SS-Echidna
An Unexpected Meeting
The scent of tea curls through the air like a warm whisper, swirling in delicate spirals before vanishing. My fingers trace the edge of the cup, feeling the porcelain's delicate touch against my skin.
I'm back.
Or rather, for the first time, I'm touching reality.
And yet, the irony is clear—I am a prisoner of my own clumsiness, a bird in a cage of silk. I wasn't careful, and now my will is no longer my own.
I lift a spoonful of cake to my lips. Its sweetness melts on my tongue, but it doesn't soften the bitterness of my situation. I never imagined it would turn out like this. I wanted to explore this world, taste its flavors, feel the breeze before everything began.
But instead, I find myself trapped at a crossroads, caught in a game of wills where every move must be calculated. The most obvious option is to submit, to let my mind adjust to its new master.
But that's not who I am.
Even in my despair, the thirst for knowledge burns inside me.
'He controls my soul.'
I click my tongue and sigh in boredom, bringing the cup to my lips. The warmth of the liquid slides down my throat—a fleeting moment of comfort.
"Tsh! This is all that bitch's fault."
The hot liquid caresses my throat. I was so close to obtaining the perfect body. If only she had known her place…
'Dona is so stupid,' Typhon's voice rings in my mind, a shrill note of disdain.
'Even so, you wouldn't have taken his body,' Carmilla whispers, her words laced with poisoned sweetness. 'What you feel for him…'
I smile.
"I am a lady. I can't let myself be swayed by something like that."
My reflection in the window stares back at me, mocking. I crave the secrets of this world, and while I could simply seize them, there's a special kind of pleasure in uncovering them myself.
And he knows it.
He knows that I enjoy research, which blending the logic of two different worlds is the most exquisite of distractions.
"It was almost like a love confession."
I rest my hands on my cheeks, savouring the thought. Then, a voice interrupts my daydream.
"A love confession?"
The air shifts. My instincts ignite. My body reacts before my mind catches up, releasing a lethal aura that would kill anyone who laid eyes on me.
But he isn't just anyone.
"Who could possibly make you such a romantic proposal?"
Hermod's blue eyes emerge from nowhere, his figure materializing with an irritating calmness.
I had forgotten about his magic.
"Well, well… to think you'd visit your almost-mother."
I smile, but my body is already preparing to flee. If I cut off my mana flow and enter semi-hibernation, I can vanish without a trace. Fighting him now would be a mistake.
'I don't think I can win.'
"My only mother is dead."
His voice is a blade of ice. He takes my chin with a touch so delicate it could be mistaken for tenderness, but his eyes burn with silent accusation.
"Weren't you the one who killed her?"
I let out a soft, calculated laugh.
"What a joke. Echidna is dead."
His eyes narrow. With a sigh, he releases my face and collapses onto the couch, shifting his gaze to the blueprints on the table.
"I see you've taken an interest in him."
"Your human was an idiot. Mine seems far more knowledgeable."
I hold his gaze, savouring the way his expression darkens. Hermod snaps his fingers, conjuring a snowflake that flickers in the air. His magic allows him to inspect souls.
"Well now, it seems I'm not alone with you."
His smile sharpens.
"It's a pleasure to see you alive, Lady Carmilla."
'Lady? How could I be?' Carmilla murmurs, but Hermod doesn't react.
"Don't worry…"
I cut off his magic in an instant, my patience thinning.
"Don't bother her."
"Let's talk instead. It's fascinating—so many versions of you are wandering the world. Should I kill them all?"
I shrug.
"Your choice. I just got out—I'm completely innocent."
His fingers twitch. The killing intent radiating from him seeps into the air like an invisible poison.
"Your hatred for me is unfair. It's burned into my mind, yet I can't remember why."
His mana turns turbulent. He looks ready to explode—but then, he stops.
"It'll be more fun to kill you once the truth comes to light. It won't be long now."
He spits on the floor.
"You betrayed humanity, you bitch."
I smile.
"I see. Sounds interesting."
"What will you do if I tell Marco Luz everything?"
My body moves before my mind fully processes his words. A hand of mana forms in the air, launching toward him—but he cuts it down effortlessly.
'Sekhmet, stop.'
I can't remember the events that condemned me, but Sekhmet does. I tried to break her seal, but I need materials that I can only retrieve from my home in the sky.
Hermod rises and heads for the door.
"Enjoy the little time you have left. I'll kill you when the truth is revealed—whether Marco Luz wants it or not."
He leaves. The room falls silent.
I walk to the window, staring at the sky.
"Interesting."
I transport myself to the forbidden library. The air is thick with tension, the silence weighted by the lingering energy of ancient spells. I walk straight toward the shelves, my gaze settling on the sealed one, enchanted with magic akin to that used on weapons.
"Fu~, the world keeps getting more interesting." I look at the books, a smile forming as I uncover my daughter's spell. "An intriguing concept."
I know these shelves can only be accessed through a ritual that requires the blood of the rightful bearer—a practice that binds knowledge to personal sacrifice. But for me, that is no obstacle.
My soul and Marco's are linked by an unbreakable contract. That bond grants me absolute control over the details of his soul. All I need is a catalyst.
I stop in my tracks.
"But if I use this..." I murmur, my voice devoid of hesitation or remorse.
From my pocket, I pull out a small vial filled with Marco's blood. With unwavering determination, I pour the liquid onto the metía.
"My daughter is intelligent," I remark in a low voice, a calculated sense of pride mingling with detached acknowledgment. "Creating this artifact was a feat worthy of recognition. I'll make sure to praise her when I see her."
The metía glows faintly. Without delay, I pull back my robes, revealing the contract engraved into my skin. As I bring it closer to the lock, the markings begin to glow. After a full day of analysis and testing, I have unravelled its mechanism—enough to break the seal.
The lock releases, unveiling a collection of books devoid of conventional inscriptions. Each volume bears a sequence of letters.
"Let's see what secrets you hold."
The thrill of the unknown washes over me.
I'm about to uncover something significant.
My eyes widen with interest as I scan each word like precise data points. The descriptions, meticulous and tinged with calculated melancholy, reveal fragments of a timeline I never knew existed.
'This is quite the story... Did Subaru Natsuki truly live this?'
They present information that aligns with my suspicions—the emergence of an anomaly.
The world as it is supposed to be.
"So, that's what happened," I whisper, processing the revelation with sharp clarity. Marco Luz's restrained arrogance and his unnervingly unnatural familiarity do not stir any emotion in me. Instead, they deepen my intrigue.
'Does he have the same abilities?'
'No, if that were the case, he wouldn't have given up.'
Each detail of his story feeds into my growing satisfaction, connecting a distant past to a present I have carefully cultivated to my advantage.
Everything is falling into place.
Subaru Natsuki... Perhaps this is where that man's story begins. He has built a reality woven from falsehoods, stitching together fragments of truth to uphold his own desires.
Once his design reaches completion, all it will take is replacing his essence to rewrite history. However, my analysis detects an unforeseen variable—an element that defies my predictions.
"It's amusing, don't you think? That feeling of standing on the precipice of the forbidden, of unearthing a great secret." My voice is measured, a quiet chuckle escaping—an echo of a thought meant for no one but myself. With a precise motion, I wipe my lips and slide my hand toward the next book, scanning its pages with precision. "Well, well... It looks like Marco Luz is in trouble."
My eyes widen in surprise as I read further.
The magic infused in these books is unmistakable—Roswaal has found a way to infiltrate them. It's strange. He shouldn't be able to wield Yin Magic so effectively.
'Did someone assist him?'
"His magic is embedded in all the following books, as if someone guided him to exactly where he needed to look," I muse, resting my chin on my hand as I finish reading. "I hope his plan unfolds flawlessly—otherwise, I doubt Marco Luz will survive."
'This will be a good test to see if he possesses Return by Death.'
'And if he dies... I will be free.'
I withdraw my magic, ensuring that no trace remains of my examination. Whether or not Return by Death resides within Marco, the miasma clinging to him seems to be the manifestation of an inevitable process—one unlike his presence in the dream world.
I smile, pondering how long he'll manage to stay on his feet.
'Should I have sided with them? No, too risky.'
'I must tread carefully now.'
"You have too many enemies. I just hope you don't interfere with my plans." I return the books to their rightful place, my gaze shifting to the blueprints scattered across his workspace. "I'll help you for now, Marco Luz."
My eyes narrow, my pulse quickening.
"This world... can it ever break free from that man's grasp? I want to see the choices he makes."
After all, love is nothing more than a tool.
SS-Luan
What the War Left Behind
Gunfire roars from every direction, mixing with screams of pain and shouted orders that never stop. I don't feel anything—not pain, not peace... I can't even see properly.
I don't know where I am, but the stench of blood drowns me, and the noises are all I have.
"My leg! Medic!"
"They killed Samuel!"
Those voices—people I trained with, people I barely even knew, but we all shared the same goal: protecting our own. I just wanted a normal life, to hug my mom, to eat my dad's cooking... I just wanted to be happy.
My fingers tighten around something metallic. Between the gunfire and the recoil, the battlefield comes rushing back to me—the cold dirt in my hands, the smell of gunpowder and blood.
"Ah!" I scream, firing at those bastards that keep coming, those demihumans that never end.
I shoot and shoot, but my bullets don't seem to do anything.
My eyes go wide as I watch everyone around me die.
"Captain! Run!" Hubert shouts—right before an arrow pierce through his head.
He drops to the ground, and a few stray tears mix with the flames. My vision blurs, my body burns, and all I can do is stare. I lived with them, trained with them.
'Do they have to die like this?'
I walk through a sea of corpses, watching everything falls apart.
The monsters that have gone mad aren't even demihumans anymore. I reach out my hand, but I can't do anything. I feel completely useless. They saved me so many times, but my team... I couldn't save them.
People say I have potential, that my power can protect others.
I cover my nose to block out the smell of blood and burnt flesh.
"Help me!"
"It hurts!"
"I'm dying!"
Cries of those who had sworn to protect their people.
And me, lying on the ground, unable to do anything.
Then, I find myself in the sanctuary.
My body burns. My lungs scorch, my blood boils. My vision turns red—but he just keeps smiling, watching me with that repulsive, twisted interest.
There, right in front of me, stands that bastard, the man I once thought was just a powerful marquis.
I glance at Ram for a second, remembering the burns I gave her when I lost control of my power.
'I'm useless.'
My family died, and now my other family is going to die too.
And I couldn't do anything.
A jet of water smashes into my face, and my eyes snap open. The room is filled with steam—my power must have activated again while I slept. Thanks to Marco's modifications, the room didn't burn down this time.
All because I feel useless.
I sit up in bed, staring at my hands as the steam drifts out the window. They're already gone, still working, just like everyone else here.
Me, doing nothing.
"Mother..." I murmur, covering my face to hide my tears. "Again, I have to keep going."
I clean my room, get dressed, and change the lagmite of water for a fresh one. Leaving for the city, I take a carriage to the military base. I can't just sit around doing nothing. My wounds have healed, but if I want to get stronger, I have to train.
'I don't want to hurt the people I care about.'
I enter the building and head toward my training room. Marco built it so I wouldn't destroy everything when using my power. Reinforced with steel and multiple protective crystals, it lets me push myself without worrying about the consequences.
Standing outside my room, I see a pink-haired elf—one of those copies that serve Emilia.
She was supposed to be in the field, helping the injured and assisting the healers.
'What is she doing here?'
Her gaze settles on me, and that enigmatic smile tells me she's not like the others.
She thinks for herself.
"You're the one who uses this room?" she asks, walking slowly. Immediately, my instincts go on high alert.
She feels dangerous.
"You're Luan, right?" Her question makes it clear that she knows me, but I can't answer. I feel too much pressure.
She half-closes her eyes and lets out a soft laugh.
"Sorry, I still have trouble controlling this body," she says, and the weight on my chest eases. "Although, it's impressive that you're still standing."
"Who are you?" I ask, holding my breath to steady my pounding heart.
If she's dangerous, if she came here to do harm, I'll have to fight. I can't trust her just because of how she looks.
"I'm... Marco Luz's servant. You can call me..." She touches her chin, as if thinking. "Dona. Yes, that name will do."
"Dona? Are you part of Ryuzu's group?" I step closer, resting my hand on my weapon. "Why aren't you at the healing centers?"
"I'm just a servant, but Marco Luz gave me freedom to move around." She approaches slowly, eyeing my gun. "Don't worry, I was just taking a walk."
Her gaze scans my body, like she's seeing beyond what's obvious.
"Your mana is interesting. Seems like there's something special about you." Her smile widens, but I don't understand what she means. "Do you know who you are?"
I shake my head.
"Well, you'll find out soon enough," she says, turning around and walking away.
She knows something about me, something about my true self. If I can figure it out, if I can learn to be stronger…
"Wait!" I grab her hand, looking her in the eye with determination. "Do you know something about me?"
"Fu, fu. Marco Luz has a talent for attracting interesting people," she says, glancing at my testing chamber. "Come on, let me help you a little."
It doesn't matter what I have to do.
If it makes me stronger.
Ex-Life of a Doctor
"Bring more lamicta crystals!" I shout at my apprentices, focused on extracting the metallic fragments embedded in the patient's abdomen.
The war is nearing its end, but the wounded only keep increasing, and the stench of blood and waste seeps through, even past the herbal mask I wear to mitigate the smell. I know that even with the conflict winding down, our work is just beginning.
Healing magic is powerful, yes, but it requires more than simply channelling mana. It demands exceptional talent and compatibility that few possess. Before me lies a man with his intestines exposed, challenging me to save him. Thanks to my master, I still believe it's possible.
With determination, I command, "Bring me a fire lamicta!"
Holding the crystal, I reach out for the perforated intestine. Infections can be fought off, but closing multiple wounds requires precision. While my magic repairs the stomach, the intestine, so delicate, resists my touch.
"More magic to calm him!" my assistant exclaims, injecting his mana to ease the pain. In that moment, I use the fire lamicta to seal the opening, forming a bark-like layer that fuses the two parts together.
Using stitches would be easier, but I need to fully disinfect the wound.
With a firm voice, I order, "Alright... Martha, take care of the patient. Clean the wound with alcohol while stabilizing him—we can't let him get poisoned."
She meets my gaze and nods without hesitation.
A voice inside me scolds, 'You have no talent for healing people.'
For a moment, doubt creeps in. But damn it, I know I can do this. Those bastards from the Healers' Guild rely on their innate compatibility, never understanding that healing magic isn't infallible.
Its effectiveness depends on far more than just raw talent.
Maybe I'm not the most compatible, but little by little, I've learned to use my magic more efficiently, thanks to books and my master's lessons—despite what the mayor thinks of my so-called deficiencies. The research and anatomical knowledge I've gathered have made this gruelling work just a little easier.
With that stomach now stabilized, I move on to draining blood. "He's going to bleed out at this rate," I mutter, feeling his pulse quicken.
I know how to induce blood production, but my ability isn't strong enough to sustain such a vital process.
"Shit! I NEED MORE HEALERS HERE!" I yell, watching his breath fade.
"Bring the respirator!" I order as another healer intubates the patient, fashioning a makeshift respirator out of a leather bag.
In my mind, one thought echoes: 'Bone marrow produces blood, but I have no idea how.' Those fortunate enough to have natural compatibility can do it effortlessly, without even needing to understand how it works.
And I... at this rate, I fear this man's life will slip away.
Quickly, I suture the less critical wounds and use my magic to seal the bleeding lesions. The hemorrhaging stops, but the patient still isn't improving.
'I can't,' I think, the words repeating like bitter refrain.
I lack the necessary compatibility, and the blame is mine to bear. My apprentices do what they can, but I was the one who stepped up with supposed experience—while others clung to ignorance.
'I was arrogant.'
"The patient isn't breathing!" my assistant exclaims, climbing onto the table beside him and using magical pulses to try to restart his heart.
No matter how much I heal him, he's lost too much blood. My own heart pounds—I can't let another life slip away. I always dreamed of being a healer, a dream that was nearly taken from me, but in Irlam, it reignites with full force.
"Don't die!" I shout, pouring my mana into his bone marrow despite my incompatibility. I have to stimulate blood cell production—I have to.
Around me, time slows, and the silence becomes deafening.
'Am I really so useless?'
Then suddenly, I hear my name.
"Marc!"
I look up and see my master, gripping my hand firmly. Her amethyst eyes sweep over the patient's body, and with a determination that fills me with courage, she says, "His coloration is too pale. I told you to call me for cases like this." Her voice, initially sharp with frustration, turns resolute as she focuses on the patient. "Keep doing CPR. When I tell you, stop using healing magic."
Fixing her gaze at my apprentice, she instructs, "First, analyze his bone marrow and spleen." Her expression darkens, as if blaming herself for my incompetence.
She does it so effortlessly.
Inside, the self-loathing voice whispers, 'No, master, this is the useless apprentice's fault,' but I know that from the very start, I misjudged her. I never saw the immense kindness and unwavering desire to heal that she carried.
I judged you; I hated you from the moment I saw you. Your appearance, your eyes, your face—it all seemed hideous and repulsive to me.
For all of us, our first great challenge was overcoming that.
But, master, you opened our eyes. Your terrifying, grotesque appearance was nothing compared to the kindness and hope you brought. You wanted to heal, to build opportunities.
We were blind. I must admit it.
"Marc! Put your hands on my back," she orders, and I move beside her. "Focus on understanding."
I nod, staring at her back.
"Stop CPR!" she commands, and in that instant, an aura envelops her body. Her unique magic, instead of constantly using mana, channels it into a single, powerful burst, allowing residual energy to be absorbed by damaged areas with absolute control.
"Close your eyes," she says, placing her hand on the lower part of the patient's ribs, just over the left side—where the spleen rests.
'What is she trying to do?' I wonder as her voice softens.
"Mana must not flow indiscriminately into the patient. His spleen is in excellent condition, which means blood production depends on coordination between the bone marrow and the spleen's regulatory function. The bone marrow is the factory of blood cells, while the spleen acts as a filter and reserve, releasing emergency blood and removing damaged cells. If we accelerate production uncontrollably, we risk overstimulating and harming the body."
"You have to be ve~~ry careful."
I can feel it—slowly but surely, the reactivated magic is stimulating the marrow, urging it to produce new cells. It's as if my mind is scanning every line, every connection in his body.
But this stimulation must be controlled. Forcing an abrupt increase could overwhelm the circulatory system, trigger an excessive release of inflammatory mediators, and lead to clot formation.
Those clots wouldn't just obstruct blood flow. They could cause secondary organ failure—liver, kidneys—organs unprepared to handle a sudden overload.
'I understand now.'
"Then slow down the activation of any organs that don't require immediate attention," my master instructs me. With every heartbeat, I can feel his heart picking up speed, foreshadowing the strain his body is about to endure. "You need to regulate the process. The magic must revive hematopoiesis without destabilizing spleen-blood function. Only then can we ensure that, despite the massive blood loss, the patient doesn't fall into irreversible shock."
I watch her focused expression. Even while doing it, she takes the time to explain.
The challenge lies in fine-tuning the mana flow, allowing it to act as a gradual stimulus. The marrow must replace lost cells at a steady pace. The spleen must regulate and release blood in a controlled manner.
The heart's revival happens at the same time. Colors returns to his face, his breathing steadies.
"Watch for any lingering effects or signs of deterioration. He needs food and hydration—his body requires energy."
As I open my eyes, my master exhales with a small smile. But it fades as she gazes at the mountains.
"Everyone gives their best. As healers, our duty is to focus on saving lives without distraction. No one should die." Her eyes meet mine, unwavering. "I am very proud of you."
The reverence I feel for her is immense—a contradiction, given that I once saw her only as a criminal whose appearance disgusted me.
But here in Irlam, I've learned to see beyond the surface, to recognize her unwavering kindness and her desire to create opportunities.
"For the dragon..." I murmur.
'Count Marco is lucky to have her.'
"I'll continue at once," I say with determination.
She nods before rushing off to help another patient. Miss Emilia will undoubtedly become someone truly great—perhaps even more than just a king.
Without knowing it, she is the harbinger of change in this world.
The thrill of saving lives washes over me again.
"Bring me the next patient!" I shout, sprinting back to my work.
Maybe we're not the best. Maybe we don't have the natural talent or the magical affinity that others do.
But we have the will to surpass our limits.
No one wanted us, yet here in Irlam, we've been given the chance to shine.
I won't let another life slip away.
Ex-Petra
The Destine of a Great Magician
I'm staring out the window of my room, thinking about my daddy, who's out there fighting right now. I don't completely understand why this is happening, but Miss Rem explained that things have gotten complicated. In what used to be just a small village, all we ever dreamed of was leaving and going to the capital.
And now I wonder:
'How are we supposed to compete with one of the great cities?'
I remember the mayor, Marco, the one who risked his life to save me. He ended up injured, left with scars. There was a time when I thought I had feelings for him, but now... everything feels confusing.
'It hurts.'
"Mommy, do you think Daddy's okay?" I ask, looking over at her as she keeps cooking, a serene smile on her face.
She smiles at me, but I'm not that little anymore. I want to know the truth, the one they won't tell me just because I'm a child.
"Your daddy will be just fine. He's ve~~ry strong," she says, pulling me into a warm hug.
Her voice soothes me, and even though my heart is racing, I try to believe her.
"Hehe, you sounded like Lia." The way she speaks reminds me of Lia—Miss Emilia—always so peculiar and sweet. I also remember... she was the one who approved the war.
'The possible future queen of Lugunica.'
"Is something wrong?" Mommy asks, concerned. She stops what she's doing and hugs me tightly.
In her arms, I feel warm, but a tear slips down my cheek.
"What if he doesn't come back?" I whisper, clinging to her, not knowing how else to help.
I know I should be stronger by now, that I should be the one supporting her, telling her words to calm her down. But fear keeps me silent.
I may be grown, but in my mommy's arms, I feel so small.
"Oh, sweetie…" she murmurs, and in her embrace, I find a little bit of strength.
"I don't want him to die," I admit, my voice shaking.
"Don't say that. Daddy is a strong man, a colonel in the army!" she assures me, holding me close to her chest. "He found a way to keep moving forward, and we have to support him."
Mommy cups my cheeks and looks at me with so much tenderness.
"Your daddy and I do everything so you can chase your dreams," she says as a tear rolls down her face. "When we're old and wrinkled, we want the best designer in Lugunica to come visit us."
Even though my tears keep falling, a tiny smile starts to form inside me.
"Miss Emilia and Daddy told me what they could. And even if I don't fully understand it now, once everything settles down, I'll ask them to explain better." She puffs out her chest, grinning. "Just imagine! Your mommy is friends with a future queen, married to a colonel of Irlam's mighty army, and the owner of one of Irlam's great restaurants."
She gently strokes my hair.
"And she's also the mother of one of the greatest designers—or whatever you want to be when you grow up." She kisses my forehead softly. "That would be my greatest joy, seeing you achieve your dreams."
Mommy has always been so strong and kind.
"All of this is thanks to you. You opened our eyes," she says, kissing my forehead again, and for a moment, all my worries fade away. "If it weren't for you, for your big heart, I never would have tried to meet Emilia."
I've heard some people judge her for how she looks, but that never mattered to me.
There's a fear inside me that I can't quite explain. But when I saw her, I didn't understand why people hated her. She doesn't have a strong voice, she isn't rude… At first, she even seemed sad, like she was afraid too. I know the story of the Witch of Envy—something no one forgives—but she was defeated by the three most powerful.
Emilia isn't that monster, so I wanted to get closer to her.
Over time, I discovered she's incredibly kind, like having another friend I can talk to. And on top of that, she's strong and capable.
"You even hit her!" I exclaim, looking at Mommy, who suddenly looks sad.
She thought Lia was trying to hurt me, so she stepped in and struck her to make her back off. Afterward, Lia only smiled shyly and apologized, like she carried the guilt of simply being born that way.
'I was already grown up—I realized it instantly.'
Something inside me snapped, and I confronted her. I gave her the silent treatment, even threatened to leave the house. It wasn't the most mature thing, but because of that, she agreed to have dinner with us to apologize.
When Lia told her story, even Daddy was shaken. He bowed his head, apologizing for everything. She had saved my life, and many others'. Little by little, they became friends, because Lia is the kind of person you can talk to, someone you can't help but like.
"We all make mistakes. Thanks to her and the mayor, we can grow without having to leave the city," Mommy says, and I truly admire them.
They've overcome so many hardships, and they're always willing to help.
"They must be worried too," I say, taking Mommy's hand. She smiles at me.
"Yes. The mayor is fighting as well, so our job is to support however we can," she replies.
Suddenly, we hear a knock at the door.
Knock, knock.
Mommy opens it, and a soldier from the army appears. His tired, sorrowful eyes land on us, and without hesitation, he pulls out a document.
"My name is Carlos, Sub-Captain of Irlam's army," he says, looking at us with a serious expression. "The war is over. Irlam has won."
My heart clenches, and an overwhelming emotion floods me. Tears start falling again, and the first thing that escapes my lips is—
"My dad... Colonel Lucas?" I murmur as Mom hurries forward, worry etched on her face. But the soldier remains serious.
"Colonel Lucas suffered multiple injuries, but he is currently being treated by a team of healers. His life is no longer in danger, so you can rest assured," he states, his gaze locking onto mine. "A soldier will come to escort you once things stabilize. For now, we ask for your patience."
Then, the soldier presents a set of crystals.
"Mr. Zhuo has specifically requested the help of Colonel Lucas's daughter, Petra Leyte, for the second battlefield." He bows and hands a document to Mom. "Her cooperation is needed immediately. She will be escorted and protected, but it is vital that she helps us save Irlam."
My mind spins, caught between tears, fear, and hope, as my entire life shifts in the blink of an eye.
I look at Mom, and her eyes tremble, darting everywhere.
"My husband forbade her from joining the military. Producing bullets was one thing, but right now, she's taking lessons and refining her magic. And she's just a child." She steps in front of me. "There must be a mistake! Asking a twelve-year-old girl to step onto a battlefield! Call Oslo—he can advocate for her! You can even call the mayor; he told me personally!"
Mom's voice echoes in my mind, but the soldier's expression remains unchanged.
"Colonel Oslo has already approved it. We need the direct disciple of Mr. Zhuo." His gaze softens with sadness. "There are no living enemies. Colonel Oslo will personally escort your daughter and bring her home. He is waiting at the battlefield as we speak—I was sent in his name."
Mom clenches her teeth, but I can't just stand here.
"I'll go." My hands tremble, but the fear of doing nothing is even worse.
Mom stares at me, waiting for me to take it back. But I won't.
"Dad and the others fought for us." I grip her hand tightly. "I have to give something back, even a little. I want to help."
Her lips quiver before she pulls me into an embrace.
"I'll go with you. That's my only condition." Her resolve hardens, and the soldier nods immediately.
Outside, a greenish carriage stops in front of our house. We step inside, and as soon as we arrive, I hear it.
The moans.
Wounded people, whispering pleas, some gasping for breath, others barely breathing at all. Instinctively, I reach for Mom's hand.
"Sweetheart, try to be strong." She wraps her arms around me, but it can't shield me from what's outside.
The ride is short.
As soon as we step out, they hand us specially made masks. The air carries a perfumed scent, but beneath it, something else lingers. Blood. Gunpowder.
And bodies.
Tents stretch out in every direction. Some shelter people writhing in pain. Others hold no movement at all.
'Is this war?'
Tears run down my cheeks, but I wipe them away quickly. I don't want Mom to see me like this.
"Miss Leyte!" Uncle Oslo's voice cuts through the air, followed by a sharp sound. A slap.
"How could you bring a child here?" he growls.
But it's too late.
I'm already here.
"We regret that it has come to this, but Irlam is in critical condition." Uncle Oslo runs a hand over his face. His uniform is torn and filthy, dark stains scattered across the fabric.
"Where is the mayor, Marco Luz?" Mom asks anxiously.
Uncle shakes his head. "We don't know. General Marco left for the army camp to secure a swift victory, but we haven't received any word from him." His eyes betray what his lips won't say.
"No..." Mom covers her mouth with both hands.
'Lia must be so worried… Not just about this, but about Marco too.'
Uncle Oslo leads us to a tent. Inside, I see glintstone crystals—the same ones I've used countless times in practice.
"Mr. Zhuo is at the main battlefield. He proposed using Yang magic casters to establish an emergency protection circle."
My eyes widen.
'Do I really have to use that? I even told Master it was unnecessary…'
"How did it come to this?"
"I'm sorry. That's classified." Uncle Oslo looks away toward the crystals. "But we brought the materials Mr. Zhuo requested and gathered a group of casters who can channel Yang magic."
I nod immediately.
If I want to see Dad soon, I must hurry.
"Uncle Oslo, is Dad, okay?"
His expression shifts. There's something in his gaze I don't understand.
"Your father is strong." He places a hand on my shoulder and leans in. "Our best healer is taking care of him."
A smile escapes me.
"If Lia is the one healing him, then there's nothing to worry about. Let's go!"
When we arrive, Uncle Oslo stops me before I step out of the carriage.
"Your father wouldn't want you to see this. And as his friend, I don't want you too." He places a hand on my head. "Don't focus on the details. Just create the magic circles, and we'll go see him after."
"Yes, Uncle."
Mom doesn't step out.
Uncle says what's ahead is the reason I developed the bullets. I don't fully understand, but I know it's dangerous.
The problem is… I've already seen it.
Bodies.
Covered in a thick, dark purple substance. It oozes from them as if devouring them. A faint gas rises, dissolving into the air.
No one speaks.
The casters move with silent precision.
'I want to leave.'
'I don't want to be here.'
'I want to see Dad.'
I close my eyes for a moment.
I can't fail.
If I want the magic circle to cover everything, I have to follow Marco's instructions. He taught Zhuo how to do it, and Zhuo perfected it for emergencies.
Quickly, I place the crystals on the ground and draw the necessary shape.
"You need to repeat this ten times, every ten meters, until the entire field is covered. I'll do the first one."
I take a deep breath.
'Dad, just wait a little longer.'
Yang magic has heat-related properties, but it also represents the purest form of mana manipulation. It's usually used for attacking, but its power against miasma is undeniable.
The master always said that miasma was colorless and odorless.
But here… here, I see it with my own eyes.
"I'm going to start. Mages, fire Yang beams at each crystal."
I'm going to protect those who need it. No matter what I have to do.
As soon as I finish, a strange sensation rushes through me. It's like my mind clears in an instant, like all my exhaustion just vanishes. Then, I hear the voices around me.
"She's a genius."
"Well done, Petra."
Oslo looks at me with pride, but all I can do is give him a weak smile.
We move on to the rest of the circles, repeating the process over and over. I don't look around, only focusing on my hands. I don't want to see more. I don't want to remember what I've already seen.
I want to be a great designer, to grow like Rem does.
But I also want to help my city.
'Which path should I choose?'
By the time I finally finish, a light dizziness shakes me. I used too much mana.
Oslo lifts me into his arms, and all I can do is stare at the sky.
Then, I see it.
A balloon, racing toward the forest.
'Isn't that the balloon Marco created?'
The thought barely forms in my mind before my eyes close.