SML Ch 80

Chapter 80

“My lord, are you all right? That foul-tempered witch—!”

“Sir Reynald! Were you injured?”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry. And Your Highness, try not to be too shaken—please, calm yourselves first.”

Reynald reassured the two princes and the anxious youths who rushed to him. Likely, all they had seen was an illusory blaze flaring around him, yet they were more frightened than he, who had been targeted directly.

Even the mage herself, once she withdrew her mental assault, squeezed her eyes shut and swatted at the open air, muttering: Eye drops. Hurry, my drops of medicine… Apparently her true body—somewhere far away—was in such pain from the radiant exposure that she had to depend on the Swines around her.

Projection illusions dulled sensory strain, but even a projection left too long in bright light would transmit its effects to the caster. A case, Reynald thought, of her own stratagem backfiring—nothing to pity.

He waited until her projection regained composure—until, presumably, her real form had relief from the Swines’ aid. Then it was Reynald’s turn to press. He spoke slowly, choosing carefully.

“I answered your questions sincerely. Now permit me a few in return.”

[Hmph. Questions for me? Wouldn’t that wind-up doll there serve you better? More reliable, more safe?]

“The doll can’t explain properly. It is… let us say, ‘uncooperative.’ But you seem to understand much about this so-called Selection—it even recognized that I had been chosen. Could you explain more clearly?”

[Oh? That of all things piques your curiosity? I’d thought you’d bristle at another matter entirely.]

“What—that you called me a slaughterer? Please. Every monster I’ve met in this land has already accused me of bloodshed. It hardly surprises me anymore.”

He held her gaze, his tone cool. She chuckled, deflating, and took a step back. No fire blazed now in her eyes, only ordinary gleam. Clearly, she had never sought truly to harm him.

“I need more than cryptic riddles. Tell me then—this Selection, is it truly meant to mark chosen humans as ‘easier targets’ for monsters? If so, why this process at all? What is the origin of these so-called incidents plaguing this land?”

[Wait—hold on. You’re misunderstanding something. This Selection isn’t some grand ceremony created with lofty intent. No—think of it as a stopgap.]

“…A stopgap?”

[Don’t you know the word? When no fundamental solution is found—yet something, imperfect but proven to hold for the moment, is slapped down to prevent greater calamity. That is what the Selection is.]

She shrugged awkwardly. Reynald blinked. After how exacting the process had seemed—exposing past sins, demanding judgment—all of it… just a stopgap? A patch? The irony left him nearly speechless.

“You mean to say—for lack of answers to the underlying cause, the task is simply foisted on us? That’s all Selection is?”

[Right. You’ve got it. And your second question was also on mark: Selection brands chosen ones with a ‘mark’ that makes them bright targets to these… visitors.]

“…Visitors? You speak of them as if they are something other.”

[The word’s clumsy, yes. But their faces change each cycle. One century a monster. Another, a human. Each time, different. Every hundred years or so—they come. Call it a ‘rotation.’]

“Every… hundred years?”

[Not exact. Sometimes late, sometimes early. This time—two, three years early.]

“And what summons them? What in this land draws them?”

[That’s what none of us know. Hence, the stopgap. Something—deep, deep in this land’s belly—calls. What it is, I cannot say. Creature? Monster? An object? I’ve studied centuries and still don’t know. Nor does the master of that doll. Only that the call exists.]

Reynald nodded grimly. Perhaps that explained her reclusiveness, her ceaseless research.

[What matters are the Visitors themselves. As I said, they vary—but all share one trait: they hunt to know what lies below this land. They never find it. They only go mad, and in madness, fall upon the folk and beasts who dwell here.]

“…Hmph.”

[Don’t look at me like that. You want to ask if I too am one of them, don’t you?]

Reynald allowed a wry half-smile. “…The thought crossed my mind.”

[I’m not. Unlike them, I don’t seize the first body I meet and rend it apart for false answers. Those others—they were unmade by the land, grown mad by its aura. I… merely chose to remain.]

So it was. Something here tugged on souls, drawing outsiders—then breaking them. An unearthly calamity that no wizard in centuries had solved.

“…Then Selection is merely a defense. Shielding the innocents, forcing the attention on chosen warriors instead.”

[Exactly. If not, fragile folk here would be slaughtered. With chosen ones to draw fire, at least losses are minimized.]

“…Strange. The doll once told me—even if we leave, we’ll regret it. A kind of warning.”

[Did it…? Hm. I don’t know about that. Maybe multiple cords of fate crossed this time. Anyway—don’t fret too much. Drive the Visitors out, and no great harm will befall you.]

“So we need not kill? Drive away suffices?”

[Good question. They are only monsters part-time. Off-cycle? They’re harmless. Better not to waste lives. When it ends, the land itself—or the doll’s master—shall see to rewarding you.]

Still, Reynald sensed evasion. She explained much—but left some sealed away.

[And that’s why I tried you. Needed to see with my own eyes. What if the doll’s master erred—chose someone reckless, or even harmful? The doll itself seemed uncertain of its master’s choices. I worried.]

Reflexively Reynald glanced back at the puppet. It was wriggling into a bone sack to hide, only to be seized by Alex and hauled out by the scruff. It flailed vainly, even tried to strike, but Arun simply pinned its arms.

Suspicion. It clearly disliked this mage. She only laughed at the sight.

“So—what’s your verdict then? Of me?”

[For now, acceptable. Alone, you would sink swiftly into despair. With companions, you strengthen. But still, I think you need watching.]

“…Sounding as if I were some suicide risk. And what do you mean by watching?”

[Did I not say? This land draws oddities in cycles. Should you fall prey to their taint, it’d be troublesome. You might become—like me.]

“…Like you?”

He was about to press further, but she floated higher suddenly, drifting back toward the Swines. Ignorant of all this, they cheered as her projection descended among them. At their feet, a bright silver circle etched itself into the ground. Clearly—a teleportation spell.

“Wait! I still have questions to—”

[Oh! Nearly forgot. I never gave you my name. Call me Solden. If fate wills, we’ll meet again, Reynald!]

And with that, Solden and the Swines vanished like smoke.