SML Ch 67

Chapter 67

No—to be precise, the master of that voice had left behind one more thing. Reynald quietly examined the clockwork doll he held in his hand. The doll wriggled and squirmed, as if uncomfortable being confined in his grasp.

When Reynald loosened his grip, the clockwork doll immediately slipped free and landed atop the marble altar. Instead of attempting to flee or taking a wary stance, the doll extended one arm toward Reynald.

When Reynald cautiously grasped that arm, the doll lightly shook it up and down, as though in a handshake. It was hard to understand why it had bothered slipping from his grasp only to do this. Did it simply want to shake hands? Or perhaps being clutched in someone’s hand like a mere object had hurt its pride?

“Hmm, so you must be that underling the voice referred to? Well then, I’ll be in your care.”

When Reynald spoke thus and released its hand, the clockwork doll raised both arms above its head, striking an oddly exaggerated pose. It seemed like boasting, or perhaps putting on airs. Considering that it wore robes resembling those of a cleric, it could also have been some movement belonging to religious ritual.

Before long, the two princes, Volant, and Alex had clustered around Reynald, watching the doll as well. Apparently enjoying the attention, the doll repeated its posturing, raising and lowering its arms as though showing off. Reynald absently thought that, if it had the power of speech, it might well be shouting something like, “Worship me!”

“But seriously, what even is this ragged doll…. Whoa!”

Alex had muttered in wonder, but before he could continue, the doll’s eyes suddenly blazed and it launched itself like a shot—driving a furious uppercut straight into Alex’s chin. With a brief cry of pain, Alex collapsed at once, unconscious.

“Hey, Alex! Are you okay? …Tch, he’s out cold, my lord.”

Thankfully Volant caught him before he hit the ground, so he seemed uninjured otherwise. It looked more like a brief fainting spell than serious harm.

The doll looked about, then without warning leapt onto Serna’s head. Though startled, Serna quickly realized the doll had no intent to attack him—instead, it seemed to be using his head as a chair.

Had it judged him easiest to perch upon because he was the shortest? Whatever the reason, the doll apparently found his head quite comfortable for seating, for it promptly sprawled out atop him. Stroking the doll absently, Serna gave a helpless laugh.

“What a truly ill-tempered creature. Punches whoever displeases it, and climbs onto people’s heads without a thought.”

“Judging by how it’s not reacting now, it seems even it concedes as much. In any case, considering it doesn’t want to be called grimy or ragged, I suppose some laundering is needed. Or perhaps the fabric must be changed.”

“But… would washing it be safe, Sir Reynald? I can feel something like gears whirring inside—if water gets in, might it not break?”

“If it is an enchanted being, I would imagine it has at least some protection against water. Though it would have been far better had it been warded against grime as well….”

As Reynald and Serna exchanged such idle words, the branches and leaves that had densely covered the sky began to vanish. It was not like before, when they had shifted aside to admit a shaft of sunlight. This time, it was as though they had never existed at all, their presence fading into nothingness.

The labyrinth itself, the marble altar, the statues—all followed. As if the entire setting had been nothing but an illusion, the oppressive, damp forest maze melted away, and brilliant sunlight fell upon them. Reynald, suddenly weary, squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them again. And there—

“…We’re back at last.”

The mist-filled maze was gone without a trace. Reynald’s group now stood squarely in the middle of a sunlit wilderness plain.

While waiting for Alex to regain his senses, the others struggled to recover their own, their state like that of one groggy from sudden sleep.

“It feels as if I were bewitched by fae. Just what was all that?”

So murmured Arun, slapping his cheeks repeatedly, blinking his eyes open and shut in an effort to feel grounded. Truthfully, even Reynald could not wholly rid himself of the suspicion that it had all been a dream. What kind of place had they just wandered through? Had that labyrinth ever really existed at all?

But the proof that it had not been only a dream was undeniable. For the stone statues in the wilderness abruptly dropped the plows and farm-tools they had been clutching.

Not even sparing Reynald’s party so much as a glance, they approached the altar in the ruins, knelt down, and began praying. Volant, frowning, addressed them.

“Hey, don’t you lot have fields to tend? What about the crops?”

[It has lost meaning.]

“Eh? Really? Then what, if we tend your fields instead—no! I’m kidding! Who could even travel back and forth from this faraway place, seriously!”

When one of the statues actually turned its head and began to draw its sword, Volant leapt back in fright. Even if their code of behavior had shifted, apparently their attachment to farmland had not vanished entirely.

Still, if they were to abandon farming, then they would no longer need the doll to keep the crystalline clockwork birds in check.

‘In other words, to them this doll is now useless.’

And indeed, the statues showed no interest when Reynald lifted the sprawled doll off Serna’s head and examined it. Strange—when Volant had merely suggested grabbing it before, the statues had flown into attack.

But now, after having lashed Alex with a punch, the doll itself seemed utterly spent of strength. Limp as a corpse, it did not stir. Even when Reynald tried to rewind its spring, the mechanism had gone stiff as stone, refusing to budge.

“My lord, is it broken?”

“It doesn’t seem so. In any case, best we take it along. It may prove useful against the crystalline clockwork birds.”

“Agreed. If we humor it well enough, it might even help us hunt more of those birds…. Oh, looks like Alex is awake now. I’ll go check on him.”

While Volant attended to Alex, who was slowly coming around, Reynald turned naturally toward Serna. Though not quite as dazed as Arun, the prince too wore a somewhat hazy expression.

Wondering if the prince was truly well—if he had been harmed at all—Reynald suddenly remembered there was an important question he had to ask. Serna, meeting his gaze, seemed to realize the same, for his eyes glimmered with peculiar light.

“Your Highness, there is one point I must confirm.”

“Ah? Yes—I was meaning to ask you something too.”

“During your time in that labyrinth… did you also undergo something called a ‘selection’? Both you and Alex.”

“…So you too, Sir Reynald. I touched a painting that reminded me of my late mother’s portrait. Then it made strange pronouncements about me before declaring I had been selected. Alex went through something much the same.”

So they had been through it as well. Reynald gazed at the inert doll, sinking into thought. What exactly was this business of “selection”?

That it was connected to the domain was plain enough. But beyond that, all was shrouded. Were those selected to be assigned some duty, some responsibility? If they fulfilled it, would they gain some reward? And if they left this land while still technically “selected,” what might occur then? None of these things had the voice explained.

‘It explicitly said to protect this land. But… protect from what?’

Common sense held that “protecting” implied defense against some outside threat. And yet Reynald doubted there was any external power that would bother to invade this domain. The chance that anyone in the kingdom would move against it was virtually nil, and from beyond that… no likely candidates came to mind.

Unless the true threat came from within. Perhaps some force unknown to Reynald lurked here, something capable of destroying the land itself.

‘I do not know enough yet. I cannot even begin to guess.’

Perhaps this doll might yield answers—yet it clearly could not speak. And with its stumpy little arms, even written exchanges seemed unlikely. That was, assuming it were even willing.

Still, Reynald realized one critical fact.

“My apologies, Your Highness, but it seems we cannot be returning to the royal capital any time soon. Not until we have discerned the meaning of this word ‘selection,’ as spoken in the labyrinth.”

“…I thought as much. Very well—I should at least prepare a report for my father.”

The two men could only exchange weary laughs. That it should come to this—that circumstances should give them such an excuse to remain in the domain—Reynald felt an exasperated amazement rising unbidden within him.

Footnotes for clarification:

1. “태엽 인형” (taeyeop inyeong) – Literally “spring-wound doll,” translated here as clockwork doll. A mechanical toy or construct animated by a wind-up key.
2. “하수인” (hasu-in) – Rendered as underling in this chapter. Literally means “subordinate” or “minion.” Here, it refers to a mystical being appointed to watch Reynald.
3. “수정태엽새” (sujeong taeyeopsae) – Literally crystal clockwork bird. A magical/mechanical monster referenced in the territory’s conflicts.
4. “선별” (seonbyeol) – Central concept, translated as selection. Carries nuance of “filtered, chosen through examination or trial,” not random choosing but deliberate evaluation.
5. “영주님” / “경” – Titles of respect, used when addressing Reynald as the domain’s lord (my lord) or knight (Sir).