given the order to secure a girl with pale pink hair in a maid’s outfit unharmed. We do not know where the order came from, nor do we know the purpose of the mission or the reasoning behind it. It is quite strange. But...I have a guess.”

Zenos listened intently.

“Despite being vice commander, I was given no details. All I know is that the target must be secured unharmed, and that he is involved.”

“He who?” Zenos asked.

“The man on horseback giving commands earlier. He was introduced to us as a substitute commander from another branch, but I am familiar with him through an acquaintance. He is the captain of the Special Ops division, an elite unit within the Royal Guard that handles top secret missions.”

That didn’t sound very pleasant at all.

“If that man is involved, the target is no ordinary girl,” Krishna explained.

“So she’s someone important?” Zenos asked.

“More than important.”

“A noble, then? Or...royalty?”

“Indeed. And not just any royal—the single most important woman in this country.”

Krishna paused for a breath before continuing.

“The saintess.”

***

After Krishna had left to rejoin her comrades, Zenos moved to the tent in the back and lifted its flap. Lily and Arty were inside, playing cards.

“Hey, Arty?” Zenos called out. “Are you really the saintess?”

The saintess—a holy maiden rumored to be able to heal any wound instantly. She was a borderline mythical figure, but...considering Arty’s otherworldly beauty and incredible healing skills, Krishna’s guess didn’t seem too far-fetched. Still, Zenos hadn’t even known that the saintess was real, let alone that she was royalty.

“What do you mean?” Arty asked. “I’m just a cute little maid, as you can see.”

She had to have heard the conversation outside, but was nevertheless putting on a clearly fake expression of cluelessness.

“But...thank you,” she continued, her face turning serious as she slowly pushed herself to her feet.

“For what?” Zenos asked.

“For keeping my presence a secret.”

“Well, a promise is a promise,” he said, scratching his head. He’d nodded in agreement when she’d asked him not to tell anyone that he’d seen her, after all.

Royalty were at the absolute top of Herzeth’s hierarchy. Ordinary people could never even hope to glimpse a royal in their lifetime, and the fact that Arty was one and standing right in front of Zenos hadn’t quite sunk in yet.

“Say, the Royal Guard is searching frantically for you. Why’d you run away?” Zenos asked.

“Ah...adolescent rebellion?” Arty offered.

“That’s a little flippant.” Would someone really flee the royal palace for that kind of reason? “Well, whatever. And what was your plan, exactly?”

“Well...there’s something I wanted, but I don’t think I’m going to get it,” Arty said with a despondent smile.

Zenos didn’t know exactly what the saintess’s role was, but if Arty really was royalty, the entire nation would be searching for her. The capital’s outskirts, the country’s borders, major roads—they’d all be in lockdown by now.

“I was hoping someone might just let me slip past, but...after seeing that just now, I’m pretty sure it’s hopeless. They came all the way out here looking for me. Even if I hide somewhere in the city, someone’s bound to report my presence eventually. And if I manage to cross the mountains, there will be people waiting for me on the other side. I guess my adventure will be shorter lived than I hoped...”

With an exaggerated sigh, Arty looked up at Zenos with a hopeful gaze.

“If only someone...would help me hide...”

“Hey...”

“Or, maybe, if only someone would hire me... I mean, anyone would be lucky to have a maid as cute as me in their service!”

“I don’t want a problem of national-crisis scale,” Zenos muttered.

He’d dealt with a lot of trouble before, but nothing quite on the level of essentially carrying a bomb labeled “state secret.”

“But you agreed to hide me,” Arty pointed out.

“That was without knowing the full story,” Zenos countered.

“So you lied. You toyed with a young maiden’s delicate heart, just like that...”

“I did no such thing!”

Sure, Arty had healed a young demi-human, and Zenos owed her for that. But even then, hiding the saintess herself was something far beyond what a back-alley healer like him could handle.

At Zenos’s hesitation, Arty let out a small sigh, and her shoulders drooped. “Sorry. I put you on the spot, didn’t I? There’s a nationwide search for me going on. You couldn’t possibly hide me, could you? I’ll just take my chances and cross the mountains.”

“Hey...”

Zenos scratched his head again, exchanged glances with Lily, and then let out a deep sigh.

“Ugh, fine! Fine,” he grumbled. He couldn’t just let a fellow healer end up as a beast’s breakfast in the mountains. Zenos sat down with a resigned expression and continued, “There is one place in this city that no one’s watching.”

“Huh?”

“The ruined city.”

Arty’s pale pink eyes widened.

Zenos narrowed his own and said, “But know this: I don’t work for free. I don’t care if you’re a noble or a royal. I expect to be paid fairly for what I do.”

The girl froze for a moment before breaking into a radiant smile and saying proudly, “Of course! I’ll make sure you’re rewarded. I am this country’s most important maid, after all!”

And thus did a mere shadow healer take in the saintess herself.

Chapter 2: The Saintess’s Secret Life

On the outskirts of the royal capital, in a quiet corner of the ruined city, stood a building: an unlicensed clinic, home of the healer Zenos, which was soon to be the hideout of the saintess Artemisia.

The well-worn door creaked softly as Zenos pushed it open. Upon seeing the interior, illuminated by the morning sun, Arty let out a strange sound.

“Waow...”

Although the clinic was regularly cleaned and maintained, it had still originally been an abandoned building, and thus the air of age and decay was unmistakable.

“Um, is this a warehouse? A dump site?” the saintess asked.

“It’s a house, and, sorry to say, the place where you’ll be staying.”

“You’re joking, yes?”

“I’m very serious.”

Since they had no idea when their pursuers might return, the group had considered leaving the lake at night. But they’d told the knights that they were camping, so if Zenos and the others hadn’t been there anymore upon the guards’ return, it would’ve aroused suspicion. In the end, they’d chosen to err on the side of caution and stayed in the tents until morning and had only now returned to the clinic.

The knights had never returned to the campsite. Zenos figured they were probably still searching the mountains—which meant the situation had to be quite dire.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Arty asked. “Can anyone really live here? Won’t I get sick?”

“This is actually pretty outstanding compared to the average home in the slums,” Zenos explained.

“What? You can’t be serious. There are houses worse than this?”

“I mean, we don’t have to hide you, if you don’t like it here...”

“Oh! No, I jest. Yes, it was just a little teasing! Wooow, look at this place! How wonderful! Living here is a dream come true!”

“Are all saintesses this...lively?”

Arty steeled herself and took a deep breath before nervously stepping inside. Zenos gave her a tour of the building, starting with the treatment room, then the dining room, bedroom, bathroom, and so on.

“A...treatment room,” she mused. “Ah, right. You said you’re a healer.”

“Unofficially,” Zenos said. “I don’t have a license.”

“Really?”

“Now, next up...”

Arty looked like she was about to say something, but she thought better of it and followed Zenos in silence. They stopped in front of the bathroom.

“This...is...a bathroom?” she asked.

“Are you going to react that way to everything?”

“Um...you do scatter seasonal flowers, right? And the tub is filled with purified holy water?”

“Miss the royal palace already?”

“N-Not at all! Oh, this is fantastic! I can hardly wait to bathe in here!”

It was hard to tell whether she was highly adaptable or completely inflexible.

After touring the first floor, Arty looked toward the stairs. “There’s a second floor too.”

“Yes, but due to, ah, reasons, we can’t go up there. Do you mind sticking to the first floor?”

“I don’t, no...”

For the time being, it was decided that Arty and Lily would share the bedroom and Zenos would take the living room couch. With the tour done, Lily brewed tea while Zenos and Arty sat opposite each other in the dining room to take a breather. Though the saintess was hesitant at first, she eventually reached for the chipped cup she’d been given and took a small sip.

“Oh, this is delicious,” Arty said, staring at the warm liquid in surprise. “What kind of tea leaves are these?”

Lily lifted the teapot and said, “It’s my original blend. I don’t actually know what the leaves are called, since we get them from the black market.”

“The...black...market.”

“I’m gonna have to start charging for explanations at this rate,” Zenos muttered.

“I-I simply don’t know about these things, all right?!”

To be fair, it did seem unlikely a royal girl would know much of the world outside the palace. It was only natural she’d be confused by such a different lifestyle, having gone from the top of the hierarchy to the very bottom.

“Anyway, let’s get our stories straight,” Zenos said, making Arty tense up slightly as she sipped from her cup. “So you’re a royal and the saintess, which makes you pretty special as far as this country goes, correct?”

“Well, yes, technically. At the moment, however, I’m but a lovely traveling maid.”

“Right. And here in the slums, outsiders stand out, so it’s better for you to have a cover identity. So you’re Arty, a traveling maid, and...let’s say I hired you because I needed extra help at the clinic.”

“How lucky you are, to have such a beautiful girl in your employ!”

“And it looks like I need to teach you how an employee should behave around her employer. Good to know.”

Since she needed more background than simply “traveling maid,” they decided that Arty originally hailed from East Elmea. People from the friendly eastern nation often came and went freely between the two countries, and many of them lived in the Kingdom of Herzeth.

“Now we just need to figure out the other details,” Zenos said. “Got anything?”

“Umm... My strongest suit is being cute, and my weakest suit is doing housework.”

“And you’re supposed to be a maid how, exactly?”

“Well, I’m really cute, which I’m sure helps.”

“You think you can ‘cute’ your way out of everything?”

“Anyway, my specialties are...blessings and prayers. I can heal injuries and illnesses, and I can predict the future a little.”

“Said no maid ever.”

“O-Oh...”

As Arty visibly deflated, Zenos looked up at the ceiling. He hadn’t seen Arty’s healing himself, but Carmilla had mentioned that it wasn’t magic. Maybe it was some sort of power unique to her as the saintess?

“Wait, did you just say you can predict the future?” Zenos asked. He’d almost missed the comment with how casually she’d said it, but it was quite the claim.

Still holding her teacup, Arty nodded. “Yes, but it’s not that impressive. I can’t choose what to look into. It’s more like a vague feeling that hits me in the chest without warning...”

Perhaps it was something like Carmilla’s intuition, then—less the gift of prophecy, and more a spirit’s sharpened instincts.

“Then it becomes this abstract sort of image, floating in the sky... Nothing good comes of it. It’s not very concrete and often causes more trouble than it’s worth.”

Zenos’s gaze followed Arty’s out the window, but all he saw there was the clear morning sky. Still, there was uneasiness in the saintess’s features. What was she seeing?

“If only I could see the face of my future husband, or something...” Arty muttered. She sighed, then turned her gaze back to Zenos. “So how long will I be hiding...um, working here?”

“How long do you want to be working here?”

“Until I’m satisfied, I suppose...”

“You say that so casually, like you’re not basically a national secret.”

“I’ll go home once I get what I want.”

“You mentioned wanting something before, but you didn’t specify what.”

Arty chuckled. “It’s a secret!”

Zenos stared at her silently.

“H-Hey! Why are you clenching your fists? You can’t lay a finger on me! That’d be treason, you know!”

“I know that.” With a sigh, Zenos slowly pushed to his feet.

He’d agreed to shelter her due to her situation, but he still very much doubted that a royal girl could adapt to the life of a slum dweller. If anything, she would likely start longing for palace life again soon, return willingly, and the problem would resolve itself.

“Well, all right,” he conceded. “But if you’re going to play at being a maid, you’ll have to work. If you don’t work, you don’t eat.”

“Work...?” Arty echoed, looking surprised for a moment before giving him a confident grin and a thumbs-up. “Heh! I’ve got this. Prepare to be amazed by my maidly capabilities!”

“She says, with zero experience...”

***

“Are you sure about this, Arty?” Lily asked hesitantly as she and Arty sat in front of a mirror.

“I’m very sure! Snip away, Lily!” came Arty’s cheerful reply.

The first order of business was a disguise. Arty’s appearance was far too striking, and so they’d decided to use dark brown hair extensions and a large headdress sourced from the black market to cover her pale pink hair, as well as a pair of glasses—also from the black market—to help conceal her distinctive eyes. The glasses had special lenses made of crystalline manastones that could alter the appearance of the wearer’s eye color. Also, the maid uniform Arty had been wearing was, apparently, the standard attire of her former attendants, so they’d replaced it with a plain dress.

But one issue remained: the length of Arty’s hair. Her silken locks fell down to her waist, and couldn’t be fully hidden with just extensions and a headdress. During her escape she’d tucked it all into a large hat, but some strands had stuck out, and that had just made her even more conspicuous. So, they’d decided to cut it.

Arty showed no hesitation at all. Perhaps she’d been ready for that much the moment she’d run away from the palace.

“O-Okay, then...”

With that, Lily began snipping, and strands of soft-pink hair fluttered to the floor like spring blossoms.

“How’s this?” the elf asked.

“You can go shorter,” Arty replied. “No point in taking half measures.”

“Shorter...?”

In the end, her hair went from waist length to barely brushing her shoulders.

“Nice. This way, even people who know me will have a hard time recognizing me immediately. My head feels lighter and easier to move too,” Arty said as she looked in the mirror, happily turning her head from side to side.

But then she placed both hands on her cheeks and let out a deep sigh.

“Oh no! I’m sorry, Arty! Did I cut too much?” Lily asked.

“Not at all, Lily. I was just thinking about how I look good no matter the hairstyle. How sinful of me.”

“Being born into nobility really does wonders for your self-esteem...”

Now that her disguise was complete, there was the matter of actual housework.

“Okay, we’ll start with cleaning,” Zenos said. “Do you know what that entails?”

“Do you think me stupid?” Arty protested.

“No, but I figure royals don’t exactly clean homes.”

“I’ve never done it.”

“I knew it!”

Zenos decided to start by handing her a broom and dustpan.

“The clinic opens in the afternoon today. Do you think you can get the floor clean by then?”

Arty let out a chuckle. “That’s it? Of course I can.”

She rolled her sleeves up enthusiastically, and then—

“Wait, wait! What are you doing?! Why are you scraping the floor with the dustpan? You’ll get it even more scratched than it already is!”

“What? What’s the issue? I figured I’d scrub off the dust.”

“Dustpans are for collecting and discarding dust, not scrubbing! You’re supposed to use the broom to sweep the dust into one spot first.”

“Hmph! I knew that, of course.” Arty brushed her bangs aside in irritation, then stared at the broom in her left hand. “By the way, what’s a broom, again? Is it this?”

“Ah, this is probably hopeless...”

“I-It’s fine! I’m just checking! Just in case.”

“Wait, wait! Why are you brandishing it like you’re about to whack at something from above?!”

“What? I figured I could sweep up more dust by applying more force. See? Hi-yah!”

“You’re just gonna scatter it all over the plaaace!”

In the end, Zenos and Lily had to clean the floor, which was messier than before. Arty sat at the edge of the room, knees hugged to her chest, mumbling with her head down.

“What should I do, Zenos...?” she asked, dejected. “I don’t think I have any talent for cleaning...”

“This isn’t a matter of talent. You just need to get used to it.”

“Get used to it...”

“So,” Lily said in an encouraging tone, “I’m going to go make lunch. Do you want to help, Arty?”

“Yes, of course! I can definitely cook!” Arty exclaimed, pumping up her fist in what was likely unearned confidence, but...at least she had a positive attitude.

But then...

“Arty, let’s peel the vegetables first, okay?”

“The meat is still raw, so let’s not eat it just yet.”

“Ah, it’s boiling over! Turn off the heat!”

“You don’t need to dump all the spices in!”

“If you throw the pumpkin into the pot, you’ll splash boiling water everywheeere!”

“Nooo! Please don’t raise the knife like thaaat!”

Lily’s tone grew more urgent every time she spoke. Finally, a cry rang out from the kitchen—somewhere between a shriek and a death wail. Moments later, the dining table was covered in mysterious and grotesque masses of black, purple, and pink, twisted and tangled and decidedly giving off “Caution: Do Not Eat” vibes.

The three stared silently at the bizarre substance.

“What kind of dish even is this?” Zenos asked.

It looked like some sort of forbidden being born of a failed demon summoning.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know either,” Lily replied.

“I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” Arty remarked.

“I figured...” Zenos said.

Arty cleared her throat, then said in an overly cheery tone, “But hey, looks can be deceiving, as they say! There are foods that look horrid but taste incredible. Like...ruby monkfish! They’re hideous, but they’re known as the jewels of the deep sea for their remarkable flavor!”

“Those are a delicacy,” Zenos pointed out. “Only high-ranking nobles could afford that sort of thing.”

“What? Really?” Arty said, looking a bit surprised. Nevertheless, she picked up a glob of the mysterious slop with her fork and brought it to her lips. “I’m sure it’s fine. See? It’s actually quite deli— Guuuuuh!”

And then she threw up. The saintess puked all over the place.

“Ugh! Augh! Gaaaaaaah!”

Arty toppled over in her chair, clutched her chest, and rolled around on the floor.

“Arty!” Lily called out, rushing over in a panic. She began to worriedly rub Arty’s back.

Zenos watched the scene with a serene expression on his face and nodded slowly. “She’s fine. Her noble body just can’t handle anything that tastes foul.”

“Th-That’s not the problem! This is... This is poison! It’s a mass of deadly poison!” Arty exclaimed. Pale-faced, she wiped repeatedly at her mouth.

“You cooked it,” Zenos pointed out as he poked his own fork into the mystery slop and took a bite. He chewed slowly, then swallowed. “Well, it’s definitely not good, but it’s edible.”

“N-No way. Have your taste buds gone on vacation?!”

“Considering what I had to deal with as a child, the fact I can digest this makes it a luxury.”

“Huh?”

“I had to gnaw on tree roots and suck on sour rocks. It’d get me through three or so days. Happened regularly.”

Arty stared at him in silent disbelief.

Lily nodded. “Yeah. I think most poor kids have gone through something similar.”

“Y-You can’t be serious. The poor live like this?” Arty asked.

“When I was a kid, I didn’t even know people were supposed to eat three meals a day,” Zenos explained. “I thought one every two days was the norm. To some kids, this may as well be a feast.”

“This thing? A feast? You have to be joking.”

Arty slowly pushed herself to her feet, then looked down at the vile, foul-smelling slop. She scooped up one of the twisted parts with her fork, stared at it for a moment, then steeled herself and hesitantly brought it to her lips.

“Guuuh!”

She promptly threw up again. The saintess puked all over the place again.

“I can’t do iiit!”

“You’re funny,” Zenos remarked. “Look, you don’t have to force yourself. Here, have some of this fruit that a patient brought.” He handed her a green apple. “Go ahead, eat some to get rid of the taste in your mouth.”

“U-Uuugh...” Arty groaned with tears in her eyes. “Is this edible?”

“You’ve never seen an apple?”

“I-I have, of course! But they’re always served peeled, so I thought perhaps the skin wasn’t edible.”

“The skin is full of fiber. Nothing wrong with eating it. You know, when I was little, apple skins were practically a delicacy—”

“All right, I get it! I get it, okay? I’ll try it!” Arty brought the apple to her mouth and took a cautious bite. “Y-Yes, it’s a bit tough, but it’s completely edible. I see. So you can eat the skin.”

As Arty munched on the apple with interest, Zenos noticed something.

“Hey, your finger’s injured,” he said.

There was a cut on the pad of Arty’s left index finger, with a small bead of blood forming. Perhaps she’d hurt herself with a knife.

“Oh, you’re right!” Arty said, looking at the wound. “I did think it felt a bit tingly.”

She held her right hand over the wound and, the next moment, it was completely healed. Carmilla had said Arty’s healing wasn’t magical in nature, and sure enough, there was no trace of the unique mana wavelength that spells usually had.

“What exactly is that power?” Zenos asked.

“They’re called blessings, but I don’t actually understand them myself,” Arty explained.

“You don’t?”

“Apparently it’s passed down to generation after generation of saintesses.”

“Generations? So there’s always been a saintess?”

“Yes. It’s not widely known, but saintesses date back to the kingdom’s founding. Each saintess inherits her predecessor’s powers and supports the prosperity of the nation,” Arty said with a proud expression.

But there was a hint of sadness mixed in with that pride.

The shadow over her features passed quickly, and she stood up from her chair. “So, what next?”

“Right. It’s about time to open the clinic.”

***

As soon as Zenos removed the wooden sign indicating that the clinic was closed, a demi-human with an injured foot came inside. His left pinky toe was crushed and unnaturally bent.

“You can see the bone,” Zenos remarked. “Did something fall on it?”

“Yeah,” the demi-human confirmed with a grimace. “I was hauling some rock from the quarry, and then this happened. It hurts like hell. Just getting here was rough...” He glanced toward the far side of the room. “Hey, doctor, is that a new hire?”

“Hmm?”

Arty seemed to be peeking out curiously from the living room, despite having been expressly warned to avoid being seen.

“She’s here to help out for a bit,” Lily explained quickly. “We’ve been very busy, so she’s helping with housework.”

Arty nodded, beaming. “That’s right! I am in command of all the housework in this home!”

“Commanding from the rear,” Zenos muttered under his breath.

The demi-human raised a hand cheerfully. “Nice! This is a great place to work, sis! Nice to meetcha!”

“S-Sis...?” Arty, clearly unused to being addressed that way, was confused for a moment but managed to force a smile.

After the patient left, Zenos turned to the royal girl.

“I told you to stay out of sight,” he said in a scolding tone. “You do know the situation you’re in, right?”

Arty looked remorseful for a moment, then held her hands together and said, “But staying cooped up in a room all the time is no different from the palace! If I’m always hiding away, won’t it be even more suspicious? I’m in disguise! Isn’t it better for me to act naturally, with confidence? Pretty please?”

Zenos stared at her in silence for a moment. It was true that her distinctive hair and eyes, which clearly marked her as the saintess, were well concealed by the extensions and glasses. Plus, the clinic’s patients weren’t likely to blab to the Royal Guard about anything at all, much less new staff.

“Just don’t use your powers,” he conceded.

“I won’t! Oh, joyous day!” Arty exclaimed, bouncing and prompting a sigh from Zenos.

After that, patients kept arriving one after the other, with complaints ranging from injuries to headaches or stomachaches.

“Heal,” Zenos chanted. His healing light filled the room, curing the patients in an instant as Arty silently watched.

Once things finally settled down, the trio sat together for tea, and Arty spoke up with a puzzled expression.

“Hey, Zenos...you said you don’t have a healer’s license, right? Why not? You’re really skilled.”

“Poor people can’t get licenses,” Zenos explained.

“What? Really?” Arty asked, surprised.

“You didn’t know?”

“Well, now that you mention it... I’ve heard before that the poor are too savage and dangerous, so they shouldn’t be given rights.”

“There are a lot of outlaws among us, sure, but we’re treated like we’re less than human. We don’t have family registers, so we can’t get proper qualifications for anything, which means we can’t get decent jobs. A lot of us end up turning to crime just to make ends meet.”

“I hear the class system is the pillar of the country’s prosperity.”

“Yeah, it’s a great system—if you’re part of those doing the exploiting.”

Arty fell silent, seemingly deep in thought. After a while, she slowly lifted her head. “Hey, Zenos... I know a few elite healers, and I think your magic is on par with theirs. Maybe even better.”

Zenos let out a laugh. “Now that’s an exaggeration.”

“What? Do you not know your own level?”

“I’ve only just started to realize that most people can’t do what I can. I mean, I’m mostly self-taught, and I never received any basic education, so I’ve never been particularly confident about my skills.”

Arty glanced over at Lily with surprise, and the young elf just gave an exasperated smile.

“Well, in any case... I just wanted to say I think you’re skilled enough to earn an official title,” the saintess said.

“I don’t mind the praise,” Zenos remarked.

“If I recommend you, you can probably take the elite healer exam. Depending on the results, they might make an exception and grant you a license.”

“Nah, it’s fine.”

Arty’s eyes widened behind her glasses. “Huh? Why? Do you not want a license?”

“If I get a license, I’ll have to report to the government, and I’d be stuck charging standardized prices. I wouldn’t be able to wring money out of people anymore.”

“O-Oh...” Arty muttered. She puffed her cheeks slightly, clearly dissatisfied.

***

Night fell upon the clinic. After another chaotic meal, Arty lay on the bed in the bedroom, staring up at the ceiling. This bed, apparently, was Lily’s—the elf was now sleeping in the adjacent bed, which belonged to Zenos. The shadow healer was asleep on the couch in the dining room, so he wasn’t present.

Compared to her bed in the Saintess’s Spire, this one was small and a bit too hard, but to Arty’s surprise, she didn’t find it disagreeable. And there was a certain comfort in having someone else sleeping nearby—the enormous, empty tower felt at times more like a prison than a home.

“Hey, Lily,” Arty called out. “Are you awake?”

“Mmm,” came a voice from the darkness. “What is it, Arty?”

“I feel bad saying this about the person helping me hide, but...I can’t tell whether Zenos is a good or a bad healer.”

“Zenos is the best healer in the whole world, I think.”

“But...he said he didn’t want a license so he could keep overcharging people.”

Lily let out a laugh. “That sounds like something he’d say.”

“What do you mean?” Arty asked, turning toward the other bed where Lily was looking back at her.

“I think it’s less that he won’t be able to overcharge, and more the fact that if he gets a license he won’t be able to undercharge,” Lily explained.

“Huh?”

“Zenos charges a lot if the patient has money, but otherwise, he only takes what he thinks they can afford. And kids always get free treatment.”

“R-Really?”

“A lot of people in the slums have no money, and even those who do can’t go to regular clinics because of where they’re from. If he had a license, he’d have to charge everyone the same, but the world isn’t equal. Zenos says he provides unequal treatment because the world is unequal.”

“Unequal treatment...” Arty stretched out her hands from under the blanket and looked at them in the dim light. “I...was always told I shouldn’t use my power carelessly. I’ve healed people before, but only royalty.”

“But you healed that demi-human in the camp.”

“Well...I’d never seen someone so completely covered in blood before, so I just reacted. And I owed you all for the bread...”

Equality, inequality. The poor, the royals, class systems. How to clean, how to season food. All things she’d never once had to think about in the isolation of the Saintess’s Spire, now swirling through her mind.

“The world is...complicated, isn’t it?” she murmured.

Lily gave her a small smile. “Yeah. It’s complicated, and it’s easy to get lost in. That’s why I think we need a light.”

“A light? What do you mean?”

“Like...hope, or faith, or ethics... I think Zenos is pursuing all those things, and just does what he can. That’s how he chooses to live.”

“He does what he can...” Arty whispered, placing a hand on her chest.

Unlike the manufactured quiet of her tower, sealed off from the world, the clinic was filled with the gentle sounds of the breeze and the chirping of insects. Amid the signs of life and nature, the night in the ruined city wore on.

***

Two weeks later, one of the seven great nobles slammed his fist on a round table.

“The saintess still hasn’t been found?!” Lord Giesz demanded.

“My deepest apologies, my lord,” replied Seagall, commander of the Royal Guard’s Special Ops division. He stood perfectly straight except for his head, which was deeply bowed out of respect for the Council of the Seven. “Our search efforts continue in full force.”

All major roads were being closely monitored, and search teams had even combed through the mountains behind the slums, but they’d yet to find any trace of the saintess.

“What are we supposed to tell Prince Figaro?!” Lord Giesz snapped. “His Highness is a stern man! At this rate he will do much more than simply dismantle House Minerva!”

At Lord Giesz’s harsh words, Lady Minerva bit her red lips under her veil.

“Commander Seagall,” said Albert Baycladd, his calm voice cutting through the tense atmosphere. “All entrances and exits to the capital are closely guarded, correct?”

“Yes, my lord! We thoroughly inspect every traveler and their carriages. Nothing slips through. I can’t possibly imagine anyone getting past security.”

“Which means the saintess is likely still hiding somewhere within the capital,” Albert surmised.

“That’s our working hypothesis,” Seagall confirmed with a nod. “But...”

“You seem unconvinced.”

Placing a hand over the medal on the left side of his chest, Seagall said, “The Capital Defense Corps is stationed around the perimeter of the city, and the Royal Guard is conducting a full-scale search within the capital’s bounds through every information network we have. Still, we’ve been unable to find any trace of her.”

Because the saintess’s escape was a classified, top secret matter, the Royal Guard were limited in how publicly they could conduct their investigation. But with this level of intense surveillance, it seemed unthinkable that a lone girl could evade detection.

“And so—”

“What you’re saying is that the saintess herself couldn’t possibly be that skilled at hiding, correct?” Lady Minerva cut in.

Having lived her entire life isolated in the spire, fully reliant on her maids for even the most basic of tasks, and having escaped with virtually no valuables, the saintess couldn’t possibly elude so many skilled searchers.

“Which can only mean she’s no longer in the capital!” Lord Giesz shouted angrily.

“No. There’s another possibility,” Albert said quietly, giving the enraged Lord Giesz a serene glance. “Someone is assisting her.”

***

Ten days later, in the clinic within the ruined city, a girl in a maid outfit pressed her face up close to Zenos’s until they were nearly nose to nose.

“Come on!” Arty urged. “Come on, come on, come on, come on!”

“All right, all right! I’m going,” Zenos grumbled. “Personal space, please.”

He stood up, gently pushing Arty away, and headed for the dining room where the three leaders of the demi-humans were seated around the wooden table.

“So, what’s going on today?” Zophia asked.

“I came by like I always do, and that girl over there told me to wait in the dining room,” Lynga said.

“Do we get to eat Lily’s fabulous cooking?” Loewe asked. “I certainly hope so.”

Arty let out a mischievous chuckle at the demi-humans’ conjecture. “You all helped me back at the campsite, so I figured I’d treat you to a dessert I made myself!”

“Oh! I just remembered I have something I need to do,” Zophia said.

“My stomach really hurts all of a sudden,” Lynga remarked.

“Come to think of it, I’m pretty full,” Loewe mused.

“Wait, whaaat? Whyyy?!” Arty cried out, tears in her eyes.

The demi-humans exchanged uneasy glances.

“I just...have a really bad feeling,” Zophia explained.

“Yeah,” Lynga agreed. “My tail is tingling.”

“My skin’s strong as steel, and it broke out in goose bumps,” Loewe said.

As hardened leaders who had long kept their respective unruly tribes in check and maintained order in the slums, the three had a keen sense of danger.

“It’s okay! It’ll be good this time!” Arty mumbled to reassure herself as she went to the kitchen.

She brought back a large tray, filled with what appeared to be oddly shaped baked goods of various sizes.

“Here you go!” she exclaimed, a mix of hope and anxiety on her features. “Help yourselves!”

Zenos and the three demi-humans each picked up a pastry and took a cautious bite.

“H-How is it?” Arty asked nervously, watching them chew with bated breath.

“Huh. Not bad,” Zenos said with a nod.

“Some are overbaked, some are underbaked,” Zophia commented.

“I can kind of taste some sweetness,” Lynga noted.

“This is a cookie, right?” Loewe asked.

“Yaaaaaaaaay!” Arty shouted toward the ceiling, thrusting her right hand high into the air.

“Is it that exciting?” Zenos asked.

“I mean, they were recognizably cookies!”

“Oh. Still at that stage, huh...”

Well, considering Arty’s first attempt at cooking had looked like a failed demon summoning, this was certainly a big step forward.

“Arty worked really hard on these,” Lily said as she emerged from the kitchen with a steaming teapot, which she then placed on the table.

“This is all thanks to you, Lily,” Arty said. “Thank you.”

“You did it, Arty!”

The pair beamed at each other, exchanging a high five.

Arty’s slender, pale fingers were covered with tiny cuts, evidence of her struggle with cooking. She’d insisted on not healing them this time, claiming she’d wanted to keep the wounds as proof of her efforts.

“I’m surprised,” Zophia remarked as she sipped her tea after the meal.

Arty confidently put her hands on her hips. “Surprised by the incredible culinary talents that allowed me to master cookies in such a short time?”

“No, not that.”

“Then what...?”

“You’re the saintess and royalty too, right? You’re basically someone straight out of a fairy tale to people like us. It’s just hard to imagine a girl like you living in the slums and working hard at cooking.”

“Yeah,” Lynga added. “It’s so weird to me that I’m talking to a royal.”

“Agreed,” Loewe said. “I’d figure a royal would be all, ‘What is this horrendous dish? Off with the cook’s head!’ or something.”

Arty seemed lost in thought for a moment, then nodded. “That...sounds exactly like my brother, actually.”

“Oh, yikes,” Zenos blurted out.

The saintess gave him a vague smile. “But I don’t actually know for certain that he’d behave that way. I didn’t get to interact much with my family, and I’ve always been treated as a special case, even among royalty.”

Those who awakened to their powers as saintesses spent most of their lives in a spire at the edge of the palace. Aside from royal tutors, attending handmaidens, and occasional brief meetings with nobles and other royals, she hardly got to interact with others.

“So to me, it’s you all who seem to have come straight out of a fairy tale,” Arty explained.

Though she’d learned from her tutors about the kingdom’s history and class system, it had all been purely theoretical. The Saintess’s Spire had been specifically built so as to avoid having a view of the slums too—so Arty knew of the poor, but nothing beyond that.

“But I’ve learned that this kingdom is nothing like a fairy tale,” she concluded.

The slums were a place with no steady employment, where people had no guarantee of the next day’s meal, and where collapsing from hunger in the streets was seen as a matter of course.

“I...used to think food would just materialize, and that cooking was simply something that happened on its own. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? Even making a single cookie takes so much work, and I had no idea...” Arty murmured, staring at her injured fingertips.

Perhaps the reason she didn’t come across as entitled was because her isolated upbringing had never given her the chance to wield any sort of serious authority.

“You know, at first I figured you’d last three days before giving up,” Zenos told her. “But you’re surprisingly adaptable.”

Arty smiled proudly. “You underestimated me, I see. Well, this is nothing! I’ll be making lunch today, so I expect you all to stay and eat.”

“I think I’ll pass,” Zophia replied.

“I’m stuffed with cookies,” Lynga remarked.

“I came here to eat Lily’s cooking, personally,” Loewe said.

“Oh, come on...!” Arty lamented.

***

That evening, while Lily prepared dinner, Zenos and Arty went out shopping together. The setting sun on the western horizon dyed the scenery in the hues of twilight, and a flock of birds chirped loudly as they flew across the crimson skies.

Passersby kept calling out to Zenos as the pair walked down the road.

“How’s it going, Dr. Zenos?”

“Not bad, not bad.”

“Our harvest this autumn is pretty good. I’ll bring you some veggies.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Doctooor! I can run again! Thanks!”

“Just try not to fall again.”

“Everyone loves you,” Arty remarked, impressed. “Despite you being an unlicensed, shady healer.”

Zenos snorted. “Ha ha, you’re not wrong. I just know a lot of the people around here.”

“I wonder if people will be that excited about my cooking someday,” Arty muttered, dropping her shoulders dejectedly.

“You’re dedicated. Just give it a bit more time and you’ll get good,” Zenos offered, smiling sympathetically.

“Right... I just need time...” Arty trailed off and looked up at the sky with a worried expression. “Time...might be a luxury we can’t afford for much longer.”

Noticing Arty had fallen behind, Zenos turned around. “Hmm? What’s up?”

Arty pressed her lips together, then said quietly, “Hey, Zenos...there’s something I wanted to tell you.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s an ominous star...”

“A what?”

A rough voice suddenly rang out, cutting their conversation short.

“Out of the way, you filthy rats!”

Further ahead, a group was marching in formation, striding arrogantly down the road and shoving aside the poor.

“Ah, crap,” Zenos muttered. “The Royal Guard.”

The soldiers’ armor bore a crest depicting a sword and shield protecting the sun. They didn’t seem to be simply on patrol either—they had to be searching for the saintess.

“Arty, go back to the clinic.”

“But we have shopping to do...”

“I can handle that. You may be in disguise, but it’s best to avoid these guys. You remember the way, right?”

“Y-Yes. Okay. Be careful, Zenos.”

Arty slowly backed away, turned the corner, and hurried off toward the clinic. But she’d only made it a short distance when angry shouting rang out from another street up ahead, and she stopped.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?!”

“This is an official investigation. Be quiet and cooperate.”

A scuffle had broken out between several knights trying to force their way into a house and a group of residents. The knights’ armor bore the same familiar crest.

“The Royal Guard is here too,” she murmured to herself as she quickly took cover in the shadow of a building. With her wig, glasses, and headdress, no one would recognize her immediately, but it was obvious the search party was closing in on her whereabouts.

“We told you, we don’t know this pink-haired woman!” a poor man shouted angrily.

“If you have nothing to hide, then cooperate,” quietly replied a bearded knight at the center of the group.

“This place stores dried meat for shipment. I don’t want you knights trampling all over it!”

“Get inside,” the bearded man commanded.

“Yes, sir!” the knights replied as they began to force their way into the building.

“Hey!” a poor man shouted, attempting to stop them. “I told you—”

“This is obstruction of justice,” the bearded man said as he drew a magical gun from his waist. He pulled the trigger without hesitation.

Bang.

“Gah!” the poor man cried out. Clutching his side, he was sent tumbling to the ground, blood gushing between his fingers.

“H-Hey! What the hell was that for?!”

Several men, likely the first man’s coworkers, grew agitated and moved toward the Royal Guard.

“They’re disturbing public order. Fire,” the bearded man commanded.

“Yes, sir!”

The other knights opened fire with their own magical guns, explosions ringing out through the area.

“Gaaah!”

“It huuurts!”

“Gwaaah!”

As the poor men fell to the ground, the bearded knight stepped over them and ordered the others to search the house. After a moment, a knight emerged from the building.

“Sir Seagall, we checked everything—even the shelves and the floorboards—but found no signs of a woman with pink hair.”

“I see.” Seagall stroked his beard and turned on his heel. “Let us move on, then.”

“W-Wait! You’re leaving?! You can’t just go, ‘Oh, whoops,’ and move on!”

The surrounding residents were seething.

Seagall cast a cold glare at the bloodied victims. “Remember this: You filth are lucky to be allowed to exist in the royal capital at all. Our mission is far more important than the lives of trash like you. Interfere with our investigation again, and this will be your future.”

He swept his magical gun from side to side in a threatening gesture, forcing the crowd to back away.

“Search every house that looks like it could have the resources to shelter someone or offer a hiding spot. Break into all of them.”

“Yes, sir!”

As the Royal Guard moved on, the family members of the fallen men clung to their bodies.

“Dad!”

“Honey!”

“H-How could they?” Arty whispered, clutching her chest as she watched the scene unfold from her hiding spot.

The area was growing chaotic.

“Shit, his breathing is...”

“Hurry! Call Dr. Zenos!”

People rushed out in a panic, sprinting past Arty as she stumbled forward into the street.

No... There’s no time, she thought as she gazed upon the collapsed men. Several were bleeding badly enough that she could practically see their souls slipping away.

“A lot of people in the slums have no money, and even those who do can’t go to regular clinics because of where they’re from.”

“Like...hope, or faith, or ethics... I think Zenos is pursuing all those things, and just does what he can. That’s how he chooses to live.”

Lily’s words flashed through Arty’s mind.

“Do...what I can,” she said quietly, clenching the hand she’d placed on her chest before she took off running toward the injured.

“Dammit! He’s unconscious!”

“Didn’t people go get the doctor?! Aren’t they back yet?!”

“Huh? Wait, who’s that lady?”

Everyone turned to look at Arty as she stumbled into the chaotic scene.

She took a deep breath and said, “I’ll help them.”

Arty slowly raised both hands forward, and a golden ring manifested into the air. Within it, complex patterns spun counterclockwise, glowing with a faint phosphorescence.

A man on the verge of death spoke up in surprise. “Huh...?”

The torn flesh of his flank had returned to normal, and even the traces of blood had vanished completely.

“H-How?”

“He’s...healed...”

“W-Wow...”

“Is Dr. Zenos here?”

“No! It was this girl!” said one man, overwhelmed, as he pointed at Arty.

“I-I don’t know who you are, but thank you! Thank you!” exclaimed a woman—likely the man’s wife—as she gripped Arty’s hands, her eyes brimming with tears.

“It...was no problem. I’m glad he’s okay.”

“Who are you, lady?” asked a demi-human child.

“J-Just a passing lovely maid! G-Goodbye, then.”

Arty hurriedly turned on her heel and ran off, leaving the stunned onlookers behind. A faint warmth lingered in her tightly clasped hands.

***

An hour later, at the Royal Guard outpost in the city district, an argument was taking place.

“Sir Seagall, what is the meaning of this?!”

“What do you mean, Vice Commander Krishna?”

Krishna’s golden hair swayed as she demanded answers from the bearded man. “You shot civilians without hesitation simply for denying your men entry into a building!”

“There was a possibility they were harboring our target. It was a clear case of obstruction of justice.”

“Using such heavy-handed tactics may well lead to issues down the line!”

“Now listen, Vice Commander. The poor are less than human. They’re the trash of this kingdom. The slums are a breeding ground for crime, lest you forget. Think of it as a cleansing.”

“You are wrong,” Krishna hissed, clenching her fists. “Yes, there are scoundrels among the poor. But there are many upstanding individuals as well! Even among the citizenry there are good and bad elements. You cannot simply lump the poor all together just because of their status! We must judge each person on their own merits—”

“Well, color me surprised.” Seagall slowly raised one eyebrow. “A shocking statement coming from the one once known as Lady Iron Rose, who conducted remarkably strict crackdowns on the poor.”

“I—”

“‘Upstanding individuals’ among those rats? Please. I cannot allow one with such dangerous notions to participate in this investigation. I will be suspending your unit, effective immediately.”

“Sir Seagall!” Krishna yelled.

Seagall leaned in, close enough that she could feel his breath. “Listen here. You must’ve realized by now that this case is under Special Ops jurisdiction. It is not your place, as an outsider, to interfere.”

Krishna bit back a retort.

“Excuse me,” came a voice from the door as the two knights exchanged glares. The door creaked open and a guard proceeded to walk in—and then stiffened, sensing the tension in the air. “P-Pardon me, but I have a report. Is now a bad time?”

Seagall stepped back from Krishna with a sigh. “Go ahead. But first, I’ll be having this suspended officer leave the room.”

Krishna gave Seagall one last sharp glare, clenched her fists in frustration, and silently left. The bearded knight smirked slightly before turning to the guard.

“Well? Have you found the target?”

“No, sir. We’ve sent more men to join the search parties, but have had no success.”

“Expand the perimeter of the search area tomorrow. Eliminate any who get in the way.”

“Yes, sir!” the guard said, saluting.

“So, your report?”

“Well, while patrolling, I happened upon the individuals that were eliminated under charges of obstruction.”

“Right, those. Were they not dead yet?”

“That’s just it, sir. They had been...fully healed.”

“What?”

“They were walking around as though nothing had happened, without a trace of injury—”

“You’re sure these were the same people?”

“It was from a bit of a distance, but I’m certain. Other guards confirmed it too.”

The guard explained they’d tried to follow the individuals in question, but lost them in the crowd.

Seagall narrowed his eyes and brought a hand to the magical gun at his waist. “You’re saying wounds of that magnitude had been completely healed?”

***

The sky had darkened, and the world outside the clinic lay quiet and still as a pink-haired girl sat inside, her cheeks slightly puffed in displeasure.

Facing her with his arms crossed, Zenos sighed. “I told you not to use your powers.”

“I know I shouldn’t have,” she muttered.

On his way back from shopping that evening, he’d been beset by panicked demi-humans, begging him to come quickly. Apparently, some of their fellows had been shot by the Royal Guard and were on the verge of death. Zenos had rushed to the scene, but strangely, found no wounded there. Upon asking, he’d been told that someone calling herself a “passing lovely maid” had healed them and left.

“I had those guys moved to a different location just in case, but if the Royal Guard hears of this, we’re in deep trouble.”

“But they said a passing lovely maid did it, right? So you don’t know for sure that it was me.”

“Who else would it have been, exactly?”

“Well, it is true I am lovely,” Arty said, her voice—which she’d been keeping down to avoid waking Lily—growing a little louder.

“They’re not even trying to keep their brutality in check anymore. Do you realize how dire the situation is?”

“Like I said, I know I shouldn’t have. But...” Arty trailed off, closed her mouth for a few moments, then opened it again. “You...thanked me last time.”

Zenos fell silent for a moment, staring at her.

Arty looked down at her hands and said, “I spent year after year locked up in the Saintess’s Spire, offering prayers and blessings for the nation’s prosperity and peace while foretelling various crises, and still...no one’s ever thanked me for it. But when I healed that person at the camp, you did, right? You thanked me.”

“Well, yeah...”

“So...I wanted to do what I could again. Just like you do.”

“I get how you feel, but...”

Zenos scratched his head roughly. He recalled how, in his days as an adventurer, he’d never gotten a single word of thanks from his party members. It was only after he’d gotten kicked out, happened upon a wounded Lily, and helped her that he’d first been thanked. That had led him to starting the clinic.

“Besides,” Arty added, “I don’t have much time left. I want to live the way I want.”

“What?”

“I told you I can predict the future, right? My time is almost up.”

“Are you serious?”

Arty smiled at Zenos’s bewilderment. “I’m joking. Did I get you?”

“You shouldn’t joke about that stuff.”

“Ah ha ha! I’m sorry. But this prophecy I’m about to disclose is actually real.” Arty’s expression turned serious. “Zenos, there’s a calamity coming. Get as far away from the royal capital as you can.”

The darkness blanketing the world outside seemed to grow deeper at her words.

“A calamity? What are you talking about?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

Arty slowly clasped her fingers together on the desk. “My prophecies feel different depending on the severity of the threat. I usually call them ‘rot’ and classify them as minor, moderate, or severe. But what I’ve been sensing for the past few months is much worse than any of those, so I’m calling it ‘most severe rot.’”

Zenos recalled that one past “severe rot” prophecy had predicted the plague that had turned this very district to ruin, while another had predicted a natural disaster causing a widespread famine that had claimed many lives.

“What could ‘most severe’ even mean, then?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Arty said. “I can only sense the magnitude of the danger, not the exact details or timing. But a massive ominous star is drawing near. That much is certain.”

Zenos listened on in silence.

“To avoid causing panic among the populace, only the highest echelons of government know about this. But since you’ve helped me, I wanted to warn you. Before the calamity comes, you and the others should leave this city.”

“I see...”

That explained why Arty sometimes gazed up at the sky with a worried expression. She must’ve been looking at an ominous star, invisible to ordinary people.

Zenos took a deep breath and crossed his arms. “I appreciate the warning, but I can’t leave.”

“Why n—”

“This is where I belong.”

Arty’s eyes widened.

“I grew up in an orphanage in the slums, but it burned down. I lost my mentor and was separated from my best friend after that and became an adventurer for a while, but I eventually got kicked out of my party. I’ve never belonged anywhere. That is, until I met Lily and the others. Now I’ve finally found my place—right here.”

Zenos fondly glanced around the worn-out room.

“This city is a home to Zophia, Lynga, and Loewe too. They won’t just leave like that. And there are many others who wouldn’t want this clinic to just vanish.”

Arty pressed her lips together and Zenos smiled, trying to cheer her up.

“This place gave me somewhere to belong, so I’ll do everything I can to protect it.”

“Zenos...”

***

The next morning, the sound of desperate banging on the door woke Zenos up. He rushed to the treatment room, and soon Zophia, Lynga, and Loewe were stumbling in.

“Doc, this is bad! The Royal Guard is raiding the slums!”

Chapter 3: Captured

Wedged between the city district where the ordinary citizens lived and the slums where the forgotten lingered lay a ruined zone—the remnants of a district devastated by a plague.

Normally the area was quiet with no signs of life, but today the atmosphere was heavy and oppressive. The Royal Guard had assembled en masse in an old plaza leading to the slums, their hostility almost palpable.

“All units, in position,” said a bearded man at the front, raising his magical gun into the air.

“Lord Seagall, the poor are gathering quickly,” a guard said.

The streets of the slums, visible in the distance, were filled with people—demi-humans included.

“Prepare warning shots. Do not concern yourselves with stray bullets.”

“Yes, sir!” the guard replied, bringing his right hand to his forehead in a salute. He did not move, however.

“What’s the matter?”

“Well, um, I was just wondering... I mean, we’re attacking the slums just to seize one person. What kind of operation might this be...?”

“Watch your tongue, soldier. That’s not something you need to know.”

The guard stiffened for a moment, then got into position. “Yes, sir! Apologies, sir!”

Seagall furrowed his brow as he watched the man retreat. I’d rather not make this into a spectacle, but...

The existence of the saintess, her royal heritage, and the fact that she was hiding somewhere in the capital—these were all truths that could not be made public. Therefore, Seagall had only fed his men vague information: They were searching for someone connected to an important figure. The operation had to be completed before it raised too many questions, and so the man who had ordered the search, Prince Figaro, had set a strict deadline, which was fast approaching.

The prince is a strict man. We can’t afford to worry about saving face.

On top of that, there was the report from yesterday. A number of poor men who had resisted a forced search had been shot as an example and left for dead, but then later seen walking around completely healed as though nothing had happened. That night, Seagall had led a unit back to the men’s homes, but they’d been completely empty. They’d probably moved locations just in case.

Since there were no reports of elite healers having taken action, there was only one person in the kingdom capable of thoroughly healing such extensive injuries.

“Saintess Artemisia must be somewhere in the slums.”

Indeed, someone had to be hiding her. Seagall gripped the trigger of his gun, his gaze turning cruel.

“You’ve gone too far, slum filth. I will uncover your ploy.”

***

“Whoa... What the...?”

By the time Zenos arrived at the plaza, following Zophia and the others, the Royal Guard had nearly completed their besiegement. Sunlight glinted harshly off the many sabers drawn from their scabbards, and countless cold gun barrels were aimed at the slums.

“Listen up, filth!” said a bearded man at the front holding a magical loudspeaker—the same man who’d come to their camp looking for Arty.

Seagall, if Zenos recalled correctly.

“We have information that our target is hiding in the slums. Anyone who knows anything, speak up immediately. Otherwise, we’ll be forced to attack indiscriminately!”

“This is way over the line,” Zenos muttered to himself. He tried to step forward, but Zophia and the others gripped his shoulders.

“Stay back for now, doc,” Zophia cautioned.

“We’ll go first,” Lynga said.

“Yeah, we’ll show ’em,” Loewe declared.

“All right,” Zenos conceded. “You guys be careful.”

The three demi-humans cracked their knuckles as Zenos glanced back toward the clinic where Arty and Lily were waiting. Ahead of the group were several hundred knights of the Royal Guard, but Krishna was nowhere to be seen.

It was a dire situation indeed.

***

“Who are you lot?” Seagall asked with a frown, staring at the three demi-human women as they stepped forward through the murmuring crowd.

“What’s with all the noise at this hour?” Zophia asked.

“I’m still sleepy,” Lynga grumbled.

“I haven’t even had breakfast yet,” Loewe added.

“Zophia of the lizardmen, Lynga of the werewolves, and Loewe of the orcs. They’re key figures in the slums,” one of Seagall’s men whispered in his ear.

“Ah, so you’re the infamous ne’er-do-wells, are you?” Seagall asked. “Come to think of it, I saw you all at the lake.”

As a member of the Royal Guard, he had, of course, heard of them. But since the Special Ops division rarely dealt with the slums and their previous encounter had been in dim lighting—and at a time when he’d been too focused on finding the saintess to pay attention—he hadn’t recognized them at first glance.

Seagall glanced over at Zophia and the others. “If you’re in charge here, you must know something. We’re looking for a young woman. Are you hiding her?”

“What are you talking about?” Zophia asked.

“I don’t know a thing,” Lynga said.

“Don’t accuse us without proof,” Loewe protested.

“Fire,” Seagall said, his face betraying no emotion as he raised his left hand.

Gun barrels erupted left and right as the knights let loose. The nearest homes exploded into flaming debris, sending wreckage raining from the sky in all directions.

Zophia, shielding her face with one arm, glared at Seagall. “That’s quite the greeting. I thought the Royal Guard’s job was to keep the peace?”

“Eliminating the poor is an excellent way to guarantee public safety,” Seagall replied, his expression unchanging. “We have evidence and no time for pointless back-and-forth. That was your first and only round of warning shots. Next time, we shoot to kill.”

“I’m telling you—”

“Fire.”

Before Zophia could finish, countless gun barrels erupted once more—and this time, the bullets were fired indiscriminately at the poor. Blood sprayed into the air as screams echoed through the plaza.

“Gah!”

“Augh!”

“Ugh!”

Seagall remained expressionless. “I warned you. Now we shoot to kill.”

Zophia, who had used her hardened arm scales to deflect the bullets, continued to glare at him. “So that’s how it is. Since you’re picking a fight, we can’t just sit back.”

“You didn’t even flinch. Your nerve is impressive, though not surprising for a crime lord. I wonder how long you can keep that look in your eyes, though.”

“Sis!” Zonde called out.

“I know,” Zophia replied firmly. “Let’s do this! This is our home, and we protect what’s ours!”

“We’ll make them regret barging onto our turf!” Lynga declared.

“Man, I haven’t fought in a while. I’m itching for it,” Loewe said.

“Raaaaaaah!”

Zophia, Lynga, and Loewe rushed forward, and the poor raised a collective battle cry. A fierce aura of resolve and bloodlust surged from the crowd.

“L-Lord Seagall! The poor are attacking!”

“Do not falter! We have justice and military prowess on our side! Charge them all with obstruction of justice, and add high treason while we’re at it!” Seagall commanded, lightly stroking the barrel of his magical gun.

They were one spark away from total chaos. The poor charged at the knights, who raised their weapons in turn. Seagall was ready to give the order to fire again when he paused, staring at the poor in shock.

“What is going on?” he asked shakily. “They’re fully healed!”

The ones his men had just shot were calmly rising to their feet and joining the fray. Blood stained the ground, but somehow, not a single trace of injury could be found on their bodies.

“Who’s healing them?! Don’t tell me Lady Artemisia is...” Seagall muttered quickly, then raised his left hand. “Hold fire!”

“Backing down already?” Zophia asked mockingly.

Seagall clicked his tongue. “Silence! Men, switch to sabers! Find the young woman, and kill all the others!”

“Yes, sir!” the knights said, all drawing their sabers at once.

If the saintess was mixed in with the crowd, magical guns weren’t an option—the risk of a stray bullet hitting her was too high.

Just as the authorities and the poor were about to clash, however—

“Hold it right theeere!” came a voice from the crowd, making the poor stop moving as though a fire had been doused.

“What now?” Seagall muttered, frowning as he gripped his saber.

The crowd of slum dwellers parted to the sides, creating a path. A man clad in a cloak black as the surrounding night stepped forward with a relaxed stride.

“I don’t know who you’re looking for, but if you’re wondering who healed the injured, that would be me,” the man said in a calm tone that was at complete odds with the surrounding chaos.

“You’re...” Seagall trailed off. The man looked familiar—Seagall recalled seeing him by the lake.

“Doc!” Zophia called out, worried. “I told you to stay back!”

“Look, I don’t want to be here either, but I have to do something. At this rate, you’re all gonna be charged with high treason.”

“B-But...”

Seagall switched from his saber back to his magical gun. “What was that? You said you healed them?”

“Yep. So I’m the one you’re looking for.”

Boom!

The magical gun fired, striking the man directly and sending flames coiling into the air.

“Filth like you can’t heal people,” Seagall spat. “Stand down. I don’t have time for senseless games.”

“You’re not very good at listening, are you?” the man retorted. “Is this a Royal Guard thing, or...?”

“What?”

The bullet had hit its target, but as the smoke cleared, the man was still standing there, unscathed and completely calm.

“What just happened?” Seagall asked.

He pulled the trigger again and again. Two, three, four shots. But the man in the black cloak didn’t suffer a single scratch, simply shrugging in irritation.

“You really aren’t gonna listen, huh? Look, getting shot repeatedly at this range stings a bit. I’m gonna need you to calm down.”

The next instant, the man vanished, and before Seagall knew it, he’d circled around to the bearded knight’s left. His fist, glowing a faint blue, slammed right into Seagall’s flank.

Shing!

“Gaaah!”

Although Seagall was wearing reinforced light armor, a tremendous shock rippled through his body, making his stomach churn. He instantly knew several of his ribs had broken. His gaze involuntarily tilted skyward as he was launched into the air before he could even process what was happening.

“Captain!” a knight shouted.

Seagall landed on his back with such force that the ground cracked beneath him. The other knights all raised their magical guns, pointing them at the man.

“Hey now,” the man said, raising both his hands innocently, “I didn’t do anything.”

One soldier, keeping his gun trained on the man, furiously shouted, “Like hell you didn’t! You just hurt our captain!”

“Did I? He doesn’t look hurt to me.”

“You dare mock—”

“Wait,” Seagall cut in, sitting up slowly.

“Huh?”

Seagall pressed a hand to his flank in disbelief—there was no pain at all. Even the spot where he’d clearly felt his ribs break earlier was perfectly fine, with no signs of discomfort. It was as though he’d never been injured at all. He was perfectly healed.

“Did you do this?” he asked the cloaked man.

“I told you,” the man replied, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly, “I healed those guys. Do you believe me now?”

Seagall stared blankly at the man before him.

Yesterday, he’d received a report about a group of mortally wounded slum dwellers being completely fine. Aside from the saintess and elite healers, no one should be capable of such a feat. And since there were no signs of an elite healer being involved, only Saintess Artemisia could’ve done this. Or so he’d concluded, until this new possibility stood before him.

If this man was the one who had healed the poor, then where was the saintess? And who even was this man?

“Who are you?” Seagall demanded.

“Me? I’m a shado—”

“Wait!” a voice rang out, interrupting the two men.

All eyes turned to a narrow path at the edge of the plaza, where a girl in an old-fashioned dress stood, breathing heavily.

As she caught her breath, she removed her glasses and pulled off her headdress and wig, revealing long, elegant soft-pink hair that swayed in the breeze.

“I’m right here,” said Saintess Artemisia.

***

The plaza in the ruined city, normally serene and quiet, erupted in uproar at the appearance of the divine beauty.

“Arty, what are you doing?” Zenos asked as he ran up to her.

She was supposed to have been waiting at the clinic with Lily—who was a little ways behind the saintess, running and flailing her arms.

“A-Arty ran off all of a sudden, and I couldn’t catch up! I-I’m sorry, Zenos!” Lily managed between ragged breaths.

Arty gently shook her head. “It’s not your fault, Lily. I caused this situation. I can’t keep hiding like this.”

“Arty...”

The Royal Guard, who had been struck dumb by Arty and her unique aura, finally snapped out of their trance.

“S-Sir Seagall! Could that be our target?”

“All of you, stand back!” Seagall ordered, waving both arms widely to send the men out of hearing range.

Arty and Seagall slowly walked to the center of the plaza. The bearded man straightened his back and respectfully brought his right hand to his chest.

“Lady Artemisia, it has been a while. I see your fingers are injured, and...what happened to your hair? Did these scum do anything to—”

“My injured fingers are a badge of honor. Pay them no mind,” Arty said. “And my hair was in the way, so I cut it. The style suits me, don’t you think?”

“Y-Yes, quite...” Seagall muttered, nodding unconvincingly. “I would get on my knees and bow to you as protocol dictates, my lady, but I have not informed my men of your true identity. I ask for your patience and understanding.”

“I don’t mind. As for who healed the commoners—I did, of my own volition,” she confessed.

Seagall cast Zenos an angry glare. “I thought as much. That man almost deceived me with his lies, but he used something akin to defensive, or perhaps enhancement magic, and it’s impossible for one person to master more than a single type of spell. At least one had to come from a different caster. And the notion he could use healing magic on top of that...ludicrous.”

“You’re right. I was the one secretly doing the healing.”

“To think the saintess would be healing the rabble... My lady, let us return to the palace at once. His Highness Prince Figaro is beside himself with worry.”

“Oh, is he?” Artemisia let out a deep sigh. “He’s not worried about me. It’s the nation...and ultimately, his own advancement, that concerns him.”

“My lady, you shouldn’t...” Seagall began, then pressed his lips tightly as he trailed off.

Finally, he gestured with his right hand toward the heart of the capital, where the palace was located, to escort her back.

“This way, please.”

“Very well. But allow me to speak to these people first.”

“A royal, speaking to these rats? Do not be fooled, my lady. These people are animals. They’re not human. They must be planning to use you.”

“They are human. They laugh, cry, and are compassionate and warm people.”

“Lady Artemisia—”

“If anyone is trying to use me, it’s the royal family. And I’m saying I’ll willingly allow myself to be used again, but first, I wish to speak to these people.”

Seagall let out a heavy sigh, then gave a curt nod. “Please keep it brief.”

Artemisia exhaled, then slowly made her way toward Zenos.

“Arty...”

“Thank you, Zenos, for covering for me. I’m grateful to you for keeping your promise to the end,” she said, taking Zenos’s hand. “But you’ve done enough. The people here need you. If the capital so much as suspects a brilliant unlicensed healer lives in the slums, you’ll be in trouble. A shadow healer must stay in the shadows.”

“Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yes. I’ll return to the spire. I already got what I wanted.”

“Right. You did say there was something you were after,” Zenos mused. She’d never told him what it was, though.

Artemisia’s lips curled into a faint smile. “I wanted to try living a normal life, just once.”

Zenos had no response to that.

“The Saintess’s Spire has everything I need. A soft bed, a spacious bath, the best food one could ask for. But that’s all it has. I have nobody to share meals with, and no one to talk to about cooking. I wake up at fixed times, I get attended to by maids, I offer blessings and prayers... Day in, day out, that’s all I do. That place is nothing but an oversized prison.”

Artemisia looked fondly toward the direction of the clinic.

“Here, I got to wake up, do housework, go shopping, eat meals with family, and talk about all sorts of nonsense. I’ve always wanted to do that. So...my wish came true.”

“Arty...”

The saintess looked up at the sky. “Zenos, do you remember the prophecy I mentioned?”

“Right. The ‘most severe rot,’ or something.”

“Yes. I don’t know when it’ll happen. But please don’t forget about it,” Artemisia said, her expression serious.

“I won’t,” Zenos replied with a nod.

She waved to him and Lily and reluctantly began to turn away. “Goodbye, then.”

“Say, Arty? That thing you said before, about not having much time left...was that true?”

Artemisia was silent for a moment, then smiled and shook her head. “No, I was just kidding.”

With that, she wished them well and finally went over to where the Royal Guard was waiting.

“Do not harm these people,” she told Seagall as she walked past. “And make sure that man gets his due. I promised him appropriate compensation.”

“As you command, my lady,” Seagall replied with his right hand over his chest, his eyes narrowing.

***

Now that the conflict had passed, the tension began to quickly dissipate from the plaza.

“You there,” Seagall called out.

“Huh?”

Zenos, who had been about to return to the clinic, turned to face the bearded knight.

“As per Lady Artemisia’s orders, I’ll make sure you get your due. Come with me, please,” Seagall said.

“All right,” Zenos replied. He turned to Lily and the demi-humans. “Sorry, you guys go on ahead.”

He followed Seagall to a Royal Guard outpost, and the two went into a room in the back.

But there was no sign of a reward waiting for Zenos. Instead, guards flanked him on both sides and grabbed his arms, then snapped handcuffs onto his wrists.

“Uh... What’s this about?” he asked.

“Those are special magic-suppressing handcuffs. And you’re being taken to prison.”

“What?”

The two guards stepped back, and Seagall suddenly delivered a punch to Zenos’s stomach.

Zenos didn’t make a sound. Though the handcuffs did make it harder for him to channel his mana, he’d still been able to activate a simple protective spell to minimize damage. Regardless, he faked a slightly pained expression, just in case.

Seagall leaned in close enough that Zenos could feel his breath. “You’re the one who held Lady Artemisia prisoner, aren’t you? The ringleader cannot be allowed to escape justice. You’ll receive the maximum punishment for this.”

“Oh...” Zenos wanted to point out he hadn’t imprisoned anyone, but it didn’t seem like Seagall would listen. “Does Arty know about this?”

“‘Arty’? You mean the saintess? Of course she doesn’t.”

“Then—”

“Our orders were issued by His Highness, the Second Prince. Naturally, he demands that the one responsible be punished to the full extent of the law. Surely you need no further explanation.”

“His Highness?” Zenos echoed.

It wasn’t surprising, considering Arty herself was also royalty, but it did mean that Seagall had the backing of a very powerful man.

“Now, come,” the bearded knight ordered.

Handcuffed, Zenos shrugged and silently followed Seagall.

To be fair, from the royal family’s perspective, some unknown man from the slums had kept a crown-mandated search party from locating the saintess. It was only natural they’d assume he was an extremely dangerous individual plotting something unknown.

If Zenos wanted to, he could make a run for it, but that would just make the authorities launch a forceful search for him in the slums—and, worse, it could lead to an indiscriminate crackdown against all poor. Since it was true he’d kept Arty hidden, his only option was to play along and try to contact her or Krishna somehow.

Seagall, a cruel smirk on his face, looked over his shoulder. “Too scared of your punishment to speak, are you?”

“I mean, not really,” Zenos replied.

“Hmph. We’ll see how long you keep up the brave act.”

Though the sudden arrest was a bit disorienting, Zenos’s greatest worries were not being able to explain the situation to the others and having to be absent from the clinic for a while.

He let out a deep sigh, then muttered, “Just when I thought I could finally focus on the clinic...”

Chapter 4: Down the Well

East of the royal capital was a shrine known as the Sacred Garden. Clearly visible from the Saintess’s Spire within the palace, the shrine stood on a small hill amid densely packed trees. Although seemingly ordinary, the area was heavily guarded and only accessible to the royal family.

“They say the founder of our nation received divine revelation atop that hill. Humans are so fond of their quirky little legends and folklore, aren’t they?”

Standing on a vantage point overlooking the distant shrine was a figure clad in a gray robe, hood pulled low over their face.

“Turning the past into myths, passing down these stories from generation to generation...” the figure muttered. “What a fascinating human habit. With lives as short as theirs, I suppose it makes sense...”

The hooded figure—the Conductor—slowly lifted their head to look up at the sky.

Even the Great Human-Demon War, in which the two species had fought and bled and died on the battlefield, was to this day the subject of many such myths and legends. However, very few records remained of the valiant heroes who had played the most vital roles among humans at the time. For better or worse, legends never told the full story, and were always embellished.

The legend of the Sacred Garden and the nation’s founding was likely one such tale.

“I’ve always thought that one had been exaggerated upon a bit too much,” the Conductor said with a sigh. “At this rate, the country will fall...”

A gust of wind coming from the north rustled the underbrush and blew back the gray hood. The Conductor—who wore the face of an androgynous young man that had once been called Afred—brought a hand to their exposed forehead.

“And...unfortunately, I can only think of one person who could stop this crisis.”

***

“Move it,” Seagall barked.

“You don’t have to keep rushing me,” Zenos replied nonchalantly.

After being arrested at the Royal Guard outpost, Zenos had been transported in a windowless carriage straight to the Guard’s main headquarters, located in the administrative ward of the nobles’ special district. He’d been taken inside from a back entrance, brought down to a basement of some sort, and led to the innermost room.

“Um, where are we?” he asked as the door was unlocked and they went inside.

The place appeared to be a hall with an enormous complex magic circle at its center.

“This doesn’t look like a jail cell,” Zenos mused.

“Stand over there,” Seagall commanded, pointing with his chin at the magic circle and roughly shoving Zenos toward it.

“What’s this magic circle for?” Zenos asked as he stepped onto the intricate pattern. He’d been certain he’d be thrown into a holding cell.

Not knowing much about magic circles, he used a protective spell on himself just in case this one was some kind of torture device for prisoners. Though his magic was dampened by the special handcuffs, it would still have some effect, he hoped.

But Seagall’s answer surprised him. “This is a teleportation circle.”

“What...?”

Zenos seemed to recall Carmilla mentioning something about those during her tale back at camp. Teleportation magic circles were one of the technologies developed during the Great Human-Demon War, capable of transporting those within them to different locations. He didn’t know any specifics about how they worked, but...

Wait, wait, this can’t be good!

Overcome with a bad feeling, Zenos tried to get away from the magic circle, but a vortex of wind spiraled toward its center, and an enormous gravitational pull tugged at his feet, almost as though he were being drawn into a sinkhole. A barrier sprang up around the edges of the circle, blocking his escape completely.

Zenos glanced over at Seagall, who stood outside the circle with his arms crossed, looking clearly pleased.

“Where is this sending me?”

“For abducting and imprisoning the saintess, you’ve received the maximum punishment applicable by law. You’re going down the well.”

“Down the well?”

A strange sensation washed over his body, as if space itself were twisting around him. Just as Zenos was teleported away, he heard Seagall’s smug voice.

“We’ll never meet again, but I’m sure you’ll wish you’d been sentenced to death instead.”

***

Zenos found himself in a rainbow-colored space, falling straight down as moments in time flashed through his mind one after another.

He saw the people he’d met during his time at the orphanage—his mentor, his best friend Velitra, his sister figure Liz. Then his former adventuring companions—the Golden Phoenix and their leader Aston. Then Lily, Carmilla, and the demi-humans of the slums with whom he shared a life at the clinic. Becker, Umin, and Cress from the Royal Institute of Healing. Those he’d met when infiltrating the Black Guild: Pista the information broker and her father the Beast King. Charlotte, Ilya, Ryan, and Eleanor—the noble teens he’d taught at Ledelucia Academy. Those he’d traveled with during the hunt in Zagras: Roa, Aska the Sword Saint, and Jose the elite healer. Melissa and Grace, the commander and healer he’d met at the western border.

The faces of everyone he’d met on his journey thus far came to mind, then quickly faded away, one after another.

“Whoa!”

Finally, the teleportation ended abruptly. The feeling of floating vanished, and gravity tugged at his whole body, making him brace himself with his right foot to avoid pitching forward.

“Wow. So that’s what teleportation feels like. Impressive.”

It had to take an enormous amount of mana to transport matter through space like that. Even maintaining the system must’ve been a monumental task.

“So...where am I again...?”

The area around him was dark, and it was hard to see anything. Beneath his feet was another magic circle, seemingly identical to the one that had sent him here. And based on the way his voice echoed, he assumed this had to be a pretty wide space.

Seagall had said Zenos was being sent “down the well.”

Whatever that meant, the knight likely didn’t have the authority to do it on his own, so it had to have been ordered by the prince whom Seagall had mentioned. The sentence had been carried out shockingly quickly, and Zenos hadn’t had the chance to alert his friends back at the clinic. The first order of business was to figure out where he was, and then decide what to do from there.

“Hm?”

The sound of dripping water echoed in the distance, along with what sounded like the approaching footsteps of a number of people. As the uneven vibrations drew closer, the glow of torches lit up the darkness ahead. About ten men were visible in the dim light—all of them unshaven, horrendously filthy, and covered in wounds. Some of them were limping.

Still, Zenos figured perhaps they were open to conversation. He raised his hand and called out to them in a friendly tone, “Hey, do you guys have a minute? I got sent here without an explanation, so I was hoping you could tell me where I am.”

None of the men smiled.

“We got a new one.”

“Yeah. I knew I heard the circle doing its thing.”

“Finally, some fresh meat.”

“Hey, hands off! That one’s mine!”

“Oh, shut up. I called dibs!”

“Huh?” Zenos muttered. The men had not only ignored his question, but were having a rather concerning argument.

“Get his ass!”

With that, they all charged at once.

“Seriously...?” Zenos let out an exasperated sigh. “Hey, I don’t want a fight. Can we just talk about...”

He trailed off, figuring it was a waste of time—the men were clearly not listening. In fact, his attempts at diplomacy only seemed to make them even more eager for blood.

“Take thiiiiiis!” the man leading the charge yelled as he raised his right hand.

Zenos shot him a confused look before sighing again.

Enhancement magic it is, then.

A blue light quickly enveloped his body, and within a measly 0.3 seconds, he snapped off the handcuffs binding his wrists together. And then—

“Guuuuuh!”

“Gwaaaah!”

“Gyaaaah!”

With his enhanced arms, Zenos scattered the charging men in just about as much time as it’d taken him to break his handcuffs.

“Man, you guys are weak. You need to eat better,” Zenos commented.

The men’s movements were sluggish, and hitting them felt like striking a thin, flimsy wall. Zenos had held back significantly, and still the men seemed unable to get back up. Maybe the enhancement spell had been overkill? As his eyes began to adjust to the darkness, he noticed just how skinny these men were.

“Sorry, but I don’t think you stand a chance against me right now. So, mind telling me where we are?” he asked the one man still standing in the dim light.

That man hadn’t attacked with the rest. The distance made it hard to see his face clearly, but Zenos could tell he was in complete shock.

“Relax. You didn’t attack me, so I’m not going to hurt you,” Zenos assured him.

He approached the man slowly, but something seemed off. The man wasn’t stepping back or trying to run. He didn’t seem to be scared of Zenos—it was more like...some kind of bewilderment.

“Wh-Why are...” the man mumbled hoarsely. His voice was strangely familiar. “Zenos, why are you...?”

The man had messy spiked hair and a more unkempt beard than Zenos remembered. But when he finally got close enough to get a proper look at the man’s face, Zenos was similarly shocked.

“Wait... Aston?”

The leader of Zenos’s former party, the Golden Phoenix. The man who had, once upon a time, welcomed Zenos into a group—only to eventually cast him away.

***

Meanwhile, back at the clinic in the ruined city, the three demi-human leaders all wore grim expressions.

“Is that true? The doc was arrested by the Royal Guard for abducting and imprisoning the saintess?” Zophia asked, her voice cold as steel.

Standing across from her was the blonde vice commander of the Royal Guard, her features set into a stiff frown. “Yes, so it seems.”

Zophia slammed her fist onto the table with a loud thud. “‘So it seems’?! Krishna! You shouldn’t have let this happen!”

“I won’t accept this!” Lynga yelled.

“Me neither! Zenos is important to this place! You know that!” Loewe bellowed.

Pressed by the three, Krishna bit her lip in frustration. “I was under house arrest and didn’t hear about it until after the fact,” she explained. “I put in an immediate request for visitation, but I was too late.”

“And that’s it?! You were ‘too late,’ so that’s the end of that?!”

“Stop!” Lily shouted, stepping between them with tears in her eyes. “You can’t fight among friends! Zenos would agree!”

Carmilla crossed her legs as she watched the scene unfold from her perch on the bed. “Knowing that fool, he likely let himself be scapegoated as the ringleader to spare the slums as a whole from punishment.”

The three demi-humans and Krishna exchanged quiet glances.

Zophia raked her fingers through her hair with a sigh. “Sorry. You’re just the messenger, and you came straight to us with the news.”

“No. I, too, am sorry,” Krishna said, lowering her head slightly. “I let my temper get the best of me.”

Carmilla crossed her legs again and asked, “So, what happened to the fool?”

“He was sent down the well,” Krishna said gravely.

Loewe tilted her head. “Down the well? What does that mean? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“That is unsurprising. ’Tis a special punishment, and few in the general public know of it.”

Krishna went on to explain it was the worst punishment possible, reserved for dissenters. The prisoners were transferred elsewhere via a teleportation magic circle from a special chamber in the Royal Guard’s headquarters and, after that, contacting them was impossible.

“A teleportation circle? My, how nostalgic,” Carmilla remarked. “I knew not that such things still existed. So...where was Zenos sent?”

“Even we are not privy to that,” Krishna said. “All I know is that it supposedly is an underground mine within the kingdom where prisoners are forced into labor.”

Krishna had tried to send word to Artemisia, but her request for an audience with the saintess had been denied. Trying to physically reach the saintess within the spire was nearly impossible; the protective barrier around it would keep even a spirit like Carmilla from approaching.

“Damn it. So when does he get out?” Zophia asked.

Krishna gritted her teeth and clenched her fists.

“As far as I’m aware, none have ever made it back from there.”

***

“Huh. So, in other words, this is the bottom of the well,” Zenos said, leaning back against the rough wall of the dim underground passageway.

“Don’t just stand there looking cozy,” a bearded prisoner snapped gruffly. “Once you’re sent here, that’s it. You can never leave. This place will be your grave.”

Aston Behringer, the prisoner, was the one who had taken Zenos out of the slums after the loss of his mentor—only to later cast him out. Zenos had thought they’d never meet again, and certainly not in a place like this.

“You can’t leave, huh...? Well, that poses a problem,” Zenos mused.

Aston barked out a laugh. “‘A problem,’ he says!”

“Why do you sound so smug? And what is this place, anyway?”

“Hell if I know. I wouldn’t be stuck here if I did. All I’ve gathered is we’re somewhere deep underground within the kingdom. That teleportation circle back there is the only way in, and you can’t use it to get out.”

In other words, there was no exit for the prisoners sent here—all of whom were dissidents, found guilty of crimes against their betters.

“Yo, Zenos, weren’t you living the good life in the slums?” Aston asked. “How in blazes did you end up down here?”

“I don’t really know either,” Zenos said. “But apparently I made someone in the royal family mad.”

“Ha! A slum rat like you, pissing off royalty?”

“Look, stuff happened, a royal was involved, and that made another royal mad.”

“Glad to see you still don’t make one lick of sense...”

“And you? How did you end up here?”

Aston had once devastated part of the slums after becoming a golem—an ancient magical construct—driven by his hatred toward Zenos. He’d been arrested by the Royal Guard afterward. And while he’d caused turmoil, he wasn’t exactly a dissident.

“Me? I was stuck in a holding cell in the outskirts of the capital,” Aston explained. “But then a new warden, a young guy, came in. Real piece of work.”

Apparently, the man beat prisoners for fun, even those in for just minor offenses. For his own amusement, he’d target frail elderly commoners, claiming the fear on their faces was entertaining. Aston, bothered by the warden’s behavior, had volunteered for a whipping—and then, taking advantage of a moment of distraction, he’d tackled the young warden while still in handcuffs.

“Turns out the asshole was some big-shot noble’s cousin twice removed or whatever. Three days later, here I was,” Aston concluded.

“Huh...”

“If you don’t care, why’d you ask?!”

“No, I mean... I was just thinking you’ve changed a bit.”

Back during their adventuring days, Aston had always insisted on being the center of attention—he’d hardly been the type to get angry on someone else’s behalf. But Aston hadn’t joined in when Zenos had arrived and the other prisoners had attacked him. If anything, it seemed like he’d come along in an attempt to stop them.

“Heh. Doesn’t sound like praise coming from you,” Aston scoffed.

“It wasn’t praise,” Zenos said.

“What the hell? Hey!”

“So, what am I supposed to do here?”

“Huh? You work until you die.”

This underground mine yielded high-quality manastones, and the prisoners were forced to extract them, Aston explained. A few small enchanted lifts were connected to the surface, and when the mined stones were placed on the lifts, an amount of food proportional to their value and quantity would be delivered back down through the same mechanisms. So by sending up manastones, the prisoners received enough food to survive. If they couldn’t mine enough, they would starve.

In short, those who didn’t work didn’t eat.

“I see. Can I ask you something else?” Zenos asked.

“Gonna have to charge you at this rate,” Aston grumbled.

“And spend it on what, down here?”

“Shut up! Turn of phrase, all right?! Just go ahead and ask, damn it!”

Aston had apparently only been down here for two months, but he seemed to be mentally unraveling already—it was clear this place would break anyone down given enough time.

“Why did those guys come at me?”

Shortly after Zenos had arrived via teleportation circle, he’d been assaulted by multiple men. From a practical standpoint, that seemed like a stupid decision—their time would’ve been better spent on mining manastones instead.

Aston gave a small sigh before answering. “The rule is just that your food rations are based on the stones you send up. Nothing else.”

“Ah. I see.”

In other words, prisoners didn’t have to mine the stones themselves. All they had to do was wrestle new arrivals into submission and force them to do the mining instead. So those guys treated others like their personal mining slaves and kept the food for themselves.

“There’s this one big group with a boss guy who controls all the stones and food,” Aston explained. “Anyone not with his lackeys barely even gets scraps.”

Zenos thought back on the frail, stick-thin limbs of the men who’d attacked him. That a faction would form when this many people gathered together seemed inevitable. The powerful got more resources—whether up on the surface or down here in the dark. This was, after all, a country where people were bound by class from birth.

Perhaps the class system itself was the greatest illness plaguing the nation. The more people he met, the more often this thought occurred to Zenos.

“The class system...” Zenos muttered.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Aston asked.

“Oh, I was just thinking. The whole ‘crime against your betters’ thing only exists because of the class system. And the longer that system goes on, the more people suffer unfairly because of it.”

“You only just realized that? That’s how it’s always been.”

“Well, yeah, but when you really think about it...it’s not healthy at all.”

If the class system was a plague slowly eating away at people, then what could Zenos do as a healer?

“A third-rate healer just mends wounds. A second-rate healer heals people. A first-rate healer makes the world a better place...” he murmured.

“What are you babbling about? Words aren’t gonna get us out of this hellhole.”

“Well...yeah.”

Philosophy was great and all, but his immediate priority was surviving in this environment. Zenos shook off his thoughts and stared into the pitch-black tunnel ahead.

“But if prisoners are gonna team up into gangs, wouldn’t it be more productive to cooperate, share information, and mine as a group instead of just exploiting one another? Everyone would get more in the long run that way,” Zenos mused.

“There’s a problem with that method, though,” Aston said.

Zenos tilted his head. “There is?”

Just then, a scream echoed through the mine. Startled, Zenos instinctively broke into a sprint toward the voice, and saw a few men fleeing in terror.

“They’re coming!”

“Ruuun!”

Zenos watched, confused, as the men ran with their arms flailing in a panic. Erratic footsteps echoed in the darkness behind them, gradually growing louder. A foul stench struck his nostrils, and low, guttural moans rumbled from deeper underground, reverberating in his eardrums.

“Zombies?” he asked.

Eight undead, with arms outstretched and rotting teeth bared, were now within view.

“Dammit! Here they come! This is why we can’t just mine in peace!” Aston shouted in frustration.

The mine, it seemed, was infested with undead. Though they could be driven back, that added to the exhaustion of the malnourished prisoners—who would then drop dead and join the decaying enemies’ ranks. Those killed by the undead would also turn, continuing the never-ending, nightmarish cycle. The deeper one went into the mine, the more undead appeared. No one wanted to go deeper in, despite the high-quality manastone reserves there.

Due to the immense danger, the mine’s entrance had been completely sealed shut, turning it into a massive underground prison where expendable criminals were put to work until they died.

“Huh...” Zenos muttered.

“Don’t ‘huh’ me! These things keep coming back even when we kill them! If you don’t wanna get eaten, you should get the hell outta here!” Aston snapped.

“Uh, Aston, did you forget what it is I do?”

“Huh? Wait. Oh!”

As his former leader’s eyes widened with realization, Zenos held out his right hand.

“Heal.”

With the chant, white light rushed forth from his palm, sweeping through the tunnel like a wave.

“Graaaaa...”

Engulfed in the pure light, the zombies shrieked faintly before turning to dust in an instant. At last, their pitiful souls departed from the depths of the earth and ascended toward the heavens.

“Huh...?”

The men who had been running with tears in their eyes now froze in place, staring blankly at the empty tunnel. Still stunned, they slowly turned to face Zenos.

“D-Did you just do that?” one of them asked.

Zenos cracked his shoulders.

“Say, can you guys take me to your boss?”

***

“Hmm...”

On the roof of the clinic in the ruined city on the outskirts of the capital stood a translucent figure. Looking up at the darkened heavens, she slowly crossed her arms.

“Now, what to do...”

Zenos had been sentenced to getting thrown down the well, and was now incarcerated in an underground prison somewhere. The demi-humans had clamored to raid the palace, take the royal family hostage, and demand Zenos’s release—but Lily and Krishna had stopped them before they could do anything. They believed that Zenos had shouldered the blame for being the ringleader of the saintess’s abduction and complied with his arrest to prevent the slums as a whole from incurring the crown’s wrath.

Zophia and the others had only agreed to hold back momentarily so as to not let his sacrifice be in vain.

“For now, I shall pull what strings I am able and see if I can arrange to meet with him,” Krishna had suggested.

“You have three days,” Zophia said with barely contained anger. “If nothing changes, we’re gonna do it our way.”

“I want to tear open the throat of the bastard who took Sir Zenos right now,” Lynga growled.

“Usually I’m a very mild-mannered woman, but I haven’t felt this much rage in a long time,” Loewe said. “I could crush that entire palace to dust.”

“Please do try not to plot treason in front of a member of the Royal Guard,” Krishna warned.

Zophia clenched her fists. “You of all people should know, Krishna, the kind of place this was before the doc came. He ended the fighting between our races, saved us from a rampaging golem, and even dismantled the Black Guild. He stopped a mass poisoning in the Royal Institute of Healing, helped bring down a beast strong enough to ruin us all, and even fought to protect the country from invaders. And a guy like him, a once-in-a-lifetime kind of national hero, got sent to an inescapable prison? We can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

The lizardwoman took a step closer to Krishna.

“Look, we’re grateful that you told us. But we’re gonna go save him, and if you’re not with us, you’re against us.”

“Mr. Zenos changed my life,” Krishna said. “I want to save him as much as you do. Let us hope that we do not find ourselves on opposite sides.”

With that, Krishna left the clinic.

It was then that Lily collapsed.

“Lily!” Zophia called out in a panic, rushing with the others over to the young elf. “Are you all right?!”

Lily forced a smile. “Oh, I’m sorry... My legs suddenly gave out...”

“It’s no wonder,” Lynga said. “I could’ve just about passed out, myself.”

“Rest for now,” Loewe advised. “We’ll handle the rest.”

The demi-humans had carried Lily to the bedroom and the young elf had finally fallen asleep not long ago. After seeing off the trio, Carmilla had floated up to the roof to glare at the night sky as though it could provide answers.

“Confound it. Everything falls apart without you, Zenos,” the wraith muttered.

Carmilla knew that Zenos wasn’t exactly an easy man to kill, but this time, things could turn out dire. For starters, they didn’t know where the underground prison was. If they took too long to find the healer, Zophia and the others could end up as rebels, and Lily wouldn’t be able to handle the strain of it all.

Something else bothered the wraith too.

“What in blazes is about to happen...?”

She’d been having a strange feeling for some time—a creeping sensation, like that of impending catastrophe. Carmilla hadn’t said anything, not wanting to make light of it, but she recalled that the saintess had mentioned something similar during her stay at the clinic.

“An ominous star heralding most severe rot, she said,” Carmilla muttered, noting that the moon above looked unusually red tonight. “Hm...?”

Sensing a sudden wave of eerie mana, Carmilla lowered her gaze to the depths of the darkness below. There was something there, nestled in an alleyway among the slanted ruins—a pitch-black aura of malevolence that gradually took human form.

“What a surprise,” it said. “Carmilla, was it?”

“What?” Revealing her form, Carmilla silently floated down through the air and landed before the figure. “You know me? Who are you?”

The figure wore a gray robe that blended in with the nearby ruins. Their face, illuminated by the red moonlight, was pale and androgynous, but appeared to be that of a young man. Despite that, it was evident this was no human.

Casually spreading their hands, the figure gave a courteous nod.

“Ah, that’s right. You’ve yet to see me in this form. I’ve been trying to lay low, but...perhaps you might recognize me by name? The Conductor?”

“The Conductor...” she echoed.

The name rang a bell. It belonged to the mysterious figure—once said to have been part of the Black Guild—who had orchestrated the golem attack on the slums. The Conductor had been sensed in various places since, but their identity had never been confirmed.

“Ah, I see... So you were the Conductor all along,” Carmilla said, smiling as though finally coming to a realization. “I did find it odd that lost magic had been used to animate the golem that attacked the slums. And not any lost magic—the kind that demons once practiced.”

The wraith narrowed her eyes, staring at the figure before her.

“But if you were behind it, it all makes sense. Mephileto, right hand of the demon lord Hades, who aided in the Great Human-Demon War.”

The Conductor brought a hand to their chest and gave a respectful bow.

“It is good to see you as well, Carmilla de Lamanelle, member of the legendary party of heroes forgotten by history, once known as the greatest sage in all the continent.”

***

The crimson moon was hidden behind a group of clouds, and the night was now bathed in pitch-blackness. Yet the two figures remained perfectly still, their gazes fixed on one another.

“I thought the demons were all gone. What a surprise to see one in the present day,” Carmilla mused. “But perhaps maintaining your true form is difficult, seeing as you had to possess a human.”

The Conductor laughed heartily. “Well, thanks to you and your hero friends, I was shattered, left to drift. My scattered shards slowly came together, and I only recently regained consciousness. I happened upon a dying human at the site of an accident and successfully overtook his body. I gradually grew inside this form and finally gained full command of it about a year ago. His name is Afred. He’s a suitable vessel, really.”

“Afred, you say.” A familiar name—an advanced healer who had gone missing from the Royal Institute moons ago. “Hee hee hee... I see, I see. Finally, the pieces have come together.”

“I’m the one who’s shocked. I never expected you to become an undead. Is there a reason for that? Or were you just too attached to this world to move on?”

“Oh? You want to know my motives?”

“I’ve decided to take an interest in humans. Call it a reflection on the past.”

“Unfortunately, I have long forgotten such ancient matters.”

“Oh, harsh! I told you my story and everything.”

“Surely you are not here to reminisce.”

Carmilla’s mana output flared with a sharp whoosh, and the Conductor stepped back, smiling.

“Whoa, there, I’m not looking to fight you right now,” the Conductor said. “If we were to go at each other’s throats, my vessel—and possibly this entire city—would be reduced to smithereens. Surely that’s not what you want either.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I have business with Zenos, you see. Your presence here was an unforeseen coincidence. Ah, what a hassle. Dealing with Zenos is bad enough, and now there’s you too.”

“Hmph. You seem strangely attached to Zenos.”

“He’s an awfully fascinating human, don’t you think?”

“He is an intruder who took over my dwelling. That is all,” Carmilla muttered bitterly. She gave a small laugh and shrugged. “But unfortunately Zenos is not here. He has been cast away to rot for life in an underground prison somewhere.”

“Oh?” The Conductor’s eyes grew wide—they were getting quite used to human expressions, it seemed. “Bother. Now that you mention it, I remember hearing during my time with the Black Guild about a type of sentencing where one is forced to work to death in a mine somewhere.”

“Do you know where that is?”

“Sadly, no. Even if I did, it’s likely deep underground and protected by wards. I doubt an outsider could approach it easily. Even you in spirit form would have trouble.”

“Hm.”

“But what now? It really is a very urgent matter,” the Conductor said with a troubled frown. “I suppose I’ll just have to tell you, Carmilla.”

“I do not meddle in the affairs of the living on principle.”

“Aw, but we’ve only just reunited after three hundred years!”

“Fine. But it had best be an interesting tale.”

“Oh, most interesting indeed. See, I have been investigating a few things, and recently came to a realization. It all began back when this kingdom was first founded, but...ah, let’s skip to the good part.” The Conductor cleared their throat as a human would, then continued, “You know the king of fell dragons, who fought the demon lord for control of the southern continent once upon a time?”

“The king of fell dragons? Yes, I have heard bedtime stories. In my great-grandfather’s time, they were used to scare children into behaving lest the dragon eat them.”

The king of fell dragons had fled to this continent after being defeated by the demon lord, barely clinging to life, and gone into hiding deep underground. Carmilla had recently told that very tale to Zenos and the others around a campfire.

“Well, that lets me skip all the explanations,” the Conductor said. With a nod, they declared, “Galhamut’s revival is at hand. If nothing is done, this kingdom will fall.”

***

Meanwhile, Saintess Artemisia was in her spire, located at the eastern end of the royal palace.

“Lady Artemisia, you mustn’t eat like that. It’s uncouth,” a maid said with a troubled expression.

“It’s fine,” Artemisia replied, crunching on an apple she held in her right hand. “It tastes better with the skin on.”

“Oh, good heavens...”

“Really, it’s all right. I can cook too. I’ll make something for you and the others sometime.”

“The saintess doesn’t need to trouble herself with such things.”

“I-I see.” Artemisia lowered her head for a moment, then raised it again. “I’m sorry for causing trouble. I won’t run away anymore, so don’t worry.”

“It truly was a great deal of trouble. His Highness was beside himself as well.”

“Indeed? Well, then, I’ll be heading to the altar now.”

“We shall accompany you, my lady.”

Surrounded by maids, Artemisia made her way to her place of prayer, feeling like a prisoner being escorted. Upon stepping into the altar room and closing the door, she finally had peace and quiet again.

Pressing her back against the heavy, cold door, Artemisia heaved a deep sigh.

Upon her return to the spire, her older brother, the prince, had stopped by for a visit. With his usual unreadable expression, showing no concern or anger, he’d said one thing: “Do your duty as the saintess.”

“I will,” she’d replied.

Saintesses had existed since the founding of the kingdom and were said to possess the power of divine blessing, as well as the ability to sense future events. They’d contributed extensively to the kingdom through those skills. The kingdom had conducted countless studies in an attempt to reproduce the saintesses’ blessings, which could heal wounds instantly, but in the end, no one but the saintesses themselves had ever been able to wield that power. As a byproduct of these attempts, however, Herzeth’s research into healing magic had made great strides, resulting in many talented healers.

Each time a saintess passed, her power would be inherited by a girl born into the royal family. That girl would then spend her life in the spire, praying three times a day—morning, noon, and evening—for the kingdom’s prosperity.

“This truly is a prison...”

Artemisia slowly walked further into the altar room. Visible through a large window at the back was a shrine atop a hill—the Sacred Garden, which was said to be where the nation’s very first ruler had received divine revelation. One of her duties as saintess was to offer prayers toward the Sacred Garden and bestow divine protection upon the entire kingdom.

“What of the ominous star?” she recalled her brother asking.

“Still there,” she’d replied. “Growing larger each day.”

Artemisia lifted her gaze and swallowed. The ominous star hanging in the night sky, heralding most severe rot, was slowly swelling as though oozing with blood. Informing the royal family of such foreseen calamities was another of her duties.

The unprecedented scale of this particular prophecy seemed to have put the entire nation on edge.

“Carry on with your prayers,” her brother had commanded. “Report any unusual signs you sense.”

“Yes, brother.”

So she had told the second prince, but in truth, there was something else she hadn’t informed him of.

“I don’t have much time left...” she murmured, placing her palm on the thick glass window and closing her eyes.

Artemisia had been feeling an increasingly intense sense of impending death, growing in tandem with the ominous star—but she had stayed quiet about this.

Perhaps she didn’t want to add to the already tense atmosphere caused by the prophecy. Perhaps she was angry that, in the end, what people valued was the saintess, not who she was herself. Or perhaps it was a sense of resignation at the knowledge that, when she died, her power would simply be passed on to the next saintess. When it came down to it, even she wasn’t sure why she’d kept silent.

The only person she’d spoken to about this, though she’d later dismissed it as a jest, had been the shadow healer in the slums. But he couldn’t do anything to help her—so why had she felt the urge to tell him?

From the tower, the slums where he lived couldn’t be seen. That entire area was treated as though it didn’t exist, even though she knew full well of the vibrant people living and breathing there.

Artemisia turned toward the wall, as though looking through it, and murmured, “I wonder how Zenos is doing...”

***

At the same time Artemisia tried to glimpse a corner of the slums, two powerful presences stood opposite each other, crackling with energy that seemed to shake the air itself.

“That’s my hypothesis,” the Conductor concluded after having explained the circumstances behind the return of the fell dragon king, Galhamut. “Kindly pass it on to Zenos.”

“Good grief,” Carmilla muttered, rising slightly into the air from the shock. “So the bedtime stories held truth after all.”

“Indeed. Galhamut is likely deeply tied to the very foundation of this country.”

“The saintess’s strange power... I see. ’Tis all connected,” she said with a nod.

The Conductor raised a hand casually. “Well, I’ve said what I came here to say. Time’s ticking. Give my regards to Zenos.”

“Wait! Mephileto!” Carmilla called out as the Conductor turned to leave. “What could possibly drive a demon like you to offer counsel about a crisis in the human realm?”

“Ah, Galhamut was quite the headache back in the day. I’d much prefer never to see him again. And...I would like to observe humans a bit longer. It would be very inconvenient if they all got wiped out.”

“Oh? A curious motive, that. Assuming you speak true, of course.”

The Conductor chuckled. “You wound me. I consider myself perfectly honest.”

With those words, the robed figure vanished, leaving Carmilla staring quietly at the now-empty alleyway.

The wraith lifted her gaze to the darkened heavens. “I never meant to interfere with the affairs of the living...”

As an undead, she was meant to drift eternally through the darkness—that had been her self-inflicted burden. The ruined city had finally offered her a peaceful refuge. Until, that is, an outrageous shadow healer had barged into her dwelling and changed everything. Her beloved stillness had been shattered by endless visitors and incidents, and her peaceful days had turned incredibly eventful.

But at some point, she’d begun to grow excited about the human drama revolving around Zenos and the insane situations he constantly found himself in. She’d found herself looking forward to the start of each day, to spending the mornings with everyone, to the rising sun she’d once despised.

“The Lich Queen has changed, and ’tis your doing entirely,” she muttered, looking back at the clinic.

The shadow healer who had been at the heart of that place was now imprisoned somewhere deep underground. Though he seemed like the kind of man who could handle any crisis on his own, now there wouldn’t be enough time. Lily had collapsed from the stress, and soon enough, the demi-humans would take up arms and clash with the crown. Much blood would be spilled. And if Galhamut indeed revived and regained his former power, why, none of that would even matter. The capital wouldn’t stand a chance.

With a sigh, Carmilla looked up at the night sky and murmured, “’Tis the second time now someone has changed me so wholly, Zenos. You had best do something about this.”

Chapter 5: The Lord of the Underground Mine

The sound of dripping water hitting a damp floor filled the air as magical lamps flickered dimly from where they hung from the walls, illuminating two figures progressing through a suffocatingly narrow passageway.

“Wait, Zenos, are you seriously gonna go meet the boss?” Aston asked as he trailed behind the healer.

“Yeah,” Zenos replied without turning around. Whether to improve labor conditions or find a way out, he needed to contact whoever was in charge of this place.

“Well, don’t,” Aston said, unconvinced. “They won’t let you near him anyway. And even if they do, you’re just gonna end up dead.”

“Are you worried about me?”

“O-Of course not, idiot! I just don’t wanna end up on the shit list along with you, that’s all!”

“Huh...”

“Wh-What?”

Zenos came to a stop and turned to face his former party member. “This place is full of people who committed crimes against the nobility, right? So...people who went against the class hierarchy. That means they’re not necessarily bad people.”

“Ha! You naive dumbass. Listen, all right?” Aston pointed a finger sharply at Zenos. “The boss down here used to be a top executive of the Black Guild! Yeah, that Black Guild!”

“Oh.”

“What? At least act scared, dammit!”

“I mean, I know a top executive. He’s a good guy too.”

“You know a damned top executive of the Black Guild?! Wait, didn’t you say you’re here because you were hiding a royal? At least come up with better lies, damn you!”

“I’m not lying.”

“Ugh, this is making my head hurt...”

They wound their way through the tunnels and finally emerged into an area with a high ceiling, from which countless massive stalactites hung like icicles. It seemed to be a gathering spot for the boss’s faction, and as soon as the pair stepped into the space, a group of rough-looking men surrounded them.

“Hey. You can’t just waltz in here,” one of them said.

“No?” Zenos asked casually. “Aren’t we all prisoners here?”

“Huh? Hey, who the hell are you?” the man asked menacingly. “Haven’t seen you before. You new?”

“Yeah, I just arrived today. I want to talk to the guy in charge. Mind letting me through?”

After a brief silence, the men exchanged glances and burst into laughter.

“Aha ha ha ha! You hear this dude?”

“Oh man, he has no clue, does he?”

“Newbie here thinks he can meet with the boss. Cute.”

The man at the front leaned in close to Zenos’s face. “Listen here, bud. You got two choices. One, join us and bust ass mining in the danger zones. Two, don’t, and starve. Or become undead breakfast. Or both.”

The first option meant working for the group, handing manastones over to them, and getting scraps of food in return. The second meant going solo, with no intel about the ore veins and no easy access to the pulley systems for exchanging manastones for food; though there were several exchange points, all the safe ones were under the faction’s control. Thus, the only available pulleys would be in dangerous undead-infested areas.

Zenos scratched his head lightly. “Look, I just want to talk to your boss. I think he’d want to hear what I have to say.”

“Being slow on the uptake means dying young down here, you know.”

The number of men surrounding them had seemingly tripled out of nowhere.

“Hey, Zenos,” Aston said, grabbing his shoulder from behind. “I told you, you can’t just ‘talk’ to their boss.”

One of the men, noticing Aston, said, “Wait, you’re the dumbass who refused to join us two months ago. Still kickin’, are ya?”

“Yep. Doing fantastic over here. Just peachy,” Aston said, yanking Zenos roughly as he tried to drag the healer away. “We’re leaving now.”

Zenos looked over at his former party leader. “Why did you refuse to join them?”

“I’m not built to follow orders.”

“Huh. Yeah, sounds like you, all right. But... I mean, are you sure about this?”

“Wh-What?”

“Hey!” called out one of the men. “Running away, are you? Loser.”

The insult struck Aston like a brick, and he stopped walking. “What did you say to me?”

“One of the guys here recognized your face. Said you used to be the leader of some fancy Gold Class party. Bah ha ha ha! How far the mighty have fallen, eh?”

Laughter erupted around them.

“Hey, I got a great idea,” said another man, grinning. “How about this: If you guys can take a hundred punches, I’ll take ya to meet the boss. You’re not losers, right? You can handle it.”

It was a blatant taunt, and the laughter grew louder—but Zenos turned around with a cheerful expression.

“Really? Just a hundred punches, and we can see him? You promise?”

“What?”

The men had clearly expected the pair to back down. Their expressions changed instantly.

“Now this is interesting.”

“They tell us not to kill the newbies ’cuz they just turn into those shambling things, but hey, since you’re asking...”

“Gotta teach ’em some respect for how the pecking order goes down here.”

The men cracked their knuckles wickedly, and their leader raised his right arm high for a swing.

Time for a spell, then.

In an instant, Zenos activated a perfect barrier, but before the punch landed, a rough hand reached in from the side and caught the leader’s fist.

“Aston?” Zenos asked.

Frowning, Aston crushed the attacker’s fist in his grip. “You think I’m about to let the guy who decked me get punched by these losers? No chance in hell.”

“Ugh, that kind of feels gross...”

“Hey, don’t call it gross!”

“Asshole!” another man cursed. “Think you’re hot shit?!”

The man lunged at Aston, but the former swordsman dodged and drove his fist into the guy’s stomach instead. With a dull thud, the man dropped to his knees.

“You know, I just remembered I hate being looked down on.”

“You bastard!”

“Get his ass!”

Three more came at Aston at once, but he swung his arms wildly, fending them off. No matter how far he’d fallen, he was still a former Gold Class swordsman. Prisoners barely surviving in an underground mine were no match for him.

“Ha ha! I got an even better idea! I just need to beat the crap out of all you idiots and become the boss myself! No one’s ever gonna order me around again!”

Zenos let out a small sigh and gave an exasperated shrug. “Some things never change, do they?”

“Gaaah!”

“Uuugh!”

“Damn, he’s tough!”

Shouts echoed through the dim underground mine as a full-blown brawl broke out between Aston—previous leader of the Golden Phoenix—and the faction prisoners. The former swordsman roared to psych himself up as he knocked down two men in front of him.

“Stay out of this, Zenos, you hear me?! I don’t need your help!” he bellowed.

“I wasn’t gonna interfere anyway,” Zenos replied.

“You weren’t?!”

Aston turned around to see Zenos standing calmly by the wall, arms crossed.

“I thought about it for a second, but then I remembered how you treated me back in the day, so I changed my mind.”

“Wait, what?! Hey! You prick!”

“But I mean, if you ask nicely, I might reconsider.”

“Shut your mouth!” Clenching his fists, Aston charged back into the crowd of prisoners. “Raaaaaaaah!”

Yeah. These bastards aren’t wrong, Aston thought, gritting his teeth and glaring at the prisoners around him.

After losing his little sister to illness because his family had been too poor to afford medicine, Aston had trampled over everyone in his path, using others to claw his way up from poverty. He’d cozied up to powerful people, manipulated his party members, and even tricked Zenos into working for free. That was how he’d made his way to Gold Class. But then he’d kicked Zenos from the party, failed a quest, gotten manipulated himself by a shady bastard from the Black Guild, been arrested, and next thing he knew, he was down in this dark hellhole doing forced labor.

He was a loser.

In the end, he hadn’t amounted to anything at all.

“Guh!”

Someone grabbed Aston from behind, locking his arms in place as fists began to rain down upon him from all sides.

“Aaaaaargh!”

He broke free through sheer brute force and body slammed the mob.

“Fuck this! I’m not gonna rot down here, dammiiit!”

Aston punched and punched, the taste of iron coating his tongue. His vision blurred, his breath came in ragged gasps, and his whole body throbbed with pain. By the time he dropped to one knee, twenty men were already down around him.

But more kept coming, one after another.

“Shit! How many are there?!” he hissed, wiping the blood from his mouth.

A commotion could be heard from the back of the crowd.

“The boss is here!” someone shouted.

Tension instantly filled the air.

“What the hell’s going on here?” came a voice like a deep, low growl.

“Heh. Decided to come out, did you?” Aston said, pushing himself up with his palms and slowly lifting his head.

Immediately, he fell silent.

The man was huge. Easily twice the already-tall Aston’s height. The prisoners’ boss was covered in thick white fur with black stripes reminiscent of a tiger’s. His face wasn’t human, but that of a ferocious beast—he was catfolk, a massive tigerlike beastman.

Suddenly the rumor about him having been a top Black Guild executive seemed painfully likely.

“I told you idiots not to disturb my nap,” he growled.

The prisoners around the massive catfolk went pale and pointed at Aston.

“S-Sorry, Mr. White Tiger, sir! This guy went wild and...”

The White Tiger cast a cold glare at the former swordsman and stepped forward. He was so intimidating that Aston nearly flinched—but managed to clench his fists and plant his feet firmly on the ground instead.

“Are you the boss around here? Sorry, but you’re gonna have to step down.”

“And who are you?”

“Aston Behringer, and you won’t be forgetting my name anytime soon!”

With that, Aston staggered forward and drove his fist into the White Tiger’s side. But the man didn’t even twitch. The White Tiger was a wall of muscle, and Aston felt like he’d just punched solid steel.

Damn. I’m out of strength...

“You have the right of it. This world runs on survival of the fittest. The strongest stands at the top,” the White Tiger said. “But that’s not you.”

With a light swat, he sent Aston’s body spinning through the air.

“Gaaah!”

He crashed into the rocky ground, blood gushing from his forehead. But even as the White Tiger turned his back to walk away, Aston crawled toward him.

“Wait,” he called out weakly. “This...isn’t over yet...”

“Why resist? Wouldn’t you rather avoid pain?” the White Tiger asked.

Aston paused, then said bitterly, “You’re right.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just remembered that I’ve never earned anything through my own strength.”

Aston clenched his fists as though trying to grasp something and pushed himself to his feet once more.

Every title he’d ever received, he’d gained by using someone else. Now he finally understood—all of his achievements had been but a cheap veneer, easily peeled away. He glanced at Zenos for a moment. Aston had once driven out the healer with a single gold coin as a consolation prize, and yet Zenos had found his place in the world through his own strength.

Aston kicked off the ground.

“I’m never gonna amount to a damn thing if I give up noooooow!” he yelled.

“No holding back this time,” the White Tiger said, slowly raising his right arm.

The razor-sharp claws on the catfolk’s fingers swung down toward Aston’s skull. The former swordsman was at his limit—he had no strength left to dodge, and was moving on willpower alone. He could feel death brush up against him.

And then a figure leaped in from behind and intercepted the White Tiger’s blow.

“Wh—”

Aston looked beside him at the man cloaked in black and raised his voice.

“Z-Zenos! I told you to stay out of this!” he snapped.

“Yeah, I was going to, but you do know what I do for a living, right? I can’t just let someone die in front of me. Not even you.”

The words seemed to drain what fight Aston had left in him, and he dropped to his knees, exhausted.

“Who are you?” the White Tiger asked, stepping forward. “Friend of his?”

“Not at all,” Zenos replied.

“You didn’t have to say that!” Aston protested.

“But thanks, Aston. That helped, actually. You’ve changed a little after all, huh?”

“No, I’m the exact fucking same,” Aston muttered. “Still haven’t achieved a damn thing.”

“Maybe not, but every step forward is a step closer. And you took one today.”

Aston scoffed, slowly raising his right hand in front of him. “Heh.”

Zenos slowly approached the White Tiger.

“Say, you’re the boss of this place, right?” he asked. “I want to talk to you. Got a minute?”

“Hey!” a nearby man shouted. “No newbie gets to chat up the boss like that!”

The commotion started anew among the surrounding prisoners. Zenos glanced down briefly at the battered Aston, then slowly rolled up his sleeves.

“All right. Fine. No time for polite conversation. Survival of the fittest, yeah? So...I beat you, and then we can talk, right?”

Damn you, Zenos, Aston thought, grinding his molars together as he sat on the ground.

His sharp, relentless pain had eased abruptly. Even the prisoners he’d knocked out had begun to groan and rise again. Zenos must have done something.

But no one was coming at Aston anymore. Instead, all eyes were glued to one spot.

“Graaah!”

“Raaah!”

Before them, two figures clashed violently. An enormous beastly silhouette bellowed as the other figure’s black cloak fluttered in the darkness. The White Tiger’s raised fist came down with a howl—but it couldn’t catch the flitting shadow and slammed into the ground like a mass of steel. Spiderweb-like cracks spread over the bedrock, and the impact made the chamber shake, causing stalactites to fall from the ceiling.

The prisoners rushed to flee, but the two opponents seemed unperturbed. A heavy gust swept through the scene from the force of the attack, and the newcomer, wrapped in a blue light, darted freely amid the downpour of stalactites.

Both were equal in strength.

No, that wasn’t true—the shadow healer had the edge.

“What the hell? That can’t be right...” a prisoner muttered.

“The boss used to be a top exec for the Black Guild, and he’s losing...”

“He’s been running this place for over fifteen years!”

“Who the hell is that newcomer?!”

“Guh! Argh!” the White Tiger groaned as Zenos’s fist drove into his sternum. He lost his balance and wavered, dropping to one knee as another attack came straight for his face. “Grrrgh!”

But Zenos’s fist stopped just short of its mark.

“What are you doing?” the White Tiger growled, regarding Zenos with suspicion.

“I think I got the point across,” Zenos replied.

“What? Are you mocking me?!” the beastman snapped, baring his fangs in a ferocious snarl.

Zenos’s voice lowered. “I mean, you’re sick, right? Your liver, especially, is in pretty bad shape.”

The White Tiger’s eyes widened, and he glanced at the prisoners, who were watching from a distance, before looking back at Zenos. “How can you tell?”

“I’m a healer by trade.”

“A healer one-upped me in a fight? You... Tell me your name.”

“Zenos.”

“Zenos...” the beastman echoed, then took on a battle stance once more. “I see you’re skilled. But sick or no, I’m still the boss. If you have demands, you need to take my place by force. That’s how things work down here. My men won’t listen to you otherwise.”

“That was my plan, but I don’t actually want to become the new boss or anything. I just want to resolve this peacefully. How’s that sound?”

“Peacefully?”

Zenos nodded and said in a cheery tone, “Why don’t we strike a deal? I’ll cure your illness. As payment, I want information and your help.”

***

The group had moved to a cave the White Tiger used as his quarters. Inside were the beastman himself, a few of his trusted men, Zenos, and Aston. The rest of the prisoners were still in the main chamber outside, muttering among themselves but obediently following their boss’s order to be on standby.

“Can you really cure me?” the beastman asked.

“Yeah. I mean, that’s what I do,” Zenos replied as he cast Diagnosis on the White Tiger. “Gut rot. Thought as much. There’s necrotic tissue all around your liver. That happens with prolonged exposure to miasma and undead ashes.”

When the illness affected the respiratory system, it was called lung rot. When it affected the liver, it was liver rot. When multiple organs were affected, the term was gut rot.

“So what are you going to do?” the White Tiger asked.

“The liver is really good at regenerating. Fortunately, there’s still a bit of healthy tissue left, so I’ll cut off the necrotic parts and use healing magic to help the damaged parts regrow.”

“And you’re sure that’s gonna work?” asked one of the White Tiger’s men in a threatening tone. “If anything happens to our boss, you’re screwed. You know that, right?”

“This guy’s the real deal,” said Aston, who was leaning against a wall behind them. “I can vouch for him.”

“Aston, are you all right?” Zenos asked. “Did someone bonk you in the head?”

“They sure as hell did, plenty of times! You saw it just now!” Aston spat to the side and looked away. “Ugh. Look, I know your healing magic, all right? A little too well for my tastes.”

Zenos stared wordlessly at Aston.

“All of you, stand down,” the White Tiger commanded, signaling with his chin. “This man isn’t bluffing. I could tell as soon as we exchanged blows.”

His men reluctantly lowered their weapons.

“Okay, then. Let’s get started,” Zenos said. He took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders, and placed his right palm on the White Tiger’s swollen midsection. “High Heal.”

Pure-white light flooded the room, and the beastman’s trusted henchmen stared, wide-eyed, at the shadow healer’s extraordinary feat.

“What the...hell...?”

“You can’t be serious...”

With his magical scalpel, Zenos cut open the beastman’s abdomen. He used protective magic on the blood vessels to minimize bleeding, temporarily numbed the pain receptors, and precisely excised the necrotic tissue. At the same time, what little healthy tissue remained began to rapidly regenerate through layered healing spells.

Zenos moved on to the intestines, repeating the process as the white light danced across the room, enveloping the space like a pair of warm wings.

Finally, the shadow healer took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“All done.”

***

“You’re telling me you know the Beast King?” the White Tiger asked, looking surprised as he lay on a bed of foraged tree roots.

The Beast King was one of the Black Guild’s oldest top executives, whom Zenos had met during his infiltration of the organization.

“Yeah. Friend of yours?”

“We fought all the time over territory back in the day, but he’s an honorable man with a strong backbone. We eventually realized we were alike and made peace. Our relationship wasn’t so bad after that. How is he doing? I remember him being very worried about his estranged daughter.”

“He’s doing great.”

Zenos had even met the Beast King’s daughter, Pista, who’d turned out to be an information broker.

“Is that so? Glad to hear it...”

“How did you end up down here?” Zenos asked.

“Powerful people get in touch with top executives sometimes. They have their own territorial disputes, and they need someone to handle the dirty work that they can’t make public.”

There had been a time when the White Tiger had considered cooperating with such people in exchange for gold, but he’d ultimately refused, not wanting to be anyone else’s pawn. As a result, he’d roused their ire, fallen into a trap, and ultimately been sent to the underground mine.

“And then you became the boss of this place,” Zenos ventured.

“That’s how it turned out,” the White Tiger confirmed.

When the beastman had first arrived, fights over the mined manastones were rampant. Clashes between groups had been brutal, and because of that, deaths were common—worsening the vicious cycle of undead spawning.

“Someone had to bring order to this place,” the White Tiger explained.

He’d demonstrated his strength to the other prisoners, formed a large faction, and taken control of the mine. Members of his faction were given food in proportion to their work, and anyone deliberately causing chaos was forcibly eliminated.

“I felt sorry for those who ended up here for the same reason as me, just for defying someone in power. I try to keep some order here, but I’m getting old. My body’s breaking down, and I can’t move like I used to. Plus, more and more people keep getting sent down here, and I can’t keep track of everything anymore.”

As such, groups like the men that had first picked a fight with Zenos were becoming more commonplace.

“Honestly, I was ready for my time to end. Most of the men who ended up here with me have already passed, and I’m tired of digging up manastones in this dark hellhole just to trade for barely enough food to get through each day. This place’s a living nightmare.” The White Tiger rubbed his belly and gave a small smile. “But...thanks to you, I’m still kicking. Never thought I’d meet such a skilled healer. Living long has its perks, I guess,” he said with a guffaw.

The beastman slowly sat up.

“I wasn’t afraid of death, but I did have one regret. So now that I’m healed, I guess I’ll try to keep going a bit longer. Thank you, Shadow Healer Zenos.”

“A regret, you said?”

“Yeah. Just one. I want to feel the sunlight again before I die.”

Zenos sat down before the White Tiger as the beastman gazed up at the ceiling through narrowed eyes. “Actually, that’s what I wanted your help with.”

“What do you mean?”

“Is there any way out of this place?”

Zenos had accepted punishment for the saintess incident to protect the slums. But everything had happened too quickly, and he hadn’t had the chance to explain things to anyone. He was certain people were worried and fretting about him, and he couldn’t just let things be without talking to them again.

The White Tiger fell silent, then slowly shook his head.

“I owe you my life, Zenos, and so I’ll help you with anything you ask. I, too, want to get out of this place. But I can’t make any promises. I’ve been here over fifteen years. I’ve looked for escape routes, dug through the bedrock toward the surface, tried everything I could think of. But no one’s ever made it out of here.”

Originally, this prison had been a manastone mine deep underground. But due to the high number of roaming undead, it was extremely dangerous, and the whole thing had been sealed. Only the pulley system for transporting stones, a complex network of air vents, and a one-way teleportation circle remained, while the mine itself had been completely shut off from the surface.

“The pulley and the air vents connect to the surface, right?” Zenos asked. “What if we worked together to expand them until a person could fit through?”

“I’ve tried that many times, but the entire mine seems to be blocked off by a barrier of some kind. On top of that, the surface is really far up, and the ground is unstable. While digging, we ended up causing cave-ins that destroyed several of the pulleys and vents, and all it did was bury a bunch of us alive.”

“I see...”

The White Tiger frowned, his throat rumbling. Zenos, meanwhile, scratched his head and stared blankly at the ceiling. The situation was shaping up to be worse than he’d thought.

“Well, that’s a bummer. What to do...”

He turned several ideas over in his head, but nothing good came to mind. As the silence dragged on, he felt someone’s gaze on him and turned around to find Aston staring in his direction, arms crossed.

“What’s the matter, Aston?”

“Zenos, you think you can figure this out on your own?”

“Well, yeah.”

“All we can do down here is survive until the next day, you know.”

Aston wasn’t wrong, but Zenos figured if that was all they did, they’d just be stuck here until death.

“But you know,” Aston continued, arms still crossed, “maybe there’s more to it than that. Watching you made me start to wonder...”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“Nope.”

“You don’t?!” Zenos blurted out.

“Look,” Aston said in a calm tone. “You’re not like me. You’ve spent your life using those hands of yours to help others, right? That’s how you found your place. No?”

“You’re...not wrong, I don’t think.”

“Then you just gotta sit and wait. If everything you’ve built up is real, there’s gotta be people out there thinking about how to help you. They’ll do something. You don’t always have to be the one doing the saving. Maybe you should be getting saved, for once.”

Zenos’s eyes widened. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Sh-Shut up!” Aston yelled, turning his face away.

More relaxed, Zenos smiled. “Well, I do feel a little better.”

“Heh.”

***

Three days passed.

“Boss, we got some great manastones thanks to you,” a prisoner said.

“Boss, we got a ton of food. Help yourself!” another added.

“Um, I’m not your boss,” Zenos protested, bewildered, surrounded by prisoners.

The White Tiger let out a loud, cheerful laugh. “You squeezed out a win against me and turned the whole place around in a few days. No one’s gonna argue you’re the real boss now.”

“Ehh...”

Zenos had healed the prisoners, whose backs and legs had been ravaged by years spent underground. Not only that, but also he’d wiped out the undead lurking in the tunnels. Manastone mining efficiency had soared, and the once-hardened expressions of the prisoners had noticeably eased as they sat together in circles to eat.

“Hey, Zenos, look at what you did,” Aston grumbled as he sat next to the healer. “Whole place’s gone soft. Some people want to stay here forever.”

“That’s not ideal...”

Just then, a strange sound echoed through the mine. The whole tunnel system vibrated subtly, and small fragments of stone began to fall from above.

“What was that?” Zenos asked, bringing a hand to his head.

The White Tiger slowly pushed himself to his feet and replied, “The magic circle’s activated. We have a new arrival.”

“Really?”

Though the people here were used to new arrivals, it was nevertheless rare for prisoners to be sent down in such quick succession. The White Tiger ordered everyone to stay put, then proceeded through the tunnels with Zenos and Aston.

“Some people have been ambushing newcomers these days,” the beastman explained. “Ganging up on them, wrestling them into submission, and making them into slaves.”

“Yeah, they tried to do that to me,” Zenos commented.

“They did? Sorry about that. I haven’t been able to do much lately, so I couldn’t stop it from happening.”

The gentle tremors continued as the group wound their way through the branching pathways until they finally reached a familiar space. A massive magic circle was etched on the ground within a wide chamber, its lines glowing with a rising, pulsating blue light. The glow gradually intensified, rotating and converging at the center of the circle. A blinding light then enveloped their surroundings, and a silhouette appeared just above the circle—likely the newly sent prisoner.

Small and slender, with blonde hair tied in pigtails and pointed ears, the newcomer was clearly an elf.

“Wait,” Zenos said, shocked. “Lily?!”

The small figure dashed toward him and threw her arms around his chest. “Zenos! I’m here to get you!”

“Wh-Why are you in an underground prison?!”

Lily chuckled smugly. “Not just me!”

She raised her right arm, and a translucent woman slid out of the silver bracelet she wore.

“Carmilla, you’re here too?”

“Hee hee hee... I go where I please.”

The floating woman’s lips curled into a smirk before her expression turned uncharacteristically serious.

“Zenos, the resurrection of the king of fell dragons is nigh. We must leave this place as soon as possible.”

***

Roughly a hundred kilometers north of the rocky region at the southern edge of the kingdom—where the mine was located—was the radiant capital of the Kingdom of Herzeth. On its eastern side was a heavily guarded area known as the Sacred Garden.

At a glance, it appeared to be little more than a small hill housing a lone shrine—though mysteriously, the place was filled with lush greenery year-round. It was said to be holy ground, where the nation’s first-ever king had received divine revelation from the heavens. Only the royal family was permitted to enter.

And now, deep beneath the Sacred Garden, the earth shook with a rumble. The guards, however, couldn’t pinpoint its origin. The whooshing of wind—or, perhaps, the rumbling of thunder high in the sky—echoed in the distance.

From the depths of the earth rose a guttural groan.

“At last. At long last, the demon lord’s curse has lifted.”

Chapter 6: The Ominous Star Arrives

At the highest point of the royal capital stood the pristine, white-walled palace. In one of its rooms was a man with wavy blond hair and a face as expressionless as a mask.

“Prince Figaro,” said a servant, kneeling before the man and presenting him a sheet of paper. “Another prisoner has been sent down the well.”

Those who defied the regime were dropped down the well as punishment. What this meant was, essentially, banishment from the royal capital via teleportation to the undead-infested mine located in the southern edge of the kingdom, far underground. None had ever returned from there, and those who knew of it feared it deeply.

Figaro lightly skimmed over the document. “A poor elven woman?”

The accusation against her had come from House Baycladd.

“And the allegations were made by the head of the seven great noble houses? What did she do?”

“She appears to have attempted to assassinate the third son of House Baycladd,” the servant explained. “Elves may seem docile, but they’re a very untrustworthy race.”

“Very well. Handle it as you see fit.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The servant stepped back, and Figaro moved to the window. Since those dropped down the well were all antiestablishment figures with the potential to incite rebellion, reports on such prisoners were submitted to the royal family. But honestly, the prince couldn’t care less; as long as his sister, the Saintess Artemisia, was in his hands, the prosperity of the royal family was secure.

He stared blankly out the window at the towering Saintess’s Spire.

Every saintess throughout history had spent her life in that place, receiving prophetic warnings and offering prayers for the kingdom’s prosperity. Such had been mandated by divine revelation, as received by Herzeth’s first king in the Sacred Garden. Ever since his wife had been recognized as the first saintess, the kingdom had repelled all invaders and flourished—thanks, the royal family believed, to the saintess’s blessings.

Were those same blessings ever to be granted to individuals rather than the nation, they could produce miraculous healing effects. No scholar had ever been able to replicate the saintesses’ mysterious powers, which had only elevated their divinity further.

“Know your place and your role,” Figaro said flatly while gazing up at the spire.

Bathed in the dull glow of the sunlight, the tower looked like a massive tombstone.

***

Meanwhile, deep within the well, Zenos and the others had just finished listening to Lily and Carmilla, who had arrived through the teleportation circle.

“You were declared a rebel and sentenced to be dropped down the well?” Zenos asked, shocked. “How did that happen?”

“She did nothing wrong, of course,” Carmilla explained. “We simply made it look that way so we could come to you.”

“Uh...” Zenos mumbled, holding his head.

“Um, so, it’s a long story, but first, we wanted to see if we could arrange a meeting with you and tried asking someone important for help,” Lily said. “Krishna went to the nobles’ academy and explained everything to Charlotte.”

“To Charlotte?”

Charlotte was the only daughter of Lord Fennel, one of the seven great nobles. Zenos had first met her when treating her facial tumor, and again when he went to work as an instructor at the academy.

“Charlotte wanted to help, and we managed to put in a visitation request,” Lily continued. “But then we found out that you’d been sent here by royal decree, so even great nobles couldn’t authorize a visit...”

“I see...”

“So, I went to see Rubel next, and he spoke with his older brother, Albert.”

Rubel was the third son of House Baycladd, head of the seven great noble houses. Last month, he and Lily had been captured by enemy mercenaries on a battlefield, and that experience had deepened the pair’s bond.

“Albert Baycladd helped you?” Zenos asked.

“I didn’t meet with him directly, but it sounds like he helped,” Lily explained. “He said the royal capital was more interesting with you there on the surface than locked away in some underground prison.”

Albert remained as puzzling as ever, it seemed.

“But reversing a royal order was impossible, so he made it look like I’d plotted to kill Rubel so I could come down to the mines to help you. Krishna followed Albert’s instructions, arrested me for crimes against the nobility, and had me sent here.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Wait a second,” Aston blurted out, his face pale and his lips trembling. “I-I did kinda say someone might come help you, but why are two of the seven greats involved?! Who the hell are you, Zenos?!”

“I’m just a healer,” Zenos said.

“No way! Also, aren’t wraiths the highest-ranked undead? Why are you just chatting one up?!”

“This one’s a good wraith.”

“Since when can wraiths be good?!”

It was only then that Lily seemed to recognize Aston. “Wait, aren’t you that loud old guy who kicked Zenos out of your party?”

“I’m not old!”

“It’s so lively down here all of a sudden,” the White Tiger commented, amused.

Zenos brought a hand to his forehead and shot Carmilla a glare. “Okay, I get the situation now. But why would you let Lily come to a place like thi—”

“I told her not to do it, but she was unwilling to listen,” the wraith pointed out with a shrug. “The plan was to send one of the demi-humans originally, but Lily was adamant.”

Lily looked up at Zenos, her gaze clear and determined. “You’re always helping me, Zenos. You saved me from the slavers, healed me, gave me a place to stay, and even came to a battlefield looking for me. Of course I wanted to save you!”

“Lily...” Zenos sighed, then smiled and patted her on the head. “All right. Thanks for doing all that. Seeing you again cheered me up.”

“Of course!”

“Lily fell ill after you were sent down the well,” Carmilla said. “But the moment she heard she could see you again, she perked back up.”

“H-Hey! Carmilla!”

Zenos gave the embarrassed Lily’s head another pat, then asked, “So, what’s this about the king of fell dragons resurrecting?”

Carmilla had said something about that on arrival, and Zenos vaguely recalled her telling a tale about the fell dragon king when they’d been sharing ghost stories around the campfire.

“I would estimate we have fewer than ten days until his arrival,” Carmilla replied.

“Ten days? That’s awfully sudden.”

“So it may seem to us, but Galhamut has likely been preparing for ages. Since the founding of this kingdom, I would venture.”

“Really? Since the founding?”

“’Tis a long story, and one we can worry about later.”

“Okay, so...just to be clear, it’s a pretty bad thing that he’s coming back, right?”

“Yes, quite. If he returns to full power, the royal capital will most assuredly fall. That includes the slums, of course. Truthfully, he is not only a threat to this kingdom—his arrival is a continental crisis.”

“I see... And you’re the one saying that, so it must be true.”

Arty had mentioned an ominous star heralding “most severe rot.” Thinking back on recent events, like the revival of an S Rank beast in Zagras and the suspicious movements from the Malavaar Empire to the north, it made sense. The writing had been on the wall. This ominous star likely pointed to the fell dragon king’s revival.

“Sounds like we’re in some deep shit,” Aston concluded. “But doesn’t that mean we’re actually safer down here?”

Carmilla scoffed. “When the fell dragon destroys this kingdom, the shock waves will bury you alive.”

“It figures, doesn’t it? Dammit it all to hell!” Aston snapped, stomping the ground in exaggerated frustration. “But you said we’re getting outta here soon, yeah? So how are we gonna do that, exactly?”

Digging a tunnel to the surface took time and carried a high risk of cave-ins. And even if they managed, according to the White Tiger, the entire underground mine was protected by a barrier.

Carmilla glared sharply at Aston, her eyes narrowed. “Would you stop your endless babbling? Or shall I sew your mouth shut with a curse myself?”

“See?! She’s scary! Terrifying! This is a good wraith, Zenos?!”

“Well, she’s also a big jokester.”

“That didn’t sound like a joke at all!”

Ignoring Aston’s outburst, Carmilla continued, “There is one other option besides carving a path to the surface.”

“There is?”

“This,” the wraith said, pointing at the massive magic circle at her feet.

“Huh? But this circle is one-way, isn’t it?”

“Indeed. I will simply reverse its rotation.”

“What? You can do that?”

“Under normal circumstances, no. But if three specific conditions are met, it might be possible.” Carmilla held up one finger. “First, we need an immense amount of mana. This goes against the laws of nature, so more mana is necessary than even fifty grand mages could provide. Fortunately, this is a manastone mine, which means a vast number of manastones are present. And those are a source of mana, no?”

“We can leave?!” the White Tiger asked, trembling slightly. “Zenos, I will repay my debt to you. We’ll mobilize all the prisoners to gather stones. That way, I can fulfill my last wi—”

Carmilla gave the emotional White Tiger a sidelong glance before raising a second finger.

“Second, we need to alter the magic circle itself by reverse engineering the magic theory behind it. With that, we can overturn the pattern of the teleportation. Creating a new circle from scratch would be difficult, but modifying this one should be doable within about a week.”

“That still sounds ridiculously hard. Is it really possible?”

“Hee hee hee... Modern mages might not be able to, but three hundred years ago, during the war, teleportation circle technology advanced rapidly and even allowed for long-distance travel to the southern continent. At the time, I was known as the most powerful sage in all the land. Nothing is impossible for me.”

“Were you really the most powerful sage in all the land? Like, really?”

“No.”

“No?!”

“Make it a double negative.”

“Wait, what? What do you mean?”

Looking completely unfazed, Carmilla brought up a third finger. “Lastly, we need to secure the teleportation circle in the Royal Guard’s headquarters that is used to send people here. I made a small modification to it on our way down so that it could also function as the exit point. However, should anyone notice and fix it, we are done for.”

“Huh? Wait, doesn’t that mean we’re in trouble? Wouldn’t they notice during regular maintenance?” Zenos asked.

It seemed unlikely that the Royal Guard could go an entire week without noticing the modification, and they needed that time to gather enough manastones and complete the changes to the circle on this side.

Carmilla nodded. “I have taken a few precautions, but from here on out, ’tis up to luck. We cannot guarantee anything, only have faith that it will work.”

“You say that like it’s easy, but...if we fail, we’re never getting back out, right?”

“Can you not have faith?”

Zenos looked wordlessly at Lily and Carmilla, who had come all the way down here just to see him. When he closed his eyes, he could see the faces of the many people he’d met and helped until now. Slowly, he opened his eyes again, and lightly slapped his cheeks with both hands.

“Yeah, I can. What will be, will be. We do what we’re able.”

***

The Royal Guard’s headquarters in the capital was adorned with a banner flapping in the wind; it bore an emblem displaying a sword and shield protecting the sun, which symbolized the king. Inside the building there was a restricted floor requiring special access privileges. The purely functional, inorganic space stripped of all decoration was reserved for the Special Ops division, which handled missions that were to be kept confidential even within the Royal Guard itself.

In one of the innermost rooms, Captain Seagall sat in his chair, stroking his bearded chin. Standing rigidly before him was a young female Royal Guard officer with blonde hair and blue eyes.

“You called, Sir Seagall?” she said.

“Pardon the sudden summons, Vice Commander Krishna,” he replied, leaning forward slightly. “And my apologies for putting you under house arrest after the last mission.”

“Did you call me here to apologize?”

“I’m more mindful than I look.” Seagall casually reached into one of his desk’s drawers and pulled out a document. “But while you’re here, there was something I wanted to ask about the person you recently escorted to be dropped down the well.”

“What about it?” Krishna asked, her expression unchanging. She had once been called Lady Iron Rose for being notoriously difficult to read.

Seagall glanced at the document and said, “A poor female, elven, unknown age, no registered address. Her picture is also quite blurry. This seems sloppy by your standards. Was there a reason you rushed the paperwork?”

“With all due respect, sir, your temporary appointment as the acting commander ended with the last special mission. I am no longer your direct subordinate and am under no obligation to explain myself to you.”

“Oh, that’s harsh. Come now, humor me a little. For old times’ sake.”

Krishna sighed. “The document was created based on the criminal’s self-reported data. I cannot deny that it is indeed lacking, but the poor have no family registry, so verifying the information independently would be impossible. The requester, House Baycladd of the seven great noble houses, has checked and approved the paperwork. If you have any concerns, you may inquire with them directly.”

“Ah, yes. I know that House Baycladd requested this, of course. It’s simply rare to see two people sent down the well in such quick succession.”

“If all you have for me is small talk, I have actual work to get back to.”

“Of course. Apologies for taking up your time,” Seagall said, raising his left hand slightly.

Krishna saluted and turned on her heel.

“Oh, I nearly forgot. One more thing,” he called out.

She paused at the door and turned with a puzzled look. “What else?”

“The teleportation magic circle used for dropping prisoners down the well is impressive, is it not? Did you get the chance to look at it?”

“I did, of course, when the last prisoner was sent down.”

“Seeing it activated in person is quite the experience. Apparently, it’s a replica of a design found in ancient records, re-created over several decades by hundreds of mages.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Because of how complex it is, maintenance and adjustments by a dedicated technician are required once a week. However, for some inexplicable reason, there is no maintenance log for this week.”

Krishna did not respond.

“I checked with the technician, and they reported that they were told maintenance wasn’t necessary this week—on your orders, Vice Commander.”

Krishna turned fully to face him, and Seagall slowly raised his right hand from beneath his desk. In it, he held a magical gun.

“I told you I’m a mindful man. I bet you didn’t think the head of the Special Ops division would bother checking teleportation maintenance records, did you?”

Footsteps echoed from the corridor toward the office, and a group of Seagall’s men stormed in. Clearly having been instructed in advance, they moved to block the exits, surrounding Krishna.

Still holding the gun, Seagall pushed himself to his feet. “I’ve had my eye on you since you spoke in support of the poor. You asked Lord Fennel’s daughter to arrange a meeting with the criminal Zenos, sent an unknown elf down the well, delayed maintenance for the teleportation circle... So, what are you planning, exactly? Don’t tell me you’re trying to help that man.”

Krishna didn’t flinch despite the gun aimed at her. “Sir Seagall, a crisis is approaching this kingdom. One we cannot face alone.”

“A crisis? What are you going on about?” he demanded. “Actually, never mind. We will commence maintenance on the circle, effective immediat—”

Seagall’s eyes widened at the realization that Krishna had, at some point, drawn her own magical gun and fired before he had the chance to react. A blazing fire round grazed his face and shattered the window behind him. The sharp crack of breaking glass echoed through the room as the glowing bullet disappeared into the sky.

“Seize her!” he commanded.

The knights lunged at Krishna, forcing her against the wall. Seagall pressed the gun to her forehead.

“Have you lost your mind? I’m disappointed in you. You used to revere the powerful and take pride in purging unruly vermin. And now you let yourself be swayed by one of them?”

“This kingdom needs him,” Krishna replied.

“Idolizing a rat as a hero,” Seagall spat. “Such dangerous thinking. The class system has kept our kingdom prosperous for ages. Have you forgotten that your duty as a member of the Royal Guard is to protect the order of the capital?”

Krishna’s blue eyes stared straight back at Seagall. “Our true duty is not to the hierarchy. It is to the people living within it,” she said.

“Spare me the nonsense! You can preach from a cell. Anyone not occupied—come with me. We’re going to inspect the teleportation circle.”

Seagall ordered that Krishna be restrained and rushed out into the corridor, his mind racing. Why had she attempted to delay maintenance? It was hard to believe that Krishna, skilled though she was, could manipulate such a complex system when even senior mages struggled with it. Besides, no one had ever returned alive from being dropped down the well. Whatever her plot, it was likely doomed—but Seagall had always been the type to eliminate even the smallest odds of a disturbance. That was what had kept him at the top of the Special Ops division for so long.

But when Seagall and his men reached the second floor on their way to the underground teleportation chamber, they stopped.

“What’s going on?”

A strange commotion was coming from below.

“What happened?!” Seagall barked.

A guard heard him and ran over. “Sir, it’s an attack! The demi-humans from the slums have launched a coordinated assault!”

“What?!”

Seagall practically tumbled down to the first floor, where shouting and the sounds of fighting could be heard. To his shock, the hallways were overrun by demi-humans locked in a melee with the Royal Guard.

“Who the hell are these people?! Where did they come from?!”

“We don’t know, sir! We suspect they snuck in separately and attacked on cue!”

The Royal Guard headquarters was located in the administrative ward of the nobles’ special district, protected by multiple checkpoints. It would be difficult for a large group to infiltrate unnoticed. The only possibility was that the attackers had arrived in small groups via alternate routes, then converged after being given a signal of some sort.

Upon closer inspection, Seagall could see that the demi-humans were blocking the passage leading to the underground teleportation chamber. The image of Krishna firing her gun flashed through his mind—the sudden shot, the flaming bullet flying out the window.

“So that was a signal to the demi-humans! Krishnaaaaaaa!” he bellowed.

“Aw, don’t lose heart now,” mocked a lizardwoman.

“Time to show you what the werewolves are made of,” said a female werewolf.

“Bah ha ha! A strategy fit for an orc!” declared a female orc.

Leading the more than three hundred rampaging demi-humans at the headquarters were the chieftains of the three major demi-human tribes.

“Carmilla sure has some crazy plans, though,” the lizardwoman said.

Apparently, there was a high probability that the king of fell dragons would return soon, so they needed to hurry and rescue Zenos. And thus, Carmilla had devised a plan: She would tamper with the circle at the Royal Guard’s headquarters so it could serve as an exit point, and then Lily would be dropped down the well wearing a bracelet containing the wraith. Carmilla would then work on reversing the teleportation circle on that side. Meanwhile, everyone left behind had to protect the modified circle at the headquarters.

The plan had been for Krishna to delay the routine inspection and maintenance of the circle until Zenos and the others made their escape. But if it looked like that was going to fail, the demi-humans had been instructed to swoop in and physically block the passage leading downstairs. The signal for that had been the fire bullet launched into the sky earlier.

“Are you all insane?!” Seagall demanded, standing angrily at the ready with his magical gun. “This is the headquarters of the Royal Guard, guardians of order in the capital! Don’t think for a second any of you will make it out alive!”

“Hmph,” Zophia scoffed. “You attacked our turf first.”

“You strike, I strike back,” Lynga declared.

“Did you really think the orcs would just sit on their hands and cry?” Loewe asked.

Seagall, visibly agitated, glared back at the three. “Demi-human scum! Why are you trying to keep us from getting to the circle? Did you tamper with it?!”

“Might have, might have not,” Zophia replied.

“Are you trying to get that man we sent down the well? Who the hell is he? What is he trying to do?!”

Though Seagall likely hadn’t quite thought of the absurd possibility that they intended to reverse a one-way teleportation mechanism, he still couldn’t be allowed to reach the circle—if he did, Carmilla’s earlier tampering would be discovered and corrected sooner or later.

The three demi-humans took on a battle-ready stance.

“The doc’s always protected our home,” Zophia said.

“It’s time we repay him,” Lynga added.

“You’ll get through over my dead body,” Loewe declared.

Seagall raised his magical gun and shouted, “Kill them all!”

Zophia licked her lips and grinned boldly. “Try us. We’re stronger than you think.”

***

“All right! Bring it over there!”

“Careful setting that down!”

“Next one! Let’s go!”

“Heave-ho!”

Meanwhile, in the underground mine at the southern edge of the kingdom, spirited shouts echoed as the manastone excavation proceeded at a rapid pace. Stones were being stacked up one after another in the wide area where the teleportation circle was located.

The White Tiger rolled his shoulders as he spoke to Zenos. “We can only work this fast because you healed everyone and took care of the undead. We owe you.”

“No, no, I owe you,” Zenos insisted.

After hearing of the escape plan, not just the White Tiger but all of the prisoners had joined the effort to mine for manastones. Thanks to that, they’d already collected more than half of what they needed.

“All right! Everyone on break, line up over here!” Lily called out.

She was at the edge of the chamber, cooking the food they’d obtained in exchange for some of the manastones. The warm soup, seasoned with freshly shaved rock salt, seemed to wash over the prisoner’s bodies and soothe their fatigue.

“Th-This is so good!”

“Warms you all the way up...”

“First time I’ve had something this good down here.”

The prisoners, sipping their bowls with tears streaming down their faces, came closer to Zenos.

“Thanks, boss!”

“This is all because of you, boss!”

“I’m telling you, I’m not your boss,” Zenos said, waving a hand dismissively.

The White Tiger laughed heartily. “Better get used to it. Who else would they see as their boss?”

“Look, I’m not cut out for this,” the healer muttered, scratching his head.

Aston, passing by with armfuls of manastones, spat, “If you lead the way, you’re the leader. That’s how the world works. Just accept it already!”

“Aston...”

“Maybe if you’d led the Golden Phoenix, things wouldn’t have turned out the way they did,” Aston muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

The former leader of the Golden Phoenix stormed off in long strides.

Zenos turned his gaze to Carmilla, who was fluttering around the large magic circle at the center of the chamber.

“How’s that going, Carmilla? Think you can modify it?”

“’Tis an old thing, this, but being underground all this time has kept it from deteriorating much. I might be done faster than expected. Truly, my talents are astounding.”

“You praise yourself as easily as breathing.”

“Hee hee hee... Of course! I am, after all, the greatest sage in—”

Carmilla’s words stopped abruptly and her eyes widened in surprise, fixing on a single point.

“What’s wrong?”

“This is bad. We are not the only ones moving faster than anticipated.”

Zenos furrowed his brow. “What?”

“I have no doubt that he...that Galhamut has awakened,” Carmilla gritted out.

***

At that time, in the Saintess’s Spire located in the eastern part of the royal palace, Artemisia had just stepped into the altar chamber. Naturally, she was unaware of the chaos currently taking place at the Royal Guard’s headquarters in the administrative ward. In this place, completely cut off from the outside world, there was only sacred silence.

Still, she found herself holding her breath and freezing in place.

“What? This is...”

The ominous star floating in the sky had grown even larger, glowing with a malevolent light. An indescribable sense of dread crept up her spine.

Throughout history, saintesses had stood in this very spot, offering their blessings and prayers toward the Sacred Garden visible below. The tradition followed the belief that such blessings would be extended toward the entire nation, thus protecting the kingdom. While Herzeth had been involved in minor skirmishes with other nations and subject to various tragedies, there had never been a calamity that shook the kingdom to its foundation. The crown had credited this to the saintesses’ blessings.

But this ominous star, heralding most severe rot, had shown no signs of fading. If anything, it was now swollen like a balloon on the verge of bursting.

Swallowing dryly, Artemisia looked down at the ground from the altar’s privileged position—and noticed something odd.

“What...is that?”

The Sacred Garden, where Herzeth’s first king was said to have received divine revelation, was usually nothing more than a modest hill with a shrine at its summit. Now, however, two black shapes were jutting toward the sky from the middle of the forested slope, gleaming eerily in the setting sun.

They were a pair of gigantic jet-black wings, as large as the hill itself.

Birds, sensing the danger, took flight all at once into the sky.

“Long have I waited,” came a low, rumbling tremor in the air, reaching even the saintess within the sealed confines of the tower. “Seek, my kin.”

The voice seemed to violently shake the very air throughout the royal capital.

“Seek my final fragment. Seek the saintess.”

***

Standing on elevated ground overlooking the Sacred Garden, the Conductor murmured quietly, “Aw... Are we out of time?”

Galhamut, king of the fell dragons, had awakened. The demon lord’s curse had finally been broken, and the dragon’s ancient wounds had finally healed. Two enormous wings were protruding from the hillside, shedding black scales that scattered through the air. Each one twisted and shifted into a dragon that flew toward the royal capital.

“The only silver lining is that he’s still newly awoken.”

It was likely that Galhamut wasn’t yet at full power. First, he would try to find and obtain the final piece necessary for his full resurrection: the saintess.

“It all began when this kingdom was first founded. If he returns to his full form, the world will fall into darkness.”

The Conductor slowly lowered their hood, turning their gaze toward the capital.

“The time of trial has come, humans.”

***

“Shoot! Shoot them!”

“Orcs, shields up! Everyone else, stay on the move! Keep them guessing!”

On the first floor of the Royal Guard’s headquarters, an intense battle raged between the knights and the demi-humans from the slums. Shouts echoed through the air as explosions roared without pause.

Seagall bit his lip, then yelled, “Damn it! This is outrageous!”

In this kingdom’s class-based society, privilege was concentrated in the hands of royalty and the nobility, with the poor used as scapegoats for the citizens’ dissatisfaction. The standard policy was to deliberately keep certain races in poverty and redirect their rage into territorial disputes against one another.

This had kept the slums plagued by violent interracial conflicts until not long ago. But now, the various factions had united as one to fight for a single man—and were occupying the main stronghold of the knights responsible for upholding that very class system.

“Who the hell is this man?!” Seagall yelled in frustration as he swung down his saber.

Zophia, chief of the lizardmen, blocked the blade with a knife and replied, “He’s our savior.”

“That’s preposterous!”

Sparks flew as they leaped apart.

“Sir Seagall!” a knight shouted. “What are those?!”

“What?”

Everyone turned to look at the high windows of the first-floor hall, beyond which countless black spots could be seen. They scattered in the sky, and some of them began to draw closer. They had fierce reptilian faces, red eyes, and black wings that matched the color of the rest of their bodies. Their sharp talons gleamed dully under the sunlight.

“Dragons?!”

No sooner was the word spoken, than a dragon smashed through the wall and charged into the hall. Flying debris struck Seagall in the knee, knocking him to the ground.

“Ngh!”

“Dragon! It’s a draaagooon!” someone shouted.

“H-How?!”

“Drive it back! Drive it baaack!”

A black dragon, roughly twice the height of an adult human, had landed in the hall. Though it was small for its species, its ferocious, intimidating aura was enough to freeze the knights in place.

“Wh-What the...” Seagall muttered, staring at the creature in complete shock.

Through the collapsed wall, he could see other black dragons swooping down all across the capital: in the palace, the special district, the city proper, and the slums. Every area was under attack by the death-colored reapers, and screams rose from all over.

But the much more pressing issue was the pair of massive jet-black wings protruding from the holy area known as the Sacred Garden, visible in the distance.

As they slowly flapped, the entire hill began to ascend, rubble crumbling away to gradually reveal a massive figure: a towering black dragon, its body armored by black, ominously gleaming scales. It spread its wings, blocking out the sunlight and casting a shadow over the entire capital. From its enormous body, scales were peeling off one after another, turning into the smaller dragons that were raining down upon the city.

It’s the end of the world, was the first thought that crossed Seagall’s mind.

“Is that the fell dragon king Carmilla mentioned?” Zophia asked. “So she was telling the truth...”

“This is bad. Really bad,” Lynga said. “He woke up much faster than we thought.”

“That’s one big lizard,” Loewe remarked. “Doubt it’d make for a good roast.”

As the three demi-humans exchanged words, Seagall grunted, reaching for his gun to fight off a nearby foe—only to realize he’d dropped it when the debris struck him. With his knee injured, he couldn’t stand up either.

Zophia didn’t spare him a glance. “Change of target, all of you! Take down that dragon first! After that, we head into the city and go for the black lizards!”

“Roger that!” the demi-humans responded as one.

They launched themselves at the dragon rampaging in the hall.

“Hey! I’m unarmed!” Seagall blurted out. “Are you really not going to take this chance?”

Zophia gave him an exasperated look and shrugged. “Are you stupid? Now’s not the time.”

“If those dragons destroy the capital, Sir Zenos won’t have anywhere to come home to,” Lynga pointed out.

“That’s right,” Loewe agreed. “We have to hold out until he returns.”

Thanks to the demi-humans’ coordinated efforts, the small dragon that had broken into the hall was brought down.

“We protect our home!” Zophia said to Seagall. “You live here too, don’t you? Then fight!”

With that, she left a few demi-humans to guard the teleportation circle and rushed out into the city.

As the remaining knights stood there, stunned, a sharp command rang out from above.

“What are you all standing around for?!” shouted Vice Commander Krishna as she charged down the stairs. “We are the guardians of order in the capital! To arms! Protect the people from this threat!”

The soldiers snapped to attention as if struck by lightning and rushed out of the headquarters.

“Krishna...” Seagall muttered, sitting on the floor and clutching what was likely a broken knee. “You’re supposed to be under arrest...”

“There’s no time for that anymore.”

“I don’t understand. What is happening? What is this?”

First, the saintess had disappeared. Then, when the mastermind behind her abduction had been sent down the well, a group of demi-humans had attacked the Royal Guard’s headquarters. Those things by themselves had been unprecedented enough—but now, as if heralding the end of the world, a massive dragon had emerged from the Sacred Garden and was slowly encroaching upon the capital.

Things far beyond expectation were happening one after another, and Seagall couldn’t keep up.

But Krishna remained serene, picked up his discarded magical gun, and tossed it to him. “Whatever may be happening, our job remains the same.”

They maintained order in the capital.

“You...really think we can do something about that?” Seagall asked, gazing at the dragon cloaked in the stench of death.

“I do not,” Krishna replied simply. “But that is no reason to shy away from it.”

Seagall didn’t know how to respond.

“Sir Seagall, I once dreamed of being a hero. The kind that would appear in times of crisis and radiantly overcome adversity. But after meeting a true savior, I realized my actions were but a pale imitation of heroism. Still, I believe we can buy time for the true hero to arrive.”

“The true hero? And who would that be?” Seagall blurted out.

Most people who joined the Royal Guard wished to be heroes in some way or another. But buried under dull bureaucracy, forced to perform excessive crackdowns on dissidents, and entangled in the muck of organizational politics, they all eventually lost the spark in their eyes.

Krishna, however, simply looked at Seagall and gave a small smile. “He will come. I am certain of it. Until then, may fortune smile on us both.”

Still sitting, Seagall watched Krishna run off toward the city as black smoke rose in the distance.

“Sir,” said a nearby knight. “What should we do about the teleportation circle? Only a few demi-humans remain. We might be able to break through.”

“It’s fine,” Seagall muttered, weakly shaking his head. “Leave it.”

With the government’s central command on the verge of collapse, it no longer made sense to care about a single prisoner. The second wave of small dragons approaching, visible through the shattered window above, was a far more pressing matter.

Gripping his magical gun tightly, Seagall forced himself to his feet despite the pain.

“‘The true hero,’ she says... If he exists, then he needs to hurry up...”

***

“What...is that?”

“Prince Figaro, you must escape!”

Elsewhere, in the royal palace’s council chamber, Prince Figaro and the seven great nobles were in disarray. A jet-black dragon had suddenly emerged from the Sacred Garden and was approaching the palace, flapping wings which looked made from the very essence of darkness. Smaller dragons, likely its underlings, were swooping down on various parts of the capital, and the city was in complete chaos.

“Lord Giesz, mobilize the Capital Defense Corps immediately. I’ll request backup from the Royal Institute of Healing and all of the elite healers.”

“Y-Yes, of course!”

As Albert Baycladd, heir to House Baycladd, efficiently took charge of the situation, the prince dashed out of the chamber.

The ominous star that had been the topic of concern recently, heralding most severe rot...

“Is that the cause?” Figaro muttered.

“Your Highness!” a guard called out, trying to stop him.

“Out of my way!” the prince snapped, shoving the guard aside. He ran across the palace gardens, shouting, “Why? Why?!”

Saintess Artemisia had been safely returned to the palace. The kingdom’s prosperity was supposed to be assured. So why had an abomination risen from the Sacred Garden? It was divine ground!

“There you are, saintess,” echoed the deep rumble that was the dragon’s voice. It carried throughout the capital, coasting on the wind. “My fragment.”

The dragon’s bloodred eyes locked onto the Saintess’s Spire. Silhouetted against the sunset, the creature opened its jaws wide.

“Dragon’s Breath.”

Pitch-black flames erupted from its throat and a powerful gust of wind followed, knocking the confused prince off his feet. Next he knew, a searing heat wave—hot enough to scorch heaven itself—had blown away the entire upper half of the tower despite its heavy protective barriers.

“Arte—”

Before Figaro could say his sister’s name, falling debris blocked his view. A dull shock ran through him, and when he looked down, he saw the pointed tip of a piece of masonry embedded into his side. Something felt slippery and, upon raising his right hand, he saw it was coated in bright red blood.

“Blood...? I’m...bleeding...?”

The jet-black dragon slowly descended onto the edge of the ruined tower. It was hard to tell from the ground, but it seemed that the altar chamber was now fully exposed atop what remained of the structure. Through a crack in the broken wall, Figaro could just glimpse Artemisia in her ceremonial garments.

“Why...? Her blessings...should have protected us...” Figaro groaned in anguish.

As if mocking him, the massive dragon’s voice rippled through the air.

“Her blessings? My divine power, human. I lent it to you pitiful creatures.”

Figaro’s golden eyes widened in shock.

Clearly amused, the black dragon continued, “You’ve done well to protect the kingdom all this time...for the sake of my return.”

***

“The fell dragon king gave the saintess her powers? What do you mean?”

In the underground mine far south of the devastated royal capital, preparations were complete, and all the prisoners had stepped atop the teleportation circle. Carmilla was explaining the lore behind the fell dragon king’s revival to Zenos, having just remembered it.

“I told you before that Galhamut was defeated by the demon lord on the southern continent long ago and fled here, burying himself underground until he could recover,” the wraith said.

“Yeah, that was part of your ghost story back at camp.”

After the hundred-year-long Great Human-Demon War drew to a close, new nations had begun to rise across the continent as the era shifted to one of human power struggles. Carmilla explained that Galhamut had remained deep underground the entire time, trying to heal.

“Perhaps the wound inflicted by the demon lord was more grievous than anticipated,” she ventured, “but instead of recovering as he expected, Galhamut’s body began to decay.”

“How do you know that?” Zenos asked.

“Otherwise, he would have had no reason to bestow some of his power onto a human. He must have been cursed by the demon lord, unable to use his divine power of regeneration himself.”

If he hadn’t done anything about it, Galhamut would’ve withered away. Instead, he’d had an idea: If he couldn’t regenerate himself, he could lend a portion of his divine power to a human and have that human heal his wounds instead.

Zenos, Lily, Aston, and the White Tiger all exchanged silent glances. Beneath their feet, the mana flowing from the collected manastones began to illuminate the teleportation circle with a pale blue glow.

“When the first king of Herzeth traversed what is now the royal capital, he must have heard Galhamut proclaim that whoever built a kingdom there would receive the power of the heavens. It must have sounded like a divine revelation.”

Unaware that the voice belonged to the king of fell dragons, the man had likely believed it’d come from a divine being, and established the nation of Herzeth. His wife, who received Galhamut’s power on the hill now known as the Sacred Garden, had become the first saintess—and with her powers of healing and prophecy, the kingdom had grown in size and strength.

“Galhamut had two reasons for granting humans his divine power and ordering the kingdom’s founding,” Carmilla explained. “One was, as I said, to have the saintess perform daily prayers directed at the Sacred Garden, where he lay asleep, thus channeling the regenerative powers he had granted her. The other was to establish a stable, powerful nation, ensuring his resting place remained undisturbed until the demon lord’s curse faded.”

“The saintesses’ prayers were...healing Galhamut’s wounds...” Zenos murmured.

“Of course, the saintesses themselves likely believed they were spreading divine blessings across the nation, but the power they were using was Galhamut’s. Since it carried traces of the fell dragon king’s magic, I imagine it did keep external threats—magical beasts especially—at bay.”

Indeed, while plagues and natural disasters had affected the kingdom in the past, never had a truly dangerous beast breached the capital itself. Perhaps the stronger creatures could sense Galhamut’s lingering aura and steered clear of the place. If so, the “blessings” did have incidental protective effects.

The first king had designated the place where he’d received “divine revelation” as the Sacred Garden, preserved it carefully, and built the Saintess’s Spire so that its altar would face the hill directly. As a result, Galhamut was safely ensconced within the kingdom, and over the ages, the divine power the successive saintesses poured into him had slowly nursed him back to health, leading to his resurrection.

The Sacred Garden had remained evergreen due to being constantly bathed in this divine power.

“W-Wait a sec,” Aston said, stunned. “So you’re saying, what, this whole kingdom was built so the dragon could resurrect?”

“The first king believed steadfastly that he had received a divine revelation,” Carmilla said flatly. “But yes, ultimately, that was the truth of it.”

Silence fell over the group.

“But,” Lily said, clenching her fists, “this is our home now. We can’t let him take it.”

“Yeah. Agreed,” Zenos said with a small smile, patting Lily’s head. “So...this power that Galhamut gave the saintesses. What is it, really? How does it work?”

Carmilla had said before it wasn’t magic.

“If I had to guess,” the wraith said, pausing for a moment before continuing, “it would be the ability to manipulate time.”

“Time...”

“Indeed. I doubt the saintesses themselves are aware, but the regeneration of wounds, I suspect, happens by locally reversing the flow of time. As for their ability to foresee the future, well...it would make sense that they could catch glimpses of it by pushing time forward.”

“Seriously? That’s crazy...”

If Galhamut had the power to manipulate time, his abilities far exceeded human understanding.

As the magical light at their feet filled the circle and began to slowly rotate, Carmilla said, “If Galhamut has returned, that means the demon lord’s curse, which limited his ability to manipulate time, has finally been fully broken. When used by human vessels, his power could only be used to reverse wounds or, at best, catch fragments of the future. But if Galhamut regains the full extent of that power, he will be unstoppable.”

“And what does he have to do to get his full power back?” Zenos asked innocently.

Carmilla paused once more, then answered.

“He has to devour the saintess.”

***

Back at the royal palace, the fell dragon king had destroyed half of the Saintess’s Spire with his fiery breath, and Second Prince Figaro, who had run out into the garden, had been engulfed by the rubble. But with heavy debris scattered all around and smaller dragons prowling the area, going to his aid was impossible.

“Did that monster just say we protected the kingdom for its return?” asked Lord Giesz, bewildered by the beast’s words. “What does that mean?”

Albert cast him a sidelong glance. “I can’t claim to understand, myself, but that dragon emerged from the Sacred Garden. It’s quite possible we’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“A terrible mistake...”

“Regardless, the dragon seems to be after the saintess. If she falls into its claws, I fear the worst will come to pass.”

“Oh, Lady Artemisia, Prince Figaro,” lamented Lord Fennel, whose composed demeanor couldn’t hide his dismay. “What a tragedy this is...”

“Does anyone have any ideas on how to turn this around?” Albert asked, speaking quickly.

Only Lord Fennel, holding his head, replied. “I can’t think of anything,” he said quietly. “What about you, future Lord Baycladd?”

Albert shook his head weakly and looked out toward the capital, where black smoke was rising.

“Unfortunately, neither the Royal Guard nor the Capital Defense Corps would be able to hold their own in this situation. Even skilled adventurers would likely struggle.”

Despair swept across the room.

“But I haven’t given up hope yet.”

“You...have hopes?”

“Not ‘hopes.’ Hope. Just one,” Albert said, looking up at the Saintess’s Spire. But he sounded like he was trying to convince himself as well as everyone else.

***

Chaos also reigned at Ledelucia Academy, the school attended by children of the nobles of the special district. The knights stationed there were struggling to fend off multiple small dragons attacking the grounds while the students huddled within the buildings. Soft sobs of fear could be heard here and there.

“Quiet. We are the children of the upper class. It is disgraceful for us to lose composure like this,” said a girl with bright chestnut curls—Charlotte Fennel, the only daughter of Lord Fennel—to her fellow students in Class F. “Ilya, please tend to the injured.”

“Y-Yes, Lady Charlotte!” Ilya replied.

“Ryan, Eleanor. Keep the panicked students calm.”

“You got it,” Ryan said.

“All right,” Eleanor said.

The three ran off, their eyes aflame with purpose.

One of the students still in the classroom, who was hugging her knees to her chest and looking as though she was about to cry, asked, “How can you stay so calm, Lady Charlotte? We don’t know when those dragons will come for us.”

“Who do you think I am?” Charlotte said indignantly. “Such a pitiful crisis cannot shake me.”

It was a lie, of course. Her legs had been trembling for a while now, and she felt as though she might collapse at any moment. Still, the image of a certain man lingered in her mind, keeping her from giving in to despair.

A few months ago, he’d come to this classroom as an instructor. Though the students had met him with hostility, he had saved them all, earned their trust, and then left. Charlotte had heard he was now imprisoned in an underground mine; she’d immediately requested a visit, but since the imprisonment had been ordered by royal decree, her request had been denied.

Given the circumstances, the man couldn’t be expected to come to their rescue. Even so, Charlotte had a feeling he might just save the capital, still wearing that nonchalant smile of his.

Wiping away the tears forming at the corners of her eyes and biting her lip, she gazed up at the royal palace.

“Until then, I must keep my composure. I refuse to embarrass myself.”

***

“You, go this way! And you, go left!”

Located in the nobles’ district, the Royal Institute of Healing—sacred ground for healers and the heart of medicine in Herzeth—had opened all its gates and was taking in injured people from across the city. At the front lines, directing the oncoming patients, was an elite healer named Becker.

“Dr. Becker! Where do you need us?!” asked a blue-haired girl wearing glasses. A young man with messy, dark-brown locks stood next to her.

“Umin, Cress, there are many who are seriously injured and can’t make it here. I need you two to act as backup for the Institute’s offices in the city district.”

“Yes, doctor!” Umin replied.

“Got it!” Cress said.

The two intermediate healers dashed off into the city, where small dragons rampaged all over and endless screams rose into the sunsetting sky.

“Opening the gates to everyone, treating people regardless of their status... You do know you’ll be in hot water later, yes?” asked a small-framed youth as he approached Becker from behind. He had bobbed orange hair and, if not for his voice, could easily be mistaken for a girl.

“I figured it’s what he would have done,” Becker said.

“And who’s ‘he’...?”

“A healer I admire.”

“Huh. You actually admire someone, Becker?”

“Well, yes. By the way, I’d appreciate it if you could help too, oh great Jose Hayworth, famously young elite healer.”

Jose shrugged his shoulders. “That’s why I came here in the first place.”

“Really? I thought you hated healing. What’s gotten into you?” Becker asked, somewhat surprised.

“Loath though I am to admit it,” Jose said, gathering mana at his fingertips, “I, too, was influenced by a certain healer.”

***

Battles raged at the royal palace; the nobles’ district; and the city district, where the demi-humans and Krishna’s unit were bravely wading into combat with the enemy. Even the slums, located further out, were facing dragon attacks—and fighting back.

“Zonde, it’s no use! There’s too many of them!”

“Don’t back down! We’re the only ones who can protect this place!”

Zonde, the younger brother of the chief of the lizardmen, Zophia, was organizing the remaining poor to build defenses against the onslaught. These dragons were small, but even just one took over twenty people to defeat. Not every slum dweller was experienced in combat, and injuries were mounting as the group slowly got pushed back.

“Groooar!”

“Gah!”

A dragon swung its tail at Zonde, striking him in the stomach with a sharp snap and cracking his ribs. The lizardman collapsed to the ground and the dragon rushed forward, fangs bared and ready to pounce.

“Shit...!” he cursed.

“Graaar!”

Before the dragon’s sharp fangs could snap Zonde’s neck, a volley of arrows flew in from behind the dragons, piercing their backs.

Clutching his stomach, Zonde quickly stood up and saw a rough-looking group standing at the end of the street.

“Wh-Who the hell...?” he muttered.

“I’m Pista, the information broker, meow! And the mastermind of the underwo— Meowch! What was that for?!”

The lion-faced beastman who had just smacked the cat-eared girl on the head sighed. “I’m the Beast King, top executive of the Black Guild. We’ve come to back you up. Charge!”

“Raaaah!”

The men of the Black Guild barreled forward like an avalanche, their ferocity matching that of the dragons as they drove the beasts back.

“Why are you people...?”

“A friend of Zenos named Lynga sent a request for aid through my daughter Pista not long ago,” the Beast King said. “She told us Zenos had been captured and calamity was imminent.”

“Lynga...”

“But since the Black Guild is actually no more, it took us a while to gather weapons and manpower. Sorry about that.”

“No, you’ve just saved us. Thank you,” Zonde said quickly. “Come to think of it, my sister mentioned that the doc treated a top executive of the Black Guild.”

“Indeed. Zenos not only saved me from death, but reunited me with my daughter as well. I owe him my life, and would gladly give it away for his sake. Get some rest. Leave the rest to us.”

Zonde gave a small grin as he moved to stand beside the Beast King.

“Sorry, but I’m sticking around. I owe the doc my life too.”

***

“That’s all of them, sis!”

“Thank you, Gina.”

At an orphanage halfway up a small hill in the slums, Liz—now the matron—and her younger sister Gina had just finished evacuating all the children into the basement. Gaion, a former grunt of the Black Guild who’d become the orphanage’s protector, was holding back a dragon that had appeared nearby. Thanks to his efforts, they’d been able to successfully hide all the children underground—but it was still far from safe.

“No kids left out there,” Gaion said as he ran bleeding into the shelter. “But I can’t take down a dragon on my own. We’ll have to let it do what it wants.”

“It’s all right,” Liz said. “Thank you for buying us time.”

Rough snorting noises echoed outside and the children held their breaths, shrinking back with fear. Through a gap in the wooden wall facing the slope of the hill, the distant spire in the royal palace was visible—and at that exact moment, a massive jet-black dragon descended upon it. Against the twilight sky, its darkly gleaming form looked like that of an envoy sent from hell to herald the end of the world.

“Are we all gonna die...?” one child asked Liz.

“It’s okay. We’ll be okay,” Liz said, gathering the children into her arms. “Help will come. I know it will.”

The face of her childhood friend, wearing his signature black cloak, came to Liz’s mind. She recalled their time growing up together in the orphanage that had once stood on this very hill, and how he’d gotten her out of the Black Guild and even completely cured her gravely ill sister, Gina.

“Zenos...” Liz murmured.

***

“Graaah!”

In the mountain range framing the slums where the orphanage was located, three small dragons were cleaved in two by a single strike.

“You’re in the way,” said a young female swordmaiden, her silver hair fluttering in the wind as she returned her sword to its sheath.

Aska, the Sword Saint, also known as the Silver Wolf, was a Black Class adventurer—the highest possible rank one could achieve.

Next to her was a girl with hair green as a grassland.

“This is all your fault, master!” said Roa, Aska’s apprentice. “You said we should take a shortcut, and all that did was get us lost!”

“This is strange. The area looks different from what I remember.”

“Of course it does! Seasons change, and nature changes with them!” Roa exclaimed before letting out an exasperated sigh.

Aska lifted her head toward the sky. “I just wanted to pay Zenos a visit. What’s all this?”

The sky was swarming with small dragons. Aska had been cutting down the ones that tried to get in her way, but no matter how many she killed, more kept appearing. Worse, far in the distance, there was a gigantic dragon looming over the royal palace.

Roa brought her hands to her shoulders and shivered. “Just standing here makes my knees weak,” she said. “Master, what is that?”

“I don’t know,” Aska admitted. “But it’s much stronger than the S Rank beast we defeated in Zagras.”

“Stronger than the dark griffin? Can you beat it?”

“I have a feeling this isn’t its final form. When it’s at full strength...I don’t think I can.”

“What?!”

The next moment, a dragon burst out of the underbrush behind them, roaring and lunging at the pair. Aska reached for her sword, but stopped as a sharp sound cut through the air. The creature’s body ignited and split in two, the flaming halves dropping to the ground.

From behind it emerged a woman with crimson hair, wielding a large and intricately engraved sword. At her side was another woman, this one with blue hair tied back in a ponytail.

“This is all your fault, Captain Melissa!” the ponytailed woman protested. “You’re the one who said we should go through the mountains, and now we’re lost and there are weird monsters everywhere!”

“What did you expect, Grace? We had to change course partway through. Of course we ended up on a strange path. You could’ve simply stayed behind, you know.”

“Well, I want to see him too!”

“Look, forget that. What in the world is with these monsters? What’s the Capital Defense Corps doing?”

Melissa Tarque, hero of the northern front, and Grace, military healer. Aska Follix, the Sword Saint, and her apprentice Roa. The four women, all of whom had crossed paths with Zenos, ran into each other deep in the mountains.

Aska narrowed her eyes slightly at Melissa. “You’re strong. Who are you?”

“Just a soldier,” Melissa replied. “You’re the one who’s incredibly powerful. Just your aura makes it obvious.”

“Well, that’s because my master is the Sword Saint,” Roa said, rubbing her nose smugly.

“Oh? So you’re the Silver Wolf I’ve heard so much about,” Melissa said, surprised. “What’s the kingdom’s greatest swordfighter doing in a place like this?”

“I came to see someone I owe much to, but I got lost.”

“What a coincidence. We also got lost on our way to see someone we owe much to.”

“Great! So we’re all lost,” Grace grumbled, shrugging. “Some help that is. Now what?”

Aska and Melissa exchanged glances.

“I think I know where we need to go now,” Aska said.

“Me too,” Melissa agreed.

“Huh? Where, master?” Roa asked.

“I want to know too, Captain!” Grace exclaimed.

Aska the Sword Saint and Melissa, hero of the north, both turned their gazes toward the eastern side of the palace—to the spire the massive dragon had attacked, where black smoke and flames swirled into the sky.

“The man I’m looking for is always, somehow, right in the middle of whatever insanity is happening,” Aska said.

“What a coincidence. The man I’m looking for is just like that too,” Melissa noted.

The two exchanged soft chuckles, then took off running through the mountains with Roa and Grace in tow, cutting down dragons as they went.

“To the spire!”

***

The royal palace. The nobles’ special district. The city district. The slums. Fierce battles raged everywhere—and at the epicenter of it all was the Saintess’s Spire.

“St-Stay away,” Artemisia stammered as she shifted backward, staring at the monstrous figure looming before her.

The beast’s massive form towered over the young woman, its layers of jet-black scales seeming to blend into the darkness itself.

Everything above the altar room where Artemisia stood had been blown away by the dragon’s attack, so the altar was now the tower’s summit. Thankfully, no maids had been in the upper floors since it was prayer time; Artemisia could only hope that they had all escaped.

She shrunk back a bit more. With all the walls gone, she was completely exposed, and it felt as though the wind could just sweep her away.

Tucking her light-pink hair behind her ears, Artemisia looked around her. All across the capital, the smaller dragons were causing complete chaos: People ran in terror and flames rose from all directions, as though the city had been plunged into hell itself.

“Wh-What are you?! Why were you under the Sacred Garden?!” she demanded, trying to keep her wits about her.

The creature turned its bloodred eyes toward her. “I am Galhamut, the king of the fell dragons. I thank you, saintess—for keeping this land peaceful for my sake, and for healing my wounds.”

With a look of delight, the dragon king spoke of how everything, from the kingdom’s very founding, had been orchestrated to bring about his resurrection. His booming voice made the air itself tremble, echoing throughout the entire kingdom.

“No...” Artemisia mumbled hoarsely, eyes wide.

Her body felt heavy. Her legs wouldn’t move. It wasn’t just the effect of the wind or the oppressive presence of the beast—it was pure despair.

“Then, our kingdom...me and the other saintesses...it was all to resurrect you...?”

The fell dragon king’s eyes curled into crescent-moon shapes as he let out an earsplitting, dissonant cackle that rang out across the burning capital.

“I bestowed upon you that power, and I’ll be taking it back.”

Galhamut’s jaws snapped wide open, and a terrible stench of decay wafted from between his grotesquely crooked fangs.

The most severe rot. Her overwhelming sense of impending doom. All of her premonitions, Artemisia realized, had led to this singular moment. From the day she’d first awakened to her powers as the saintess, she had prayed and prayed for the kingdom’s peace from the prison that was this spire. Now, knowing that very act had led to this devastation, she felt as though her body were made of lead. Her life had been spent endlessly going through the motions, only to conclude with being devoured by a monstrous dragon.

What pained her most was the fact she didn’t even have fond memories worth looking back on.

“No, that’s not true,” she murmured, shaking her head slightly. Some memories she could recall vividly.

Namely, the time she’d spent in the outskirts of the capital in a forgotten part of the ruined city, where she’d whiled her days away cooking, working hard, and sharing laughs around the dinner table.

Warm memories, glittering in her dark existence.

“That was fun...” she whispered, tears falling down her cheeks.

The next moment, the dragon’s fangs bore down upon Artemisia, and she squeezed her eyes shut and braced for hell. But there were no sounds of bones breaking. No pain from flesh being torn apart.

After a brief moment of silence, she realized she was in someone’s arms and slowly opened her eyes. Holding her was a man with black hair and a serene gaze—the very one she’d just been thinking of.

“Glad I made it in time, Arty,” he said.

“Z-Zenos...?” Artemisia brought a trembling hand to her mouth in disbelief. “Why? How? Am I dreaming? What’s happening? Am I dead?”

“Hey, hey! Don’t flail like that! You’re very alive. Relax.”

The fell dragon king glared at Zenos as he gently set the struggling Artemisia down.

“Who are you?” the creature asked. “Where did you come from? Are you a hero? A holy knight?”

“Sorry, but I’m no one that grand.”

Atop the tower, high above the ground, the man who had rescued the captive princess from the dragon spoke in his usual nonchalant tone.

“I’m just a plain ol’ shadow healer.”

Chapter 7: A First-Rate Healer

“All right! Off we go!”

Earlier, in the underground mine at the southern edge of the royal capital, the teleportation circle full of prisoners had overflowed with pale blue light. Everyone had toiled day and night to mine the stones supplying the mana for the circle, and now light swirled like a whirlpool, spinning counterclockwise with great force.

“Hee hee hee,” Carmilla chuckled. “If this fails, we will all be trapped underground for the rest of our lives.”

“Don’t say ominous stuff like that,” Zenos snapped. A moment later, though, he chuckled lightly. “But hey, this is your handiwork. We’ll be fine.”

“Wh-Wha—”

The wraith’s cheeks flushed red just as a roaring wind surged and everyone vanished from the magic circle. Just as before, they passed through a prismatic space, and when they came to, they were all standing on another magic circle.

“Wait...”

“We got out?”

“It... It worked! We’re out!”

“Yeaaaaah!”

The prisoners hugged each other with uncontained joy, but their celebration was cut short by the sounds of shouts, screams, and beastly roars coming from outside. This circle was located beneath the Royal Guard’s headquarters, and yet the place was damaged all over, as though countless monsters had ravaged it.

Through the cracks in the structure, they could see parts of the surface. Black dragons swarmed the darkening sky, and pillars of flame rose as though scorching the heavens themselves. And atop a tower which looked like it was part of the royal palace stood yet another dragon—one as massive as a small mountain.

“Holy shit,” Aston muttered, his face pale. “The surface is even worse. What the hell is that thing?”

That had to be Galhamut, the king of fell dragons that Carmilla had mentioned.

“Arty!” Zenos shouted.

By consuming the saintess, Galhamut would reclaim all of his former power and return to his complete form. Artemisia had to be in that tower—and if so, both her life and the kingdom’s future were hanging by a thread.

But the palace was quite far from the Royal Guard’s headquarters. Even with enhancement magic, crossing the debris-filled streets, fending off the small dragons, and climbing the tower to get to Arty would take time. He wasn’t sure he could make it.

Just as Zenos was about to take off running, Carmilla called out to him.

“Do not panic, Zenos. There is mana in the circle yet. I can adjust the teleportation circle’s rotation to take you directly to the spire.”

“What?” Zenos said. “You can send people to places without an exit circle?”

“These circles were devised to traverse space. If the destination is far out of sight, you need a landing circle to set an exit point, but the tower is within visible range. I can modify the circle’s coordinates and send you there.”

“Wow, Carmilla. You’re seriously something.”

“And you should have noticed much sooner!”

Zenos asked the others to step out of the teleportation circle, then said, “You guys help keep the city safe. Please.”

“We’ll handle it, Zenos,” the White Tiger replied, gazing at the setting sun.

The others straightened their postures and shouted in unison, “You got it, boss!”

“I keep telling you, I’m not your boss!”

As the circle began glowing pale blue once more, Aston grabbed Zenos by the collar.

“Hey, Zenos!” he shouted.

“What?”

“You know, I always wanted to be the hero of a story. You know, rise from the lower class, become respected, get everything I’ve always wanted... But I’m not the real hero. In the end—”

“Look, can you get to the point? I’m kinda in a hurry here.”

“Ugh! Just go already, dammit!”

Zenos smiled wryly as Aston turned around before looking over to two of the people he considered family.

“I’m off then, Lily. And thank you, Carmilla.”

“Take care!” Lily said.

“Hmph! You owe me,” Carmilla declared. “I expect to be paid back in full.”

“You will be,” Zenos promised.

The light coming off the circle began spinning clockwise at high speed as the glowing mana reached its critical point. Then a strong gust of wind blew in every direction, and Zenos vanished.

“He’ll be all right, won’t he, Carmilla?” Lily asked worriedly.

Carmilla glared at the tower and replied, “The opponent being what he is, I cannot say anything too optimistic. Either way, should Zenos fail, this kingdom is doomed.”

The kingdom’s future now rested on the shoulders of a mere back-alley healer. And yet the man in question had shown no signs of distress—whether because he didn’t fully grasp the stakes or something else, it remained unclear. But his behavior was as nonchalant as ever.

“I could not see it before, but...perhaps those two are more similar than I thought...” Carmilla muttered.

“‘Those two’? Who do you mean?” Lily asked.

“The first man to ever change me,” Carmilla said, her gaze seeming far away. “A certain hero.”

***

In the exposed heights of the altar chamber of the Saintess’s Spire, a mere healer stood before the king of fell dragons as the wind roared around them.

“A shadow healer?” Galhamut echoed. “What is that? And where did you come from?”

“R-Right!” Artemisia stammered, still looking bewildered. “H-How...”

Zenos, meanwhile, remained expressionless as he glanced between the dragon and the saintess.

“Your room and board,” he said flatly.

“Huh?”

“Arty. I told you I expected payment for my troubles, didn’t I? And you said you’d compensate me for hiding you, yes?”

“Um, yes...”

“I took a risk when sheltering you, and instead of getting paid, I got arrested by the Royal Guard, thrown into an underground mine, and forced into labor!!!”

“H-Huh...?”

“You think I’m just gonna let this go before I get paid?!”

Artemisia stood there in silence, dumbfounded for a few moments, before her expression slowly changed to one of remorse.

“I-I’m sorry... I thought I’d arranged for your reward. I didn’t know about any of that. I swear, I’ll give you anything you ask this time!”

“You swear?”

“Yes! I promise! So please...”

She had thought she was doomed, and even tried to make fond memories so she could be at peace with it. But now she had felt the warmth of others, she desperately craved more of it. She didn’t want to die anymore.

Biting her lip and clenching her fists as she fought back tears, Artemisia shouted to the skies over the capital, “So please help me!”

“Gonna be more expensive this time,” Zenos said, unable to help a small smile as he stepped between Artemisia and Galhamut.

“Nonsense,” the dragon spat. “What can one gnat do?”

Galhamut’s tail lashed sideways like a whip, aiming to throw Zenos off the tower. But instead of colliding with the shadow healer, the tip of the fell dragon king’s tail spun away, spiraling toward the ground.

“What...?” the dragon muttered, noticing his partially severed tail.

Zenos, standing there with his magically enlarged Scalpel in hand, said, “Careful there. Even a single parasite can be deadly to its host.”

“Pathetic weakling!”

Galhamut flapped his wings and rose into the air. Circling directly above Zenos, he began to shoot out his fangs in rapid succession, like bolts from an automated ballista. Zenos used enhancement magic on himself and rolled across the altar to dodge the barrage, then looked over his shoulder.

“Arty! Hide downstairs!”

“B-But—”

“Hurry! If this thing eats you, it’s over!”

“O-Okay!”

Arty rushed away from the altar and toward the exposed staircase leading down the tower.

If Galhamut managed to devour her and regain his full power, it was likely going to be impossible to stop him.

“Pest! Die already!” the dragon roared.

Jets of liquid shot from the holes of his hollowed-out fangs. As soon as they hit the altar, it began to sizzle and bubble as the liquid ate through the stone floor. The deadly acid continued to rain down, and Zenos barely managed to avoid it thanks to his enhancement magic.

“Diagnosis,” he chanted, raising his right hand.

Multiple lines of light streamed toward the airborne Galhamut and locked onto the left side of his chest.

“Raaah!” Zenos bellowed, hurling his Scalpel toward the dragon’s heart.

“Ngh!”

The pure-white blade tore through the air and drove straight into Galhamut’s chest. The sounds of cheering came from far below the tower, but Zenos furrowed his brow. Something felt...off.

Galhamut opened his jaws wide and chanted, “Impulse.”

A blast of compressed air struck Zenos like a cannonball, sending a heavy shock coursing through his body.

“Guh!” he groaned, coughing up blood and dropping to his knees.

He’d let down his guard for barely a moment after piercing Galhamut’s heart, but the delay in casting a protective spell had cost him.

“Excellent,” Galhamut said. “The demon lord’s curse is nearly broken.”

The dragon beat his powerful wings and descended once more upon the altar. There was no sign of a wound on his chest, and even the severed tip of his tail had already regenerated.

“I see. So you can manipulate time,” Zenos muttered.

This had to be the divine power Carmilla had spoken of. While Galhamut had granted some of it to the saintesses, now that his curse had begun to lift thanks to their blessings, it seemed he could access his old abilities once more. By reversing time on a localized scale, he had erased the wound on his chest. Though he’d only just awakened and had yet to devour Arty, meaning he was likely still not at full strength, that power would still be difficult to deal with.

Galhamut opened his jaws again as Zenos pushed himself up from the floor. “Begone already.”

An odd sensation hit the healer then. Even though his enhancement magic was active, his body felt incredibly sluggish, as though time around him was flowing more slowly.

By the time Zenos realized Galhamut was using time-manipulation powers directly on him, it was already too late.

“Impulse.”

“A-Agh! Ngh...”

The powerful shock wave had rippled through his body, damaging every single one of his organs. Zenos collapsed face down, blood gushing from his lips. The sun, slowly disappearing behind the mountains, mercilessly cast its fading light upon his collapsed form.

Galhamut roared with laughter as he looked down at his motionless prey, his monstrous voice rising with the black smoke into the skies over the capital.

The nuisance was gone. Now, all that remained was the saintess. Looking for her, Galhamut began to stomp on the stone floor underfoot.

But just then, a voice could be heard. “Scalpel.”

The man Galhamut had thought dead had somehow risen, and now four magical blades were floating in midair. Before the fell dragon king could activate his time manipulation once again, the blades flew straight into his core.

“Grah!”

Galhamut coughed up dark-red fluid as he quickly pulled away from Zenos.

“How...are you...alive?” he asked.

“Because you didn’t kill me,” Zenos replied nonchalantly. He wiped the blood from his mouth and grinned fearlessly.

The shock wave had hit him with intense force earlier, partly due to the slowdown of time around him. But there was another reason he’d delayed casting a defensive spell: Zenos had wanted to lure Galhamut into a false sense of security.

“I knew something was off,” the healer said.

Even if one could manipulate time and rewind it, such an unnatural ability had to require a great deal of focus. Normally, piercing a creature’s heart should deal damage severe enough to prevent such powers from being used at all—yet Galhamut had remained perfectly calm.

That meant either the attack hadn’t pierced the dragon’s heart, or he had more than one.

When casting Diagnosis earlier, Zenos had focused only on the left side of Galhamut’s chest, assuming that was where the heart would be, as with any ordinary beast. But upon closer inspection, he’d realized the dragon had four organs that all served as separate hearts. Even if one or two were damaged, Galhamut could endure and rewind time in the injured areas to make the wounds vanish.

“So I figured there was only one way to take you down,” Zenos explained.

That is, destroy all the hearts simultaneously.

Zenos had baited his enemy into lowering his guard, only to immediately strike all four of his hearts with surgical precision. Surely even Galhamut couldn’t recover from that, he’d thought.

But then suddenly, he felt his movements slow as though he were wading through mud.

“Wait, what?”

Galhamut’s eyes were narrowed with amusement, gleaming smugly. The four wounds Zenos had inflicted were no more, and the dragon’s time manipulation was still in effect.

“Why... How...?” the healer stammered, the words coming out fragmented.

Diagnosis hadn’t revealed any other heart-like organs. Zenos was absolutely certain he’d struck all four. Galhamut should not have been able to use his powers anymore.

But the truth was simple: Zenos had been outsmarted.

“Perish,” the dragon rumbled.

Before Zenos’s eyes, Galhamut opened his jaws wide. From deep within the dragon’s throat, searing black flames surged forth with terrifying force.

“Dragon’s Breath.”

The abyssal flames filled Zenos’s vision, painting the world in absolute darkness.

***

“Ah. So even Zenos struggles. It makes sense, I suppose, since Galhamut and the demon lord once fought each other to a stalemate.”

On an elevated area a ways away from the capital, a figure cloaked in a gray hood watched the battle unfold through a magical telescope.

“That’s unfortunate. I’m supposed to be the one to conduct this world into chaos...”

The fell dragon king’s triumphant roars could be heard even from here. If the beast managed to devour the saintess, the age of man would be over.

“Don’t count him out just yet, Galhamut,” the Conductor said, slowly lowering their hood. “After all these years observing humans, I’ve come to realize something. Normally, they’re hopelessly unreliable, foolish, fragile creatures. But faced with overwhelming adversity, they show sparks of their true potential. At the edge of despair, they join hands, pool their wisdom together, and unleash tremendous feats of strength to confront those who would harm them.”

And then, as if drawn to that rising momentum, a mysterious savior always appeared, just as the heroes of the Great Human-Demon War once had.

“When I first sensed your revival, I knew Zenos was the only human capable of standing against a monster like you. The reason is crystal clear to me.”

But it would spoil the fun to reveal everything, wouldn’t it? the Conductor thought. After all, not even Carmilla had been told.

“I wonder if you’ll notice it too,” they whispered. “Now, Zenos...show me what you’re really made of.”

***

“Aha ha ha ha! A pesky insect is still just an insect!”

At the top of the Saintess’s Spire, Galhamut, king of the fell dragons, roared in ecstasy and triumph. He could feel every pair of eyes in the royal capital fixed on the tower, and the depth of the despair radiating from them was indescribably delectable.

How unfortunate that the demon lord who had once brought Galhamut low was already gone. He would never get his revenge. But, thanks to the humans who’d slain the demon lord, the curse he’d bound the king of fell dragons with could lift—and finally, centuries later, it finally had.

As a gesture of gratitude, he would plunge humanity even deeper into despair.

Once he devoured the saintess, all the pieces would fall into place. One aspect of Galhamut’s time-manipulation power was the ability to peer into the future—but as long as he was without his full strength, all he saw was a blank void. He needed to consume the saintess to use his precognition, and while he could vaguely sense the power he’d parted with, it wasn’t enough to pinpoint its location.

Shall I blast this tower top to bottom with shock waves? he wondered. Or send my kin to seek her out?

But as Galhamut considered his options, something made him freeze. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the body of the human who had just attempted to stop him.

Or rather, he should have been able to see it.

“What?”

The corpse had vanished.

“Heal,” came a sudden voice from behind him.

Healing magic surged forth toward Galhamut’s tail, igniting its tip in white flames.

“Ngh! Gah!”

Galhamut reflexively leaped away and activated his time powers to restore his tail.

Standing there, staring intently at him, was the black-haired man he was certain he’d killed. The man was smacking his own forehead, looking oddly vexed.

“It figures. How stupid am I for not noticing this earlier?” the man said.

“You...” Galhamut groaned. “How...?”

How was this man still alive?

For the first time, a spark of panic flickered in Galhamut’s eyes as he stared at the man. Dragon’s Breath had hit this human directly, but somehow, all that had done was burn away half of his black cloak.

“Protective and healing magic. I told you, I’m a shadow healer,” the man said, speaking in a bizarrely calm, matter-of-fact tone for someone who’d just withstood an attack capable of leveling a city. “I get it now, though.”

He paused, looking intently at the massive dragon.

“Galhamut...you’re undead.”

***

The fell dragon king remained silent, his wings beating against the sunset sky.

“I knew something was off, but I misunderstood what,” Zenos explained, staring into Galhamut’s grotesquely red eyes.

He’d pierced Galhamut’s heart, but the dragon hadn’t died. That had led him to believe Galhamut had multiple hearts that needed to be destroyed simultaneously.

But he’d been wrong.

“I should’ve realized sooner that your heart wasn’t beating at all.”

That was the true reason he’d felt something was wrong when he cast Diagnosis. It wasn’t clear whether Galhamut had always been undead, had become that way through fast-forwarding his own time with his powers, or whether there was some other explanation, but regardless, he was undead indeed. That explained everything.

Normally, undead couldn’t withstand exposure to sunlight. But Galhamut’s body was covered in multiple thick layers of overlapping scales that provided robust protection, and even if he did take any damage from the sun, he could undo it by reversing time. Thus, he could move normally in the light of day, which concealed his undead status.

Likewise, Galhamut had likely chosen to burrow underground after losing to the demon lord centuries ago not just to stay hidden, but also to avoid sunlight.

“Anyway, that means I can beat you.”

Healing magic—divine restorative power—was an undead’s greatest weakness.

Zenos had done a quick test first with a low-powered Heal spell, since if he’d been wrong about Galhamut being undead, he’d have ended up healing the dragon instead. But the spell had damaged the beast, confirming Zenos’s theory.

“Fool. What difference does it make? A lowly healer like you does not stand a chance. Do not for a moment think I’ll let my guard down again.”

Galhamut spread his wings wide and soared into the air. Amplifying his time manipulation, he slowed time around Zenos dramatically.

“Dragon’s Breath.”

Once more, black flames roared upon the top of the tower. But when the smoke cleared...

“What?”

...Zenos was still standing there, unharmed.

“Sadly for you, I’m not letting my guard down again either,” the healer said.

He’d reduced the damage from the attack using protective magic, and anything the spell had failed to shield him from had been healed instantly.

Galhamut’s eyes grew wide with shock.

“Impossible! I slowed time around you to a crawl! You shouldn’t have had time to chant, let alone cast anything!”

***

Galhamut’s cries of frustration carried in the wind, echoing across the capital.

“Holy crap, dude! Look at that! I have no idea what’s happening, but he’s fighting back!”

The prisoners of the underground mine, who still looked up to Zenos as their boss, cheered excitedly.

Lily gripped the hem of Carmilla’s robes. “Carmilla, he’s amazing!”

“He is... He is indeed!” Carmilla agreed, nodding repeatedly.

A mere human being completely unfazed by the fell dragon king’s ability to manipulate time? It was unprecedented.

Next to them, Aston thrust up his fist.

“You see that, you stupid lizard?! No time to chant, my ass! Ha! Idiot!” the former leader of the Golden Phoenix shouted at the Saintess’s Spire. “You don’t know Zenos! That bastard can heal anything in an instant!”

***

All eyes were on the Saintess’s Spire, where Zenos faced off against the fell dragon king.

“I happen to be confident in the speed of my spells,” Zenos said.

Chants made spells more powerful, but it was possible to cast without chanting. Had Galhamut completely stopped time around Zenos, he wouldn’t have been able to do anything, but without devouring the saintess, all the dragon could do was slow the flow of time. The real danger lay in being caught off guard by a surprise attack, but even with time slowed by ninety percent, as long as Zenos knew the dragon was about to strike, he would still be able to get a spell to activate.

That was how much he’d honed his magic between his mentor’s lessons and his self-study sessions while with his former party.

“Preposterous!” Galhamut bellowed. Consumed by rage, he once again opened his jaws wide and slowed the flow of time around them. “Dragon’s Breath!”

Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five.

Black flames, powerful enough to incinerate anything in their path, surged forth repeatedly at Zenos. But amid the roaring inferno, he simply smiled and slowly stepped forward.

“Should you be slowing time that much? Doesn’t that take a lot of mana?” he asked.

The look of panic on Galhamut’s face was all the confirmation Zenos needed.

“All right,” he said, flexing the fingers of his right hand. “Looks like I can move well enough now.”

Zenos could move his mouth, hands, and feet. However mighty Galhamut was, he had just awakened, and likely used up most of his mana—the flow of time in the altar chamber was slowly returning to normal.

“Time for healing, then.”

Galhamut was the severe rot that had long plagued the kingdom. And who else could deal with plagues, if not a healer?

As Zenos raised both hands forward, Galhamut flapped his wings wide and lifted into the sky.

“Who in blazes are you?!” the dragon demanded.

“I keep having to answer this question, but I’m just a plain ol’ shadow healer.”

“Pathetic human! Your kind is nothing but prey! Weak, puny insects that shatter at a mere touch!”

Galhamut swooped down from above, baring his fangs at Zenos, who aimed both hands at him.

“We do, yeah. That’s why healers like me exist,” Zenos replied. “Giga Heal!”

From his raised palms burst forth a surge of pure-white light. As it flew straight up toward Galhamut from atop the Saintess’s Spire, the light took the shape of a sharp, brilliant arrow—and pierced straight through the fell dragon king.

A white shock wave tore through the air, making the skies themselves rumble. Holy magic scorched away Galhamut’s jet-black scales, mingling with the light of the setting sun as it began to purify the dragon’s exposed flesh.

“Graaah! Aaaaaaaargh!”

Galhamut’s vision turned white—a blank void, the very future his foresight had predicted. With a final cry of agony that echoed across the capital, the fell dragon king turned to black dust and scattered in the wind.

With their master slain, the smaller dragons rampaging through the city also turned to ash one after another.

“Phew, I’m beat...”

Zenos gripped what little remained of the collar of what had once been his black cloak, now torn to shreds thanks to Galhamut’s onslaught.

“Sorry I ruined your keepsake, master,” Zenos murmured. “You’ll forgive me, yeah?”

The healing light sparkled and drifted on the wind across the skies of the capital, gently raining down over the heads of the people below. Having survived an unprecedented crisis, they were now crying out in joy, arms around each other, unconcerned with social status.

***

“Whoooa! He did it! He really did it!”

In a room of the nearly collapsed royal palace, the seven great nobles cheered. Lord Giesz stood with his hands held high, and next to him, a flushed Lord Fennel turned to Albert Baycladd.

“Is he... Is that young man the hope of which you spoke?”

“He is indeed,” Albert confirmed with a nod, his expression thoughtful.

Lord Fennel tilted his head. “But who is he? I’m quite familiar with most adventurers, but I have no memory of that man.”

“He...”

Albert trailed off, smiling faintly.

“Truthfully, I’m not sure, myself. I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you.”

***

“Bro! You did it, brooo!!!”

With no regard for appearances, a young man sobbed openly among the healers gathered at the Royal Institute.

“Stop bawling, Cress. All that snot is kind of gross.”

“You’re hurting my feelings, Umin!”

Despite her words, Umin herself was laughing with tears in her eyes.

As the two bantered, a small boy with bobbed hair approached Becker from behind.

“Seriously, what’s with that guy? He just handled it solo. He’s as outrageous as he’s ever been,” Jose muttered.

“I know exactly what you mean,” Becker agreed.

Jose sighed. “And here I was, thinking I was impressive just because I’m the youngest of the elite healers. I’m ashamed...”

“Jose...”

Becker let out a soft breath and smiled sincerely.

“You and I should just do what we’re able. As the ordinary healers we are.”

***

At the nobles’ school, Ledelucia Academy, a joyful circle had formed around Charlotte.

“He did it, Lady Charlotte!” Ilya exclaimed, bouncing excitedly.

“Holy damn! That was crazy!” Ryan yelled, busting out a victory pose.

“To think our teacher was this amazing,” Eleanor murmured, moved.

Charlotte repeatedly wiped at the corners of her eyes. “Of course. I recommended him myself, after all.”

***

In the first-floor hall of the Royal Guard’s headquarters, a blue-eyed blonde approached Seagall, who sat on the ground clutching his knee.

“It’s over, Sir Seagall. How is your leg injury?” she asked.

“Vice Commander Krishna,” he replied, placing his hands on the ground to push himself to his feet. “That white wind eased the pain quite a bit. Who in blazes is that man? How can he cast a healing spell covering this much ground?”

“My savior, and now, the nation’s savior as well.”

Seagall cast a dazed glance at the Saintess’s Spire. “I’m suddenly reminded that I once wished to be a hero like that too.”

Krishna gazed at his profile and smiled faintly. “You still can be. The capital will need large-scale restoration. We’ll require as many heroes as we can get.” She gave him a solid smack on the back. “Now, if your pain has subsided, lend us a hand. We have a mountain of work to do.”

Seagall shrugged, smiled, and raised his hand in a salute.

“Still tough as nails, eh? As you command, Lady Iron Rose.”

***

Near the nobles’ district in the city, a group of four women headed for the Saintess’s Spire learned of the battle’s end.

“I knew the doctor could do it!” Roa exclaimed.

“Oh, he’s so gallant,” Grace added joyfully.

Next to them, the sword saint, Aska, and the hero of the northern front, Melissa, wore sullen expressions.

“Why the long face, master?” Roa asked.

“She’s right! Why so gloomy, Captain? Isn’t this a good thing?”

The two women pouted slightly.

“We were too slow. I wanted to repay Zenos by helping him,” Aska muttered.

“Exactly. We came all this way and couldn’t be of any use,” Melissa grumbled.

But the voices of townspeople rang out from behind them.

“Th-Thank you! You saved us!”

Before arriving here, the two had taken down over a hundred small dragons.

Roa and Grace glanced at each other, exchanging exasperated smiles.

“They were of a lot of use, I think,” Roa commented.

“These two are so alike,” Grace mused. “I feel like they’ll be good friends.”

***

At the orphanage on a small hill in the slums, the children had burst out of the safe room and were running around the backyard.

“Wooooooow! That was sooo cool!”

“He defeated that big dragon all by himself!”

“Is he really your friend, Auntie Liz?”

Liz clutched her hands against her chest to keep her overwhelming emotions in check.

“Yes, he is,” she confirmed. “We grew up together in another orphanage that used to be in this very spot.”

“Wooow! That’s amazing!”

“He was an orphan and he became a hero!”

“So we can be heroes too?”

Liz was silent for a moment, surprised, but then smiled brightly.

“I know you can.”

***

“Sis!”

“Zonde! Is everyone all right?!”

The group of demi-humans and their three chiefs had finished fighting in the city district and regrouped with Zonde and the others in the slums.

“Man, am I glad that’s over. Leave it to the doc to handle things,” Zophia said.

“I knew this would happen,” Lynga declared.

“Me too,” Loewe agreed. “Even when the whole kingdom had lost faith, we knew Zenos would pull through.”

Zophia, Lynga, and Loewe all exchanged looks and bumped fists.

Pista approached them, her cat ears twitching. “Hey, Lynga! I thought you should know how awesome I was out there, meow!”

“I still think your tongue is your sharpest weapon,” Lynga retorted. “But thank you for backing us up.”

The werewolf chieftain and the information broker exchanged a high five.

“Are you the Beast King?” Zophia asked the massive beastman at Pista’s side. “Thank you for coming to our aid.”

“It’s nothing compared to what Zenos did for me,” the Beast King replied.

“You know, everyone’s in better shape than I thought. Were there no dragons here?”

Though the remnants of Zenos’s healing magic had rained down across the capital and healed the wounded, Zophia found it odd that no one gathered here had so much as a scratch.

Zonde shook his head. “No, we had a bunch of those, and a lot of us got hurt. But then a passing healer showed up and took care of everyone.”

“A passing healer?”

“Yeah. A really freaking good one too. Said something about coming to see an old friend, then left when it turned out the friend wasn’t around.”

“Huh...” Zophia mumbled, looking out over the street.

Stroking his mane, the Beast King muttered, “Wait, was that...”

“You know this healer?”

“Well, without the mask, it didn’t ring a bell at first, but... Maybe I do...”

***

A little ways from the center of the slums, said passing healer stood alone, androgynous features set in a pensive look and indigo hair fluttering in the wind. She had once studied healing magic under the same teacher as Zenos—her close friend.

Brushing back her bangs, she murmured, “A third-rate healer just mends wounds. A second-rate healer heals people. A first-rate healer makes the world a better place...”

A simple healer who could treat injuries, fill the holes in people’s hearts, and even change the world. It sounded like something out of a fairy tale, but it was the exact kind of healer that their master had idealized.

She looked up at the Saintess’s Spire with awe.

“Zenos... I’m sure our master is proud of you. You’re a true first-rate healer.”

Epilogue I: After the Battle

The setting sun shone down on the Saintess’s Spire, now crooked from the deadly battle. With the magical elevator completely destroyed, Zenos—and Artemisia, who had been hiding on a lower floor—were forced to use the stairs to descend.

“Thank you, Zenos!” Artemisia exclaimed, throwing her arms around him as soon as they exited the tower.

“Whoa!” Zenos yelped, staggering.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” she said, hurriedly pulling away from him. “You must be tired.”

“Well...yeah, I’m pretty beat. I think I can only cast one more spell today.”

Artemisia stared at him in awe. “You can still cast today...?”

Zenos scratched his head as he looked up at the spire, half destroyed in the struggle. “This tower might come crashing down any second. It should probably be demolished.”

“Oh! Right, yes...”

“Good for you, right?”

Artemisia blinked. “Huh?”

“Galhamut is gone, and with the tower gone too, there’ll be nothing keeping you trapped anymore,” Zenos said matter-of-factly.

She looked shocked for a moment, then nodded vigorously before throwing herself at Zenos a second time. “You’re right!”

“Whoa!”

“Oh! Sorry!”

As Artemisia pulled away from the staggering Zenos again, a soft groan came from somewhere nearby. The pair looked toward the source of the voice and saw a collapsed figure amid the debris.

“Figaro?! Brother!” Artemisia yelled in alarm as she took off running toward the figure.

A beautiful man with blond hair lay prone on the ground, his stunning features practically devoid of color. A sharp piece of masonry was embedded into his side, and bright red blood was pooling underneath him. Due to the physical impalement, the light from before hadn’t been able to heal him. Not only that, but he was also trapped between chunks of the collapsed tower, making it unlikely anyone could reach him quickly.

“Ah... Arte...misia...” he murmured weakly. “Perfect...timing. You must...heal me...”

Artemisia shook her head in dismay. “I’m sorry, brother. I can’t.”

“What...? Have you...forgotten...who I am...?”

“No! That’s not it. The fell dragon king is gone, and my powers vanished with him.”

“No... Am I...to die like this...?” Figaro lamented, his golden eyes widening in disbelief.

“Want me to heal you?” came a casual voice from nearby.

Artemisia gasped, and Zenos gave her a nod before approaching the prince.

“Who...are you...?” Figaro asked.

Perhaps the prince was on the verge of losing consciousness, or perhaps he hadn’t been able to see the battle against Galhamut from his position at the bottom of the spire, but he didn’t seem to realize Zenos was the one who had defeated the dragon.

“Just a back-alley healer,” Zenos replied. “Unlicensed, though.”

“A lowly...unlicensed healer...dares to speak to royalty...?” the prince hissed.

“I mean, I don’t have to do anything if you don’t want me to.”

“W-Wait...” Between shallow breaths, Figaro raised his right hand slightly. “You...can heal me?”

“Yeah. I have some conditions, though.”

“You...would...name terms...to me?”

“Yeah. I don’t care if you’re a noble or a royal or whatever. I take proper payment for my services on principle,” Zenos replied nonchalantly.

Artemisia’s expression turned serious. “Brother, this man is the hero who defeated that monstrous dragon,” she explained. “The whole nation is indebted to him. Honor demands that, as members of the royal family, you and I compensate him for his valiant efforts.”

Figaro stared at the two in silence.

“So, will you hear me out?”

Zenos sat down before the surprised prince and laid out his two conditions.

Epilogue II: The Plain Ol’ Healer of the Ruined City

A month had passed since the vicious battle against the fell dragon king.

In the palace’s courtyard—a sacred area previously only accessible to a select few—a large crowd of people had gathered to enjoy the sunny afternoon. All eyes were on a balcony up above, where an exquisitely beautiful girl with pink hair was standing with a small magical loudspeaker close to her lips.

“Good day, my people,” she said into the device. “I am the sain—no, I am Artemisia Herzeth, princess of this kingdom.”

Gripping the hem of her skirt, Artemisia curtsied. The people gathered there, who had never seen royalty, cheered loudly in response to her beauty and sincerity.

Artemisia smiled softly, then raised her right hand. “I was once the saintess, offering daily prayers for the kingdom’s prosperity from within that tower.”

She gestured at the remnants of the Saintess’s Spire, which had been mostly deconstructed. Only the lowest level still stood—a monument to the building’s troubled history.

“But, as you all heard the fell dragon king say, that was all a ploy by him to ensure his revival. We established a strict class system, ensured absolute power was concentrated in the hands of the royal family, and protected the dragon’s lair, branding it a sacred place. From the very beginning, our nation was heading in the wrong direction.”

Artemisia hung her head low, wearing a mournful expression, before lifting it again.

“And that’s why, now that the danger has passed, we must reevaluate our ways and right the wrongs we have committed.” Her voice took on a resolute tone. “We will reexamine the very principles our nation was built upon. This, of course, includes the cruel class system we’ve enforced for so long.”

A shock ran through the crowd, with cheers and shouts erupting in equal measure.

“Of course, this will not be easy, and it will take a long time. Class differences and discrimination have become ingrained in our society over generations, and will not simply vanish overnight. But please, remember that it was the people of the slums who took the initiative to protect us in this crisis. And the savior of our kingdom is a poor man.”

Looking straight at the crowd, Artemisia continued to speak.

“I will no longer pray for or cling to what I cannot see. From now on, I must help change our home for the better with my own hands. Such were the terms set by our savior, and such we vowed to him.”

Of course, there were those among the upper class that frowned upon this reform. But Artemisia was determined to fulfill her promise to Zenos, savior of the nation and a man the royal family owed a lifelong debt to, as compensation for his efforts. Besides, she’d seen the slums with her own eyes. And so, ever since relocating from the Saintess’s Spire to the palace, Artemisia had relentlessly urged the men of the royal family—starting with her own brother, who could barely tend to his own needs—to prepare for today’s ceremony.

A sense of unity transcending class had taken root among the people who had survived the great calamity. That spirit would surely help fuel the coming reforms.

All thanks to the efforts of one very inspiring shadow healer.

“Princess,” said a child standing in front of the crowd. “Where’s the hero? What’s he doing now?”

Artemisia smiled and shook her head. “Sadly, he’s not here. And I don’t know what he’s doing either.”

Sighs of disappointment rose from the crowd.

“Look, I’d rather avoid trouble, so can you please not tell the public about me? I don’t have a license, so I don’t want to make this a big deal.”

That had been the second condition set by the healer who had eradicated the seemingly eternal plague that had afflicted the kingdom. What he’d achieved had in fact been a big deal, rivaling the feats of the legendary heroes of the Great Human-Demon War. Still, to him, saving a person and saving a nation likely weren’t that different.

If it were up to her, Artemisia would see Zenos every day. But a princess’s visits would undoubtedly draw too much attention, and so for the past month she had kept her distance to honor their agreement.

As a result, she truly did not know what Zenos was up to now—though one thing was certain.

With a small smile, Artemisia looked up at the azure sky.

“But I’m sure that, even now, somewhere underneath this same blue sky, he’s going about his business, doing what he does best—saving people.”

***

In a quiet corner of the ruined city on the outskirts of the capital stood an unlicensed clinic.

As the door slowly creaked open, a beautiful elven girl dressed as a nurse hurried forward to meet the newcomer.

“Welcome! This is your first time here, right?”

The newcomer nodded, and a quiet laugh drifted down from the second floor.

“Hee hee hee...what trouble is afoot this time?”

“Carmilla, stop creeping out our new clients!” said a man sitting at the desk in the examination room, heaving a sigh.

He seemed to be the clinic’s owner, and wore a brand-new black cloak. Grinning boldly, he gestured at the chair in front of him.

“Now, take a seat. I can heal anything. As long as you pay me, that is.”

Afterword

Hello! I’m Sakaku Hishikawa.

Thank you for picking up a copy of the eighth volume of The Brilliant Healer’s New Life in the Shadows!

News about the anime keeps coming out, and the broadcast is set to start in April 2025! As a viewer myself, I’m so excited, I can’t even. I have lost the ability to can (nobody says that anymore). Let’s watch it and have fun together!

With this volume, the novel has reached a milestone: the completion of Part Two!

If you’re wondering when Part Two even began, I don’t blame you. Volumes 1 through 4 were Part One: Zenos putting his past with his party, master, and best friend behind him, settling into his new life and finding a place to belong. Volumes 5 through 8 make up Part Two, where, in the shadow of the saintess’s ominous prophecy, Zenos keeps his clinic running while dealing with various incidents across the kingdom.

As for what’s next in the story...I was thinking of maybe posting a short story on the Shosetsuka ni Narou website, where the series first began, to coincide with the anime’s air date. But that’s just a plan! I haven’t written anything yet as of writing this afterword, so there’s a chance it’s an empty promise. I hope you can forgive me if so.

Now then, on to the acknowledgments.

Once again, I’d like to thank everyone involved in the editorial department of GA Novel, my editors especially, for their hard work in the publication of this book.

Thank you to Daburyu-sensei, the illustrator. The saintess is so cute!

And thank you to Ten Junnoichi-sensei, the artist behind the manga adaptation! I’m always so excited to see your drafts!

Brilliant Healer wouldn’t be the same without the two of you. I’m forever grateful.

Also, an original webtoon side story, Kuresufooru Sennyuu (“Crestfall Infiltration”), is now available on Piccoma! The full-color art of the world of Brilliant Healer by Rocket Staff is gorgeous, so please check it out!

My gratitude to everyone working on the Brilliant Healer anime as well: the studio staff, distributors, voice actors, musicians who worked on the soundtrack and theme song, and the GA Rights team. Thanks to their incredible efforts, the date of the broadcast is finally approaching. Thank you, truly!

The comments I get on the webnovel are an incredible source of motivation. I’d love it if you could come check it out in case I actually post a short story on the day of the anime’s debut. If I don’t, I’m sorry in advance!

And lastly, my thanks to you, the readers, who continue to support this series. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart!

I hope you continue to support Brilliant Healer!