Section 1: "The The Academy's Funeral Rites"

  Scene 1

  The passage of time is ever swift—already, four years had gone by since the incident known as the “Starry Flower.” Each of them had successfully overcome the formidable “Examination and Oral Defense in Advanced Magical and Arcane Studies,” advancing to the Senior Division. Now, another winter was soon upon them.

  The heavy tolling of bells that announced the “Academy’s Funeral” echoed from the ceremonial hall, spreading throughout the academy grounds and rising into the leaden, wintry sky.

  The “Academy’s Funeral” was a solemn rite, a magnificent funeral held to respectfully consign to the flames those students and faculty members who, by tragic fate, had perished while carrying out duties imposed by the Academy. As the name suggests, the ceremony was conducted within the academy’s own sanctuary, but all arrangements were handled solely by the Academy Administration Bureau of the Ministry of Health and Welfare; the Academy itself merely carried out the practical proceedings under their supervision, with the Health Division officiating as directed. Due to this dual structure, confusion and the mingling of information often surrounded the ceremony.

  Recently, this funeral had been held with an uncanny frequency—several times a month—spreading profound anxiety not only through the Academy but throughout the entire magical society. The cause lay in the frequent raids upon frontier settlements by the vast undead host of the “Deadly Choir,” led by the infamous “Lichie Queen,” a formidable “Backdoor Sorcerer.”

  A “Backdoor Sorcerer” referred to those who, in violation of the Academy’s prohibitions, had acquired forbidden arcana or unlawfully released the power of proscribed magical artifacts, thus becoming fugitives from the Academy. In this magical society, both policing and military authority were split between the government and the Academy. Ordinary crimes, incidents, and external threats were dealt with by the government police and official military forces; however, matters directly involving the Academy—such as the actions of Backdoor Sorcerers—were handled by the Academy’s own private police and military, organized under the Supreme Council. The relationship between these forces was strictly compartmentalized. Only in the gravest cases or large-scale conflicts did the two sides cooperate; otherwise, jurisdiction was clearly delineated by the nature of each case, and both sides jealously guarded their spheres of influence.

  On this day as well, a quiet funeral was about to be held to mourn and lay to rest the remains of a member of the “Argent Gun Corps,” who had fallen in an encounter with the Deadly Choir during frontier patrol in the southwestern “Otten Dott District.”

  This ceremony required the attendance of the bereaved, officials from the Academy’s Health Division and the Ministry of Health and Welfare who managed the proceedings, students of the Senior Division, and all faculty members.

  “Again, huh…”

  “It’s been happening so often lately.”

  “I wonder how the Academy views all of this.”

  The familiar trio could be seen among the gathering.

  A trio?

  Yes—Warlock was not among them. Shortly after advancing to the Senior Division, she had been branded a Backdoor Sorcerer for illicitly accessing forbidden and ultimate arcane rites, as well as the mysteries of the archangels essential to their execution—acts strictly prohibited by the Academy. Now, there was no way to even ascertain whether she was still alive.

  The bells tolled in solemn announcement, marking the beginning of the ceremony. The attendees took their places, listening quietly to the priest’s words.

  “Look, he’s here again today.”

  Wizard whispered in a low voice.

  “Indeed,” replied Necromancer.

  “Even if he’s a senior official of the Ministry, he’s still just a technical officer. Why does someone of his standing attend every single ceremony?”

  Sorceress voiced her suspicion.

  Hymns and sacred chants filled the interior of the sanctuary, the ceremony proceeding with solemn decorum. The pipe organ, towering to the ceiling, played a holy refrain. This time, there were twelve victims—a number not to be overlooked. Still, the Academy clung to its policy of facing the Deadly Choir with the recently established “Alchemic Rifle Corps,” employing massed tactics with alchemic firearms, even as casualties continued to mount.

  The Guild of Necromancers—officially, the “Union of Necromancers and Corpse Handlers”—had repeatedly advised that pitting summoned undead legions against the Deadly Choir would result in the fewest losses, but the Supreme Council showed no willingness to adopt this proposal.

  Gravely regarding the situation, the government’s military authorities had begun to voice differing opinions from the Supreme Council. For now, however, at least the Ministry of Health and Welfare continued to align with the Academy, and funerals were conducted quietly through the Health Division.

  After the priest’s doxology, the coffins were solemnly carried from the hall to a temporary mortuary managed by the Ministry and the Health Division—thus concluding the final stage of the funeral.

  In cases where one perished in the course of Academy duties, the remains were often severely damaged, and so, out of consideration for the feelings and grief of the bereaved, the Academy did not disclose or return the bodies. This custom had become absolute in recent times. Some families continued to demand the right to lay their loved ones to rest themselves, but in the name of public welfare, the Academy remained unmoved. Because both the government and Academy provided generous compensation to the bereaved, few pressed for further concessions, and even the rare dissent could not sway the Academy’s intransigent stance.

  Maintaining an air of solemnity throughout, today’s funeral concluded, and all participants and attendees dispersed.

  “The Deadly Choir issue really is grave, isn’t it? I think the Union’s proposal is spot-on,” Necromancer remarked.

  “The frequency of these attacks has gotten downright abnormal,” said Wizard.

  “Indeed. What could Lichie Queen’s true objective be?” mused Sorceress.

  The three discussed the latest state of affairs as they returned to their respective dormitories.

  Scene 2

  Lichie Queen was a Backdoor Sorcerer bearing the accursed rank of "Lich, Supreme Necromancer." Master of the arcane secrets of necromancy, she gathered and commanded vast armies of undead—restless corpses wandering the land—molding them into a formidable military force. Her true purpose remained utterly unknown, but the devastation she wrought was both gruesome and unrelenting. The residents of any settlement attacked would inevitably meet a hopeless fate, either being slaughtered outright or forcibly conscripted as undead into the ranks of the Deadly Choir.

  The terror of the Deadly Choir lay not only in their numbers, but in the extraordinary cursed magic wielded by Lichie Queen herself, which multiplied the threat manyfold. To begin with, she always wore a robe of light armor inlaid with the mystical "Stone of Shared Agony and Suffering." Any attack against her would reflect its pain and injury directly back upon the assailant. In other words, any fatal blow struck against her would bring an equally fatal effect upon the attacker—creating a dire dilemma that made reckless assaults on her all but impossible.

  Furthermore, she commanded the accursed forbidden necromancy known as "O Crimson Fog Calling Death": a dread spell that indiscriminately transformed all living beings present into undead, forcibly adding them to the ranks of the Deadly Choir. Confronted with such a host of threats, the government and the Academy held sharply divergent stances.

  The government’s military authorities, perceiving the severity of the crisis, sought to work directly with the Academy’s private military divisions, searching for solutions outside the decrees of the Supreme Council. Yet these efforts made little headway, hampered by the entrenched difficulties of inter-organizational cooperation.

  By contrast, the Academy—under the Supreme Council—consistently maintained a passive attitude, exaggerating the supposed deterrent power of the "Argent Gun Corps," who were armed with "Arcane Silver Bullets" reputed to be effective against the undead, and insisting that no further measures were strictly necessary.

  Curiously, the Academy also withheld funding for the mass production of "Fiery Iron Bullets," which were even more effective against undead than their silver counterparts, as well as for the development of the new "Fiery Steel Bullets." This reluctance had drawn sharp criticism from bodies such as the Committee for the Advancement of Human Rights in Magical Society, who condemned the Academy’s policy as callously disregarding the lives and dignity of its students. Nevertheless, because generous compensation was provided to the bereaved, these criticisms failed to gather significant popular support.

  In any case, the entire magical society now trembled in terror and despair beneath the shadow of relentless undead assaults.

  Scene 3

  A few days later, the three were summoned by Akkina and gathered at Arkham. The lady of distinction was also present.

  “Forgive me for calling you here on such short notice,” the lady said with gentle concern for the three.

  “It’s no trouble. What brings us here today?” Sorceress responded.

  Perhaps it had been ever since they advanced to the Senior Division: whereas before, they had always been the ones to visit Arkham, by now, communication had become a two-way affair. Not that it required any special procedure; nowadays, it was simply a matter of Akkina placing a call to their personal optical magic recording devices—handheld instruments with built-in communication, now thoroughly commonplace throughout magical society. Of course, they could not immediately see Akkina’s face through the device, but since her magic script—that is, the identifier number unique to the sender—was always the same, it was easy to tell when a call came from Akkina. On this particular day, it was Sorceress’s device that received the call from the young girl Akkina.

  “You all know about the Deadly Choir, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Necromancer replied in a grave tone. “Recently, there’s been no end to the victims at the Academy, and funerals are being held with alarming frequency.”

  “Those things aren’t just some band of wandering corpses anymore. They’re an army, plain and simple,” Wizard added, joining the conversation.

  “I called you here today precisely for that reason,” the lady began. “I can no longer turn a blind eye to the Academy’s woefully inadequate response. You understand what this means, don’t you?”

  She narrowed her eyes, looking intently at Necromancer.

  “Yes. When facing the undead, the best strategy is to unleash a great legion of our own. That way, no living souls will be lost, and the threat of Lichie Queen’s ‘O Crimson Fog Calling Death’ can be virtually nullified. I may be biased, but I believe the Union of Necromancers and Corpse Handlers is absolutely correct in its proposal.”

  “Well said,” the lady remarked, narrowing her eyes even further.

  “In any case, it’s plain to see that if we leave matters in the Academy’s hands, things will only grow worse. That’s why I’m asking for your help.”

  The three exchanged glances.

  “According to my sources, the next likely target for an appearance by the Deadly Choir is a small farming village to the southwest of the Academy, called Sheenay Village. It seems the Choir is moving north along the coastal frontier from the Otten Dott District, where the recent skirmish occurred.

  What I’d like you to do is protect the villagers there. But by ‘protection,’ I mean not fighting the Choir head-on, but rather ensuring that the villagers are safely evacuated and the damage is kept to a minimum. A little south of the village, the Academy’s Special Task Force has set up a camp. I want you to lead the villagers safely to that camp.”

  Saying this, the lady took a sip from her teacup.

  The “Academy Special Task Force” was a special unit under the Health Division, operating under the direct command of the Ministry of Health and Welfare. Their mission was to recover the remains of victims, and the team itself was comprised of powerful sorcerers and clergy—priests and holy maidens proficient in advanced healing and restorative arts. They would set up camp near disaster and conflict zones, and when casualties occurred, their special assignment was to recover the bodies or the mortally wounded as quickly as possible so that the Academy’s funeral rites could be carried out in due course. Their ability was renowned: in the past ten years, it was said there had been only a single occasion where they failed to recover the remains.

  Of course, some continually questioned why, if they could retrieve the dead so swiftly, they weren’t sent in as reinforcements to prevent casualties in the first place, or at least secure escape routes before disaster struck. Nevertheless, the Academy’s generous compensation acted almost like a narcotic, numbing the public’s critical faculties.

  “Rescuing people, huh? Leave it to me! I’ll crush the Deadly Choir while I’m at it!” Wizard boasted energetically.

  But the lady admonished her.

  “That will not do. Minimal combat for the sake of self-defense or protecting others is unavoidable. But you must not pursue the enemy or provoke an all-out battle—under no circumstances. Especially if Lichie Queen herself should appear, you must forget everything else and flee to the Special Task Force’s camp with the villagers, as quickly as possible. If you cannot promise me that, then let us forget this discussion altogether.”

  “Sorry…”

  Wizard drooped, chastened. Seeing this, the lady offered a gentle reassurance.

  “It’s all right. I know your heart. Your sense of justice and your drive to improve yourself will surely help you grow into a remarkable person one day. Still, there are times when you must not let your feelings carry you away. That’s all.”

  She then called toward the back of the shop.

  “Would you mind brewing some fresh tea?”

  Usually, the emerald-eyed girl would toddle off to the kitchen in response. But today, she remained seated on a barrel, nibbling away at some crackers, showing no sign of moving.

  That’s right. It was around the time the three advanced to the Senior Division, coinciding with the start of two-way communication with Arkham, that a new shop girl had appeared at Arkham.

  She always wore a hooded robe pulled low to conceal her face, and a mask inscribed with intricate magical sigils. Though the three had become familiar with her, they had never once glimpsed her face beneath the mask.

  According to Akkina, she had been caught up in a border conflict on the Norden Plains—where skirmishes with the Northern Knights were a regular occurrence—and in that misfortune, her face had been horribly burned, and her throat seared to the point of losing her voice.

  From the back, the masked woman appeared, carrying a tray. She offered a polite nod to the three and the lady, then poured tea for each of them.

  Today’s brew was a unique variety: Maringa Black Sesame Tea, with a strong medicinal quality and the rich aroma of sesame oil giving it a distinctive ethnic character. The lady explained that it was said to enhance one’s vitality and promote energy for the tasks ahead.

  Akkina and Wizard seemed not to care for the flavor, but Sorceress and Necromancer sipped contentedly from their cups.

  Scene 4

  “Well? Will you accept the task?”

  Wizard’s face showed eager consent, and Necromancer, always ready to help others, seemed equally willing. Only Sorceress wore a complicated expression.

  “Our opponents… they’re an army of undead, aren’t they?”

  There was a distinct shadow in her eyes.

  “My arcane arts…” she began, but the lady interrupted with a knowing look.

  “I understand your concern. You are an exceptionally talented Sorceress of water and ice, but when it comes to fighting the undead, your spells are unfortunately limited in their effectiveness.”

  Indeed, this was so. Water and ice magics might wash away, freeze, or cut with blades of ice, but against the undead, these properties were often a disadvantage. Against corporeal undead like skeletons or zombies, water pressure could crush, and ice blades could cut, but against incorporeal entities such as ghosts or specters—those who had lost all flesh—such methods were nearly useless. Nor could spirits be frozen solid, so Sorcerers generally bore a pronounced weakness in anti-undead combat.

  Was it possible that even such a genius could feel the limits of her own power? Wizard was surprised at Sorceress’s reaction, and a heavy silence settled over the room.

  At that moment, the masked woman, who had gone to the kitchen to clear away the earlier tea cups in exchange for the Maringa Black Sesame Tea, appeared carrying a sword in both hands.

  “Thank you,” the lady said, accepting the sword from her and holding it out before Sorceress.

  “This is the ‘Soul Saber,’ a cursed blade. However, the true pearls embedded throughout its hilt and guard grant it extraordinary effectiveness against the undead. I will lend this to you.”

  So saying, the lady presented the sword, which shone with an ominous bluish-white light, to Sorceress.

  “But you must never wield this sword as a weapon. Every time you do, the blade will drain blood from your fingers, and if used too long, you yourself will become one of the undead.”

  What, then, was she to do? With such a question in her eyes, Sorceress gazed at the lady.

  “This sword is not only a weapon, but also an exceptional focus for channeling your arcane spells. And, as I just explained, it is exceptionally powerful against the undead. In other words…”

  Hearing this, Sorceress’s expression brightened with sudden understanding.

  The lady narrowed her beautiful eyes even further.

  “I believe you can do it.”

  Sorceress nodded firmly.

  “Then, it’s yours.”

  The lady pressed the sword’s hilt into Sorceress’s hands.

  “I may be repeating myself,” she added, lowering her voice,

  “but you must never wield this blade in battle. Do not forget this, whatever you do. I would hate to see you return as a specter.”

  With that, the lady took a sip of her cooling tea.

  “I’ll do everything I can,” said Sorceress. She removed her robe, wrapped the naked blade in its folds, and held it carefully on her lap.

  “Then, may I take this as your acceptance?”

  All three nodded in assent.

  “This is an official request from the Guild Arkham. Naturally, you will be compensated. And in the event of misfortune, you will receive full coverage according to the terms of your insurance policy.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  At a signal from the lady, the masked woman brought over the documents concerning insurance, handing one to each of them.

  “Please sign here.”

  Prompted by her words, the three signed the papers and handed them back to the masked woman. The contracts, covered in tiny, antlike script, detailed the conditions under which insurance and other compensation would be paid.

  “With this, the contract is complete. I look forward to your success.”

  Scene 5

  In this magical society, the Academy was not merely an educational institution, but also a comprehensive organization combining the roles of practical agency and charitable foundation.

  As a practical agency, the Academy’s students—especially those in the Senior Division and some in the Middle Division—actually provided labor to support the needs of magical society. Requests for work typically came from each student’s affiliated guild; for example, Necromancers would generally receive assignments through the Union of Necromancers and Corpse Handlers, and it was standard for students to fulfill their duties in response to such requests. In this society, with the exception of the well-off Sorceresses, whose noble families sheltered them from such concerns, most students were expected to achieve economic independence from an early age, often in their early teens, and could not maintain their livelihood without taking on some social role.

  In this particular case, for Sorceress—the legitimate daughter of a powerful noble family—the decision to accept or decline the assignment would likely have little impact on her finances. But for Wizard and Necromancer, who had few family ties or support, it was a matter of survival.

  So it was that the three began their mission to escort the villagers of Sheenay Village to safety.

  Sheenay Village lay about two days’ journey southwest from the Academy, and the camp of the Special Task Force was another half-day’s travel to the south from there.

  The three contacted the Health Division to confirm the details of the camp’s deployment, and found that the lady’s description matched the information from the relevant department exactly—evidence that her information was reliable.

  They stopped by the office of the All-Academy Employment and Short-Term Work Placement Bureau to file their official request for leave in order to carry out the assignment. Of course, it would not do to list "Arkham" as the requesting party, but providing false information would quickly be exposed by the Academy’s verification process. According to the lady, writing "Guild, 22-3 South Fifth Street" would suffice, so the three filled in the paperwork accordingly.

  Before long, their request for leave was approved, and the three set about preparing for their journey to Sheenay Village. Water, food, potions, healing elixirs, mana restoratives, changes of clothes, robes, equipment, weapons—the list of necessities was long. Two days after accepting the job at Arkham, the three, now loaded with baggage to the point of resembling walking barrels, assembled at the main gate.

  “It’s about two days’ journey to Sheenay Village from here,” Sorceress observed.

  Necromancer continued, “According to Madame, calculating from their northward progress, the Deadly Choir is expected to appear near Sheenay Village in about ten days. That means, after we arrive, we’ll have roughly a week to focus on evacuating the villagers.”

  “To reach the Special Task Force camp from there should take half a day under normal circumstances—even with a large group and heavy loads, we should be able to make it in a day or two. The camp should have ample supplies and is staffed by the best, so if we can get everyone there safely, their security will be assured,” Wizard said, confirming their plan.

  “Let’s get going, then.”

  With Necromancer taking the lead, the three set out on their mission.

  It was now well into early December. Each day grew colder, and powdery snowflakes drifted down from a sky shrouded in gray. The figures—part travelers, part bundles of baggage—quietly disappeared into the wintry haze. The road ahead was long.

  Section 2: At Sheenay Village

  Scene 1

  They had been walking for quite some time since leaving the Academy. The winter sun had already begun to dip swiftly toward the west, and dusk was settling over the land. Of the two days' journey to Sheenay Village, about half was now behind them. Kettle Cellar was the last sizable town on this route; beyond it, the road quickly became deserted, and unspoiled nature seemed to open its arms in welcome to travelers. The three found themselves surrounded by the forest bordering the highway. Though the path to Sheenay Village was technically maintained, it was not paved and was hardly better than a beast trail. Traveling here after dark would be hazardous, especially since the Deadly Choir had been spotted just south of this region—there was no guarantee they wouldn't run into a patrol or other “Wandering Dead” drawn by Lichie Queen. With this in mind, they decided to make camp before entering the deeper woods.

  “Let’s set up camp here for tonight,” said Sorceress as she set down her pack and surveyed the area. Fortunately, a clear brook ran nearby, providing them with fresh water.

  “Just as you’d expect this time of year, the sun goes down early,” Wizard grumbled, lowering her own pack and starting to gather firewood.

  Necromancer summoned several ghosts, putting them to work helping set up the tents. When Wizard finished collecting wood, she lit the fire with a spell, and the warm glow soon illuminated the darkness that had fallen around them.

  “Let’s eat,” Sorceress announced, hanging a pot over the fire and adding some portable provisions she’d brought along. After briefly sautéing the ingredients, she added water and more supplies, beginning a hearty stew. The main ingredient was chicken, complemented by some vegetables and dried seafood. Soon, the mixture in the pot was bubbling merrily.

  Necromancer, not wanting the fire to go out during the night, set the ghosts who had finished with the tents to gathering more wood.

  As she adjusted the seasoning and hummed softly, Sorceress tended to the stew. Wizard, meanwhile, took the three water bottles and some empty potion flasks to refill them at the brook.

  The winter sky was clear and glassy, like a crystal dome, and beautiful constellations were beginning to trace their patterns across it. The starlight glittered, and moonlight bathed the campsite in its gentle glow.

  “It’s ready,” Sorceress called to the others.

  Although a noble’s daughter, she had been raised with the belief that to command servants properly, one must first understand and experience household tasks oneself. Thanks to her parents' philosophy, she was skilled in cooking, sewing, and cleaning from a young age. Especially in the culinary arts, she had likely been taught by a highly capable chef, for her deftness and seasoning were truly impressive.

  The three of them took out small bowls and spoons from their packs and gathered around the fire to enjoy Sorceress’s proud handiwork. Though most of the ingredients were preserved or dried, her touch transformed the simple stew into a delicious meal, fully satisfying their hunger after a long day’s march.

  They opened a bottle of wine. In this magical society, drinking was generally forbidden to those under twenty, but from the age of sixteen, moderate consumption of wine or beer was permitted.

  After rinsing their bowls with the clear water Wizard had brought, they poured the wine and toasted. The wine was a farewell gift from the lady, said to aid in the recovery of stamina and magical power.

  “To the success of our journey!”

  They raised their bowls. The wine’s tartness and alcohol soothed the fatigue of the day. Each had another cup, gradually growing mellow with drink.

  Their conversation was that of girls their age, but none of them seemed particularly interested in romance, so talk of love did not arise.

  Instead, they chatted enthusiastically about fashion, clothing, favorite shops, and foods—about the strange teas served at Arkham, which could be found nowhere else, and the rare old-fashioned sweets the lady sometimes brought as gifts. Their stories and laughter seemed endless.

  A bit tipsy, the three of them huddled close together, with Necromancer in the middle, sharing warmth and singing old children’s songs. Nearby, the ghosts kept the fire going with freshly gathered wood.

  As night deepened, Necromancer stationed several ghosts as sentries and summoned a few stronger undead to guard the tents.

  In this magical society, the undead were closely intertwined with everyday life—almost like neighbors. Though they could become dangerous “Wandering Dead” if left uncontrolled, as long as their summoner or creator retained command, they were extremely useful as laborers, and sometimes even as soldiers, serving an essential role in magical society. That was why, when the undead turned hostile as in the case of the Deadly Choir, it was seen as a particularly immediate and terrifying threat.

  The three lay down in their tent, reviewed the plans for the next day, and soon fell asleep—their journey was far from over.

  The moon drifted slowly across the heavens, weaving between the stars and constellations. The world grew ever more silent, with only the occasional distant howl of a beast serving to underscore the stillness.

  Scene 2

  The next morning dawned clear and bright. Mist rose from the stream nearby, catching the light of the winter sun and shimmering like a veil of diamonds. Though it was still early, the three hurried to prepare for departure, eager to reach Sheenay as soon as possible in case of unforeseen trouble. While the ghosts packed up the tents and sleeping bags, the three washed their faces in the fresh water, wiped down quickly with hand towels, and returned to the fire. There, a diligent ghost had kept watch all night, ensuring the fire never went out.

  Using that fire, they boiled water, prepared instant coffee, and poured it into the same bowls as the night before for a simple breakfast. Their meal consisted of hardtack, dried meat, and some magically preserved vegetables—simple but sufficient for the day’s first nourishment.

  Warming themselves with the coffee, they went over their plans. Barring any complications, they expected to reach Sheenay Village by evening, where they would either find lodging or camp, and begin explaining the situation and organizing the evacuation the next day. It would be another long day of walking. Once they finished their coffee, they packed away their bowls, made sure the fire was completely out, shouldered their heavy packs, and set out again.

  It would have been easier to let the ghosts carry the luggage, but they were extremely averse to sunlight. Too much exposure would reduce them to ash, so in principle, they could only be used after sunset or indoors. Corporeal undead, on the other hand, didn’t have to fear sunlight turning them to ash, but their bodies, being in a constant state of decay, were too fragile for heavy loads and often fell apart without warning. To avoid such problems, the three decided to carry their belongings themselves, however burdensome it might be.

  The sun traveled from east to south and then to west, as if propelled by the girls’ steady march across the sky. By the time the impatient winter sun was about to touch the horizon, the landscape before them shifted from untouched wilderness to a scenery shaped by human hands. They had reached the outskirts of Sheenay Village. For now, there were only fields and paddies lining the roadside, and houses were sparse, but within an hour, they reached the heart of the village.

  A cluster of thatched cottages, it radiated a sense of life and energy, the vibrancy of its people palpable even from a distance.

  On the road, they asked a villager for directions to the village chief’s house, and made their way there. The sun was now fully westward, and the first evening star was twinkling in the blue-violet sky.

  “Excuse us,” Sorceress said, knocking on the door as instructed.

  They expected the village chief to be an elderly person, but the woman who answered was in her early forties, with short chestnut hair, striking blue-green eyes, and a beautiful face.

  “Welcome. Are you travelers?” the woman asked.

  “Yes. We have been dispatched by the Guild to ensure everyone’s safety from the Deadly Choir, who are moving north along the western coastal border,” Sorceress explained succinctly.

  “I see. Come in, then—it’s cold out here,” the woman replied, inviting them into her home.

  The cottage, though small and thatched, was neat, tidy, and filled with a sense of warmth. The aroma of a stew simmering on the stove filled the room, awakening their hunger and spirits.

  The woman invited them to sit at the table and joined them. There were six chairs around the table, but apart from the one she usually used, the rest were thickly covered in dust. The three brushed off the seats with their sleeves before sitting down.

  “I’m just finishing up supper, so please wait a moment,” she called from the kitchen.

  “Please, don’t trouble yourself,” Sorceress replied.

  “It’s nothing much, but…”

  The woman brought over a large pot of stew and placed it on the table.

  “We mustn’t trouble you. We’ll be leaving as soon as we’ve delivered our message,” Sorceress protested, but Wizard’s eyes were already riveted to the pot.

  “Don’t be silly. I live alone, and I often cook several days’ worth at once. You’re in luck—I just made plenty today. There’s nothing lonelier than eating by yourself, so please, join me as company,” the woman insisted, serving the stew into bowls. Wizard’s amber eyes sparkled with anticipation.

  “In that case, please allow us to return the favor…”

  Necromancer produced an unopened bottle of wine from her pack.

  “That’s wonderful. Let’s share it, then,” the woman said, bringing four wooden cups from the kitchen.

  Necromancer poured the wine. The aroma of the woman’s stew mixed with the scent of the wine, whetting everyone’s appetite, including their host, whom they’d just met.

  Before eating, the four introduced themselves. The woman’s name was Nelly. Until the year before last, her father had been the village chief, but he and several companions had perished in an encounter with Wandering Dead while out hunting. Since then, Nelly had taken on the role of village chief by popular vote.

  The meal prepared by Chief Nelly and the wine brought by Necromancer made for a cheerful table. The stew, simmered with rabbit meat, was so tender it melted in their mouths, its slightly bold seasoning captivating their taste buds and soothing the weariness of travel.

  “So then,” Sorceress began before the wine could dull her wits,

  “You’ve heard about the Deadly Choir, haven’t you?”

  “Oh, certainly. Not long ago, another settlement a ways south was attacked,” Nelly replied with a sigh, swirling her wine. She was likely referring to the Otten Dott skirmish, where twelve members of the Argent Gun Corps had lost their lives. News traveling so quickly, even to this frontier, spoke to the encroaching threat.

  “In fact, the Deadly Choir is advancing north along the coast, and based on their speed, we estimate they will appear in the vicinity of Sheenay Village in about eight days. At the request of the Guild at 22-3 South Fifth Street, we are here to ensure your safety,” Sorceress explained clearly as ever.

  “‘22-3 South Fifth Street Guild?’ Never heard of it,” Chief Nelly said, cocking her head with a cup in hand. Not surprising, since the three themselves had no idea if such a guild truly existed, but they could hardly say they’d been dispatched by Arkham.

  “Please look at this,” Necromancer said, pulling out an official-looking scroll from her pack. It was a letter of assignment or certificate of duty—supposedly from the ‘22-3 South Fifth Street Guild’—which the lady had entrusted to her for identity verification if needed.

  “This certificate looks genuine enough. Well, there are all sorts of guilds in magical society. As long as you’re not from a suspicious one, I have no problem. So, what do you want us to do?” Nelly asked.

  “Unfortunately, the Deadly Choir’s forces are only growing. If the reports are correct and they appear here, there will be no way to resist them.”

  “Indeed,” Nelly replied, sipping her wine.

  “However, the Academy Special Task Force is currently encamped about half a day south of here. First, we’d like everyone in the village to move there, and then, under Academy guidance, proceed to the disaster relief center set up in the city.”

  “You’re telling us to abandon our village?” Nelly asked, her tone heavy.

  “I’m afraid so,” Sorceress replied, voice clouded.

  “I’ve heard rumors that the government military might soon organize a separate force from the Academy—any chance of help from them?”

  “At present, negotiations between the government and the Academy are at an impasse. There is little hope of receiving enough reinforcements to defend the village within the next eight days.”

  “I see…” Chief Nelly lowered her gaze.

  “We will provide every assistance and support possible. So please, understand our position.”

  “You’re right. I’ll call a meeting tomorrow and tell everyone what you’ve said. But…” Nelly’s voice trailed off.

  “I’m still young, you see. Well, compared to you, I must seem much older, but to be honest, I lack a bit of authority for a village chief. I’m afraid there will be villagers who won’t listen to me, and persuading them could be difficult.”

  She took another sip of wine.

  “In that case, we will also help explain and persuade the villagers,” Sorceress said. Necromancer and Wizard nodded firmly.

  “That would help. If it’s you, they might listen. After all, you came all the way to this remote place, risking your lives. No one could blame them for trusting you,” Nelly said, finishing her cup.

  By then, it was late. Probably past nine in the evening.

  “What will you do tonight?” Chief Nelly asked.

  “We planned to camp somewhere suitable,” Sorceress replied.

  “In this cold?”

  “Yes, we spent last night in the forest. We’re prepared, so you needn’t worry.”

  “But I’d feel bad sending you out into the cold after you came all this way,” Nelly said, tilting her head in concern.

  “I got rid of my father’s and grandfather’s beds, so you’ll have to sleep on the floor, but it’s still better than outside. If you’d like, you’re welcome to stay.”

  “But…” Sorceress hesitated. Guild regulations required them, whenever possible, not to trouble locals during assignments, and to be self-reliant except in emergencies.

  “I know the guild rules—my mother was a sorceress too. But no one will mind if you don’t mention it, and I certainly don’t see you as a bother. It’s wise to heed the advice of your elders,” Nelly said, fetching some blankets from a cupboard and handing them over.

  “Thank you. Then, we will gratefully accept your hospitality,” Sorceress replied, bowing politely.

  “There’s no bath in this house, but there’s a water basin in the back where you can wash your face and hands. I’ll be going to bed now. See you tomorrow,” Nelly said, disappearing into the shadows of her bedroom.

  The three washed up at the water basin as instructed, wiped down with their towels, and bundled themselves in the blankets to sleep.

  Sorceress found herself thinking of Nelly—of the pressure to lead a village at such a young age. She too, as the legitimate daughter of a renowned noble family, had often found herself suffocated by others’ expectations. Meeting those expectations could be rewarding, but failing them sometimes brought unintended consequences.

  As she watched silver sand drift across her mind’s eye, upon the backdrop of beautiful golden eyes, she remembered the incident with Hannah long ago.

  Her consciousness quietly drifted into sleep. Soon, even the silver sand was gone.

  Scene 3

  The next morning, Chief Nelly rose at dawn and went from house to house, notifying everyone of an emergency meeting to be held at noon. Even in a small village like this, there were enough homes that it took her no less than two hours to visit them all.

  Sorceress and Necromancer had received permission from Nelly to use her kitchen while she was out, and they busied themselves preparing breakfast. Meanwhile, Wizard went out on her own to thoroughly inspect the village, considering escape routes and contingencies in the event of an attack.

  It was nearly nine o’clock by the time they sat down for a late breakfast. Bread, bacon, eggs, salad, coffee—an array of dishes brightened the table. Just as preparations were finished, Chief Nelly and Wizard returned.

  “This is wonderful! It’s been years since I’ve had such a proper breakfast,” Chief Nelly exclaimed.

  “Welcome back. How was it?” Sorceress asked Wizard.

  “If we close the main gate and have the villagers leave gradually through the rear, we should be fine. All that’s left is the timing. We have about seven days. If preparations for the move are finished in three or four, we can get everyone to the camp safely,” Wizard reported.

  “All right, everyone, let’s eat,” said Necromancer, bringing a fresh pot of tea from the kitchen. They each took their seats, and breakfast began.

  “So, how did the meeting go?” Sorceress asked.

  “It’s set for noon. Every household will participate. The only question is whether I can get everyone on board,” Nelly replied, washing down her bread with coffee.

  After breakfast and the necessary cleanup, noon drew closer. The four carefully reviewed what to say to the villagers, the order of points, and how to present their proposal. At 11:30, they headed to the village meeting hall.

  The hall was a converted old Raphael church, large enough to accommodate forty or fifty people. When the four arrived, several villagers were already inside, waiting.

  “Thank you all for coming,” Chief Nelly said, making her way around to greet everyone. Among them was a middle-aged man who turned his head away rather than acknowledge her greeting. Unbothered, Nelly went to what had once been the pulpit and composed herself.

  Before long, it was noon, and the villagers gathered, filling the hall with a subdued murmur.

  “Everyone, please listen,” Chief Nelly began. “According to these young sorceresses dispatched by the Guild, the Deadly Choir is expected to appear near our village within the week. Their numbers and strength are beyond anything we can resist. So I want us all to relocate south, to the Academy’s camp.”

  The hall erupted in anxious chatter as villagers exchanged uneasy glances.

  “I understand your concerns,” Nelly continued. “Of course, I want to protect this village, too. But we’re up against the Deadly Choir. Not long ago, a southern settlement was attacked, and even an Academy special unit stationed there was wiped out. Leaving our homes is frightening, but if we’re killed, nothing else will matter. So as your chief, I beg you—let’s leave here and move south!”

  Even before she finished, a voice rang out.

  “You want us to abandon our village?”

  It was the same man who’d snubbed Nelly earlier.

  “You say the Deadly Choir is coming, but has anyone actually seen them? There haven’t been any Wandering Dead here in months. You’re just paranoid because your own father was killed by them.”

  He went on, “Listen, everyone—this village has been protected by our ancestors for generations. Let’s stay and stand our ground!”

  Some of the villagers cheered and applauded, while others—believing that survival was paramount—agreed with the chief that it would be wise to flee. The discussion quickly devolved into a noisy, disordered debate.

  Seeing things weren’t settling, Chief Nelly decided to hold a vote. The result: 21 in favor, 18 opposed, and 7 undecided—a deeply divided outcome.

  Sorceress and Necromancer then explained in detail: the impossibility of resisting with their current forces, the unlikelihood of reinforcements from the government or Academy, the limited time remaining, and the security and shelter provided at the disaster relief center. After this second vote, the numbers shifted: 30 in favor, 11 opposed, and 5 undecided.

  Yet some opponents remained adamant, refusing to leave under any circumstances. Debate reached a complete deadlock. Nelly tried declaring it an official chief’s decision, but the opposition wouldn’t yield. Fortunately, the undecided group indicated they would side with the majority. For the time being, it was decided that Wizard and Necromancer would begin organizing the supporters for evacuation, while Nelly and Sorceress would focus on fortifying the village.

  By now, the winter sun was low in the west, bathing the old Raphael church in deep orange light. The three caught a fleeting glimpse of a familiar color in the eyes of the villagers there.

  Chief Nelly offered the three the use of an old mill with a watchtower—no longer in use—as their temporary base of operations. Thanks to this, they secured a headquarters for their preparations. The mill, built of stone, was full of flour dust and cobwebs, but Necromancer’s summoned ghosts worked hard to clean it up, making it barely habitable. Wizard drew a map of the village on parchment, beginning to plan their defensive strategy.

  When Nelly handed them the keys, her parting words—“Sorry for the trouble”—struck each of them like a thorn in the heart.

  By the time they finished cleaning and setting up, the winter sun had set completely. It was past 10 p.m. by the time the three sat down to a simple dinner of hardtack, dried meat, and a few pickled foods. Their beds were nothing but blankets provided by Nelly on the hard stone floor, but the mill’s fireplace had a chimney, and Wizard prepared a fire to ward off the cold.

  The moon shone high in the night sky, surrounded by the winter constellations. From the next day, their already limited numbers would be split between two teams for the mission. With tension mounting, the three quietly drifted off to sleep.

  Author Note:

  Chapter 4B—will be released this Friday at 10:00 PM (JST) / 6:00 AM (PDT).

  Thank you for reading, and I hope you’ll enjoy what comes next!