Year 141_Keireki Era_Spring/08
Yo.
Here I am, letting out a massive sigh.
… Yeah, I get it.
The one who tagged along is the most inexperienced, after all.
Arrogant, too. I get why you’d be disappointed.
But if I left you alone, the loneliness might just erupt inside me.
So, I had no choice but to come.
I know it’s dangerous.
I know I’m blatantly breaking my promise to Iserina.
And this is the second time, no less. Breaking it, I mean.
Even as an ex-bandit, I think I’ve hit a new low.
But seeing Ginesis, dancing on some unseen hand’s strings just like me, I can’t help but see myself in him.
If he survives and breaks free from those bonds, maybe I could change how I think about my own resurrection too.
A selfish, faint hope, but it’s not nothing.
Ginesis muttered, "I’ll commend your reckless courage."
"… Stay close but not too close. Focus on evasion and defense. I’m not great at protecting people, but I’ll try my best."
"Got it."
The lantern lit the mansion.
"Ugh…"
A small, pained sound escaped from Ginesis.
He was clutching his arm—or rather, that vine.
"It seems to be this way."
The curse seemed to pull him deeper inside as he walked forward.
Eventually, we came to a large door.
It opened without him touching it.
"Are we invited in, or being lured?"
"Doesn’t matter."
Ginesis clenched his fist, suppressing the pain, and drew his sword.
I’d expected him to draw it immediately upon entering, but he hadn’t.
Until now, I hadn’t understood why.
When he unsheathed the blade, it finally made sense.
From the scabbard seeped a viscous, mist-like substance—the source of its power,
spilling from the sword and its sheath.
He had been tempering the ink inside.
I don’t fully understand the details—whether it’s essential to the formless sword
or just an important routine for him.
Regardless, the sword was drawn.
And that could only mean one thing.
"Vilgram, you ready?"
"Yeah. Not like I want to die either."
When I let that slip, Ginesis gave a small laugh and said,
"Neither do I."
Beyond the large door was a vast chamber, spacious enough to host a ball.
The scale was unmistakably off.
Perhaps it was something conjured from ink.
Either way, this isn’t a place for some ex-bandit like me to be.
This calls for heroes and champions.
At the center of the room stood a table.
On it was something resembling a birdcage.
"You have come. At last, you’ve come."
A voice emanated from the cage—not a groan, but an unsettling sound
that prickled at the skin, like an auditory discomfort.
"I feel the branches of destiny. Oh, yes, you have come, my descendant."
One by one, the room's candelabras lit up, pushing back the darkness.
"Ugh, what the hell is that?"
"Most likely… an ancestor."
Inside the cage was a severed head, its eyes staring vacantly into the void,
murmuring words in a pained voice.
Ginesis identified it as an ancestor because vines similar to the one
pulsating on his arm extended from the cage's bars.
Only, they weren’t connected to its face—they sprouted outward from the severed neck,
like tendrils seeking prey.
"I fulfilled my promise! My promise has been kept, for the strong descendant has finally arrived."
The head continued its lament.
From the depths of the room, beyond the reach of the candelabras,
a shadow glided into view.
It moved silently—not like a skulking thief but with the presence of a servant
designed to exist as a shadow.
Soundless, imperceptible. The ideal embodiment of a concept.
Wearing a frilled headband and an apron dress.
A long skirt that didn’t sway lightly.
A high-collared inner layer, gloves—barely an inch of skin exposed, save for the face.
She was the very image of a first-class maid.
Her long hair was tied in a ponytail, the ends faintly glowing.
Closer inspection revealed the hems of her clothes doing the same,
flickering between transparency and solidity.
This made it abundantly clear—she wasn’t a mortal body.
She was a ghost, or some other revenant.
"My descendant, fight. Fight for me. Free me from this torment, my bloodline.
Fight! Fight! Redeem! Redeem! Redeem through victory—"
The deranged muttering of the head was abruptly silenced when the ghostly maid struck the cage with a backhand.
The cage didn’t break, but its contents were knocked rolling,
accompanied by a pitiful groan.
"Now, defeat me. If you do, you and your ancestor's head will be freed from the curse."
She didn’t wait for the formalities of her speech to conclude.
Having sized up my abilities at a glance, her focus was mostly on Ginesis.
That left me with one option.
Pulling a stone from my pocket, one I’d picked up earlier,
"Take this!"
I hurled it with all my might.
"A good aim," the maid remarked, shattering the stone mid-air.
The next sound was the metallic clink of a utensil dropping to the floor.
"Shadow, my blade; pierce the lifeline, my black fang."
The moment I acted, Ginesis followed suit, beginning his incantation.
It seemed to imply some knightly code against sneak attacks.
He’d waited for her to act before moving himself.
That was probably his way.
As a scion of a house that could decapitate kings,
he clearly wasn’t your average adventurer.
After his words, he swung his sword.
The distance made it clear the attack wasn’t meant to slash her.
In an instant.
A massive sword, larger than her entire body, erupted from the ground beneath the maid.
She leaped back to evade, but part of her clothing tore and dissipated into mist.
She wasn’t human. Her form, including her garments,
constituted her being, meaning any damage directly harmed her.
"The formless sword… you’re more talented than your ancestor, it seems."
"So, you’re the Final Bulwark, Senia?"
"I don’t deserve that title, having failed to protect my lord, but yes, I am Senia."
A name entirely foreign to me.
Though her stature and bearing were grand, it likely wasn’t what the title meant.
"If killing you lifts the curse, I’ll do it."
"If you are strong enough to defeat me, my grudge will have no choice but to yield."
The Final Bulwark. Resentment.
… An undead.
A Boy King, slain by treachery.
An executioner who carried out the deed.
I didn’t know their exact relationship, but I understood why she lingered as a ghost.
Ginesis’ attack, aptly named the formless sword,
manifested a blade at the strike’s endpoint.
Whether through technique or magic, I couldn’t tell.
Senia was cautious in dodging, likely because the earlier grazing proved the attack could kill her.
I didn’t understand all the circumstances.
But dying here with Ginesis wasn’t an option.
The only thing I could do was pave the way for his victory.
And so—
I pulled another stone from my pocket.
Three left.
Given she deflected the last one with a utensil, she might share my throwing skills.
Against such a foe, my chakrams were a last-resort weapon.
"Seniaaa! Why’re you so angry!?"
I shouted, loud enough to be heard without the need to yell.
Though she betrayed no annoyance, she briefly glanced my way.
"You regret not protecting your king, don’t you?"
What do you think about this chapter?
