SML Ch 89

Chapter 89

“Please, may you see this record before you first encounter the ‘strange ones.’

*Think of it as a kind of vaccine. Yes, it is dangerous in itself—but far better than facing those feelings unprepared.”

Do not be fascinated. Do not become as we are. Do not seek to know what lies deep in this land.”

Through the storm of overwhelming feelings came whispers and visions unfamiliar, tumbling chaotically. Reynald forced himself to endure—pressing past terror and allure alike—to extract information. Surely within this flood of sights were hints.

At first the images were familiar. The flying clockwork doll. Solden, the silver elf mage. The ratmen, the swines, the lake’s anura tribes—all natives of the territory.

Then they vanished, and strangers came.

A dragon unfurled vast wings, its mere presence suffocating—yet its form shrouded in prismatic power, its true color unreadable. Then—beasts of raw flesh bursting from earth. A vast scarecrow burning under summer sky. Humans twisting grotesquely into bat-winged things. Endless creatures Reynald, even with countless hunts behind him, had never seen.

Nor monsters only. Briefly, humans too appeared. Knights clad in gilded armor, etched with complex heraldry. He knew he’d seen those symbols, though memory eluded him.

And Alex—Alex alone gasped sharply, clutching Reynald’s hand when those knights passed.

“Alex?” Reynald thought. Does he know them? But how could…?

Before he could ask, the visions surged on: more monsters, known and unknown. Among them, unmistakable—the fae king, exactly as Reynald remembered fighting fifteen years ago.

So the king had walked the human world? Then why was such a vast catastrophe never told in the capital? How…?

Yet there was no context. As promised, the record offered feelings only, withholding events. Facts would change; only raw emotions would remain true.

And so—only fear tore across him. Knowledge forbidden. Power alluring, until glimpsed—and then forever inescapable. They must fear it. Resist allure. Sharpen terror, blunt fascination.

That was what the ancestors had bled to engrave.

How long they endured, none knew. But at last—darkness clicked. Stage lights extinguished, and the lamps above their seats flared bright.

“Hah… hahh…”

On either side, the youths gasped, soaked in sweat. They had not dropped their books—the strongest willpower not to be enthralled nor flee.

Truth: Reynald too had nearly broken. He had wanted to flee the visions, abandon this cursed land to itself. He told himself: This is not even my homeland; I owe it nothing. I could walk away.

But still—he had not. Because beside him trembled these youths, trusting. He could not show weakness there.

“Volant, Alex. Are you sound?”

“Yes… only… only because you stayed with us, my lord…”

Their sweat dampened his palms—his own equally clammy, he couldn’t tell. Still Reynald forced a steady smile, rising to his feet.

“…We’ve learned enough. The true message they left us was this raw terror, and that seductive pull—that is what they wished us to confront.”

“They mean… those monsters, and those people, we must beware of?” Alex asked.

“No. That was never the point. The figures—details—were only fragments. The core was: bound with them, you will be drowned in fear and temptation. Experiencing it beforehand numbs the shock.”

Do not be enthralled. Whatever is spoken. Whatever is shown. That was the warning.

Insufficient in knowledge, yes. But some things, only direct experience would explain.

Even so, the fragments might yet help. If dragons came to this domain. If unknown monsters—or ancestors of those knightly orders—arrived. He would remember. Then find records, later, in the human world.

But his thoughts broke—Alex whispered sharply:

“My lord—something outside.”

“…What is it?”

“The fae. They’re… running. Gathering somewhere.”

Reynald snapped his gaze outward. Indeed. The fae who had swarmed the windows, formerly idle and curious, were now shouting to one another, rushing en masse. No ordinary jest. No passing swarm. Something real stirred.

And Reynald’s mind clenched. Heide. They still had no trace of him.

“Doll. Are the fae’s movements about Heide?”

[O!]

Instantly Reynald leapt to his feet. The three fled the theater. Outside, meadow and air emptied; all fae were streaming one direction.

Among them was the playful fae that had disguised itself as Volant before. Reynald caught sight, dashed after.

“What? What’s happening?” he demanded.

“Your friends. They came. Not good.”

“My… friends? Wait. The princes?!”

“The fae-prince. He lost his friend. He is angry, and raging. I smell blood.”

The fae’s tone had shifted, suddenly stiff, unnatural. No jest here.

Reynald’s heart sank. He had thought—Arun remained safe, awaiting them. But no.

Arun came to the fae world? But he knew he should not…!

If blood scent thickened, this was no mere incident.

They raced with the fae swarm, dodging honey-pools and false flowers, sprinting until atop a ridge.

And there—

Surrounded by throngs of aghast fae, was Arun.

Expression calm. Voice calm. Sword arm merciless.

Already corpses lay by dozens.

“Return the steward. He is ours.”

“We—we don’t know! He wandered into a gate, gone elsewhere! Not us!”

“Even if not your hand, you let him swap, let him here. Then take responsibility. Find him. Bring him.”

Arun’s voice never raised. Yet his sword hacked, broke bone, with appalling ease.

“…That sword…” Reynald realized.

A crystalline blade, translucent, rimmed in radiant pink fluid. Something of fae conjuring, born of illusion given body.

Weapons humans could not wield. Weapons fae conjured through fancy. And yet—the prince wielded it.

“Sir Reynald! Look—Arun—!”

“Prince Serna!”

Serna came running, half-collapsed, pale as ash. In his hand—not a book, but a translucent key-shape. Also fae-born, surely crafted by Arun.

“You should have stopped him! Kept him from crossing!” Reynald cried.

“I tried! But when they said the steward was lost—through a gate—he couldn’t leave it be! He came!” Serna’s voice trembled.

Reynald’s gut clenched cold. So Heide truly vanished into another gate…

Arun’s method was brutal—but not senseless. To force fae to find Heide by violence might indeed be quickest.

And yet—Reynald saw clearly. Arun was not in any normal state.

“…Find him. Bring him to me. That is your sole road.”

The cold words fell, backed by killing blade.

Reynald understood then. If left, hundreds more would fall.

He thrust the others toward Serna—made them link hands with him—and sprinted for Arun without hesitation.