Chapter 12
Temple of the Fallen Throne (2)
“Oh.”
Kaspar was taken aback.
The result was completely unexpected.
“Ugh.”
A thin stream of blood ran from the corner of Jerpet’s mouth.
He tried to keep his buckling knees steady by forcing strength into them, but the impact had apparently been considerable. He struggled to regain his balance.
That single blow actually worked?
Judging by the magic he had demonstrated, his history, and everything Kaspar had heard about him, Jerpet was undoubtedly a highly accomplished mage.
But I didn’t expect one Claw of the Wild to leave him this disoriented.
“Enough! Stop playing your tricks!”
Jerpet shook his head violently, as though refusing to accept Kaspar’s answer.
“The Beast Walkers were tribes that ruled the world in primordial times! They hate civilization so deeply that they seek to summon their beast god and bring civilization to an end!”
Did I overestimate him?
Jerpet would have had much to say if he had heard that thought. He had only barely defended himself by drawing together every piece of metal he could find.
At present, however, he appeared badly shaken. He merely breathed heavily while staring intently at Kaspar.
“…You.”
“…?”
“What are you? How can you use a monster’s… No, a Rathead’s magic?”
“…”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know. That was unquestionably an offensive spell used by Beast Walker shamans. How can a human like you use their magic?”
“As I told you, I’ve had many teachers—”
Jerpet’s eyes were bloodshot with excitement.
“And you expect me to believe they taught their magic to a human? Don’t make me laugh… Could it be?”
Jerpet, who had been spitting out his words indignantly, suddenly flinched.
“…Could it be?”
His mind raced furiously.
Kaspar had never attacked him and had consistently remained on the defensive.
He had personally claimed to possess numerous teachers, all of whom had been hostile toward him.
And then there was the way he had stared at and carefully observed Jerpet’s magic.
Those three fragments of information combined into a terrifying realization.
Could he be absorbing my magic right now—
No. That was impossible!
“Bullshit! That’s complete bullshit!”
A shout somewhere between a curse and a scream erupted from Jerpet.
His eyes widened as he glared at Kaspar as though he wanted to devour him.
Jerpet denied and rejected the conclusion he had reached.
But he could not suppress the emotions that conclusion had created.
It was the existential terror of having everything he possessed absorbed by someone else.
To drive away that primal fear, immense aggression rapidly consumed Jerpet’s reason.
His lips began murmuring something in a somber tone.
Whoooosh.
Another powerful wave of mana swept through the room.
Kaspar raised his shield with delight instead.
“Just as I thought.”
A certain amount of pressure was necessary for a person to draw out everything they possessed.
***
Ten minutes later.
Jerpet was unleashing spells with terrifying intensity.
If Kaspar truly could learn his magic, then Jerpet intended to crush him before he had the opportunity.
The shock waves alone were powerful enough to shake the workshop’s stone walls.
Yet Kaspar’s shield did not move in the slightest.
It was as tranquil as though it stood in the middle of a silent plain.
Jerpet’s face, meanwhile, steadily turned pale.
“Y-You… Iron Claw!”
Long claws of steel shot outward, their sharpened edges gleaming.
But they failed to penetrate Kaspar’s shield and scattered helplessly.
Nevertheless, Jerpet refused to surrender and continued pouring out spell after spell.
“Impossible… Huff… Huff… This is impossible.”
Jerpet breathed heavily and trembled as though he might collapse at any moment.
His vision swam.
It felt as though his lungs might burst at any second.
These were the consequences of casting too many spells beyond his limits.
The strain upon his body increased with every passing moment.
His reason screamed at him to rest immediately, but Jerpet had no opportunity to do so.
Beyond the shield stood a boy whose appearance had not changed in the slightest since entering the room.
His breathing remained perfectly even, and his expression was calm.
As a mage, Jerpet understood better than anyone how utterly absurd that was.
Just how much mana does he possess?
Jerpet would never have believed it if he had not witnessed it himself.
“Do you have any more?”
Kaspar asked from beyond the shield.
His eyes overflowed with curiosity and anticipation, as though hoping Jerpet would show him yet another spell.
Jerpet gritted his teeth.
He tried to chant another incantation, but soon clutched his chest and sank to the floor.
It was a warning.
The mana core he had stored near his heart had been completely depleted.
“You… monster.”
Jerpet had exhausted the ambient mana in the air, mana potions, enchanted items designed to supply magical power, and even the emergency mana core he had inscribed upon himself.
He had gathered and poured out every last bit of it.
Yet Kaspar was still urging him onward with a perfectly composed expression.
“Ah… Should I use it one more time after all?”
“…What?”
Even through the excruciating pain, Jerpet understood one thing with absolute clarity.
He’s been holding back against me?
The Claw of the Wild emerged from Kaspar’s arm and struck Jerpet.
“Gah!”
Considering its previous power, there was no possibility that the attack should have ended with Jerpet merely coughing up some blood.
Jerpet had not even managed to deploy defensive magic.
By all rights, the blow should have killed him instantly.
“Do you truly have nothing else?”
Dark-green eyes gleamed within the shadows as they questioned him.
Jerpet’s instincts screamed a warning.
That boy was far beyond anything he could handle.
His mana was overwhelming.
Jerpet vomited a mouthful of blood.
His body trembled uncontrollably. Attacking was meaningless now, and defending himself would be equally useless.
He had completely exhausted every source of mana available to him.
“So you don’t.”
Kaspar sounded disappointed.
A moment later, the Claw of the Wild emerged once again.
This time, it felt different.
It was saturated with mana.
The thought of death flashed through Jerpet’s mind.
I’m going to die? Me?
Here, like this? Before I can even take revenge on those bastards from the Metal Magic Tower? I’m going to die in this wretched refugee camp because of some lunatic who appeared out of nowhere?
“Haha. Hahaha! Do you think I’ll let myself end here like this? Enough of your bullshit!”
Kaspar’s face brightened.
“Do you have another spell?”
“…”
Jerpet’s laughter stopped.
With a horrified expression, he pressed against the wall behind him.
A hidden door opened, and he threw himself into the concealed space beyond it.
“Oh.”
“Puh… Hehe.”
Jerpet laughed in disbelief.
It felt as if someone were playing an exceptionally cruel joke on him.
“Ahahaha… Hahaha! Don’t make me laugh! Hahahaha!”
Jerpet’s maniacal laughter echoed through the passage.
Kaspar clicked his tongue.
He had not expected there to be a secret door.
But there was no time to hesitate.
Afraid Jerpet might escape, Kaspar immediately stepped through the doorway.
Jerpet and Kaspar disappeared from the workshop.
The children and overseers standing near the entrance stared blankly after them.
“There’s definitely… something underground…”
At someone’s muttered words, the overseers’ faces abruptly turned pale.
“Get out!”
“Get out of here, quickly!”
“You sluggish brats! You can’t stay here! Hurry up and run!”
Their voices were urgent.
The overseers had been whipping the children only moments earlier, yet now they all rushed toward the exit while frantically urging the children along.
“Light.”
Relying on his magical illumination, Kaspar descended the stone staircase.
What unfolded before him was a vast chamber—or rather, a ritual hall.
A circular magic formation had been inscribed into the floor at its center.
The formation consisted of symbols resembling letters.
They were absurdly tiny and densely packed compared to the size of the circle, making it difficult even for Kaspar to memorize them at a glance.
Meaningless scribbles had been scrawled chaotically across the walls, while yellowed papers lay scattered haphazardly around the magic formation.
To get as far away from what lay beneath the building as quickly as possible.
And there he was, standing in the corner.
Beyond the hidden door, a staircase led underground.
“There you are.”
“…So you followed me all the way here.”
Jerpet stepped forward. Perhaps the brief respite had allowed him to recover slightly, because his expression was considerably calmer.
“Just as I thought. This is the ritual chamber. You were trying to summon the Fallen Throne here—”
Jerpet’s lips curled upward when he saw Kaspar’s realization.
“You recovered quickly.”
“I drank every potion I had. I feel somewhat alive again.”
His eyes, however, were blazing intensely.
Kaspar’s face brightened once more.
“So you did have one final trump card.”
Surprisingly, Jerpet did not lose his temper.
“…Indeed, I do. One that a bastard like you could never imagine.”
Instead, he smiled with the confidence of a victor and puffed himself up.
Jerpet spread his arms and shouted,
“Welcome to the Chamber of Resurrection, arrogant child! This place will become your grave!”
“Could it be?”
“At least you aren’t completely incapable of understanding the situation. But…”
Jerpet raised his head proudly toward the ceiling.
“You are already too late, Kaspar.”
Jerpet acknowledged it.
Though he could not bring himself to say it aloud, Kaspar was an unprecedented monster.
It was infuriating, but Kaspar was someone Jerpet could never hope to overcome with his own strength.
Then I merely need to borrow someone else’s power.
Having devised this plan, Jerpet grinned and opened his mouth.
A low, somber voice that was difficult to describe flowed from him.
Woooooo—
The magic formation behind Kaspar began emitting light.
It was a deep crimson, thick and vivid like fresh blood.
The first thing Kaspar noticed was the scent of flowers.
It was as though the ritual chamber had filled with roses possessing an unbearably powerful fragrance. The intense yet strangely sinister aroma poured into his nostrils.
“…This is…”
Next, the darkness moved.
No—it was the shadows.
Using the shadows cast across the floor and walls as their stems, sharp black thorns writhed and rose.
Dong… Dong… Dong…
The faint sound of wedding bells rang from somewhere far away, echoing endlessly throughout the underground chamber.
Rather than blessing or happiness, their sound carried nothing but sorrow and grief, making it profoundly ominous.
It felt like an ill omen heralding some ancient wedding.
Jerpet hurriedly reached toward the table beside him.
Dream powder… I need the dream powder!
The ritual had succeeded.
The Fallen Throne’s lingering consciousness would soon descend upon this place.
Before that happened, he had to inhale the complete dream powder.
If a human witnessed the consciousness of a higher being while fully lucid, the mind would be unable to endure it, resulting in death.
Only by entering a trance through dream powder could he prevent himself from becoming brain-dead.
That was why he had supplied dream powder to the vermin of the refugee camp.
To create dream powder of even greater purity.
The entire refugee camp had effectively been one enormous laboratory filled with human test subjects.
Meanwhile, new shadows sprouting from the thorns crept toward the magic formation radiating crimson light.
“Ugh.”
Jerpet’s mind was already growing faint.
His consciousness flickered without pause.
A groan escaped his lips as pain pierced his brain, as though countless tiny thorns were growing inside it.
It was vicious.
The Fallen Throne had not even fully descended, yet its presence was already this overwhelming.
But…
Jerpet smiled.
This would bring everything to an end.
Even that monstrous boy could not withstand the descent of a Fallen Throne.
The shadows gathered within the magic formation, each one forming a single rose.
There were not merely one or two.
Dozens of roses bloomed across the formation as though embroidering its surface, only to wither.
Then new roses emerged between the withered flowers.
Blooming and dying, blooming and dying—the black roses multiplied through an endless cycle of life and death.
The petals gathered together and began forming the shape of an enormous bell.
Something descended beneath that bell.
A foot.
A living foot.
A pale, cold, bare foot.
It carefully stepped into the center of the roses blooming beneath it.
At that moment, the bell formed from roses shattered into fragments.
Amid the scattering petals, a bride appeared.
Despite the black veil covering her, she exuded a dignified and captivating aura.
Black, thorn-covered vines rose behind her, curling around her body.
“Aaargh!”
Jerpet desperately tried to pour the dream powder into his mouth.
“Ignite.”
Fwoosh!
Feeling as though his consciousness were being torn apart, Jerpet hurriedly opened the pouch containing the dream powder.
Fool! I became so entranced that I merely stood there watching!
Drops of blood from his nose fell onto the medicine pouch.
Unexpected tears streamed down his cheeks—only for him to realize that they, too, were blood.
I have to… inhale it.
I need to enter a trance quickly. I must dull my sense of self and protect it.
The medicine pouch was instantly engulfed in flames.
Jerpet screamed and shook it from his hand. He stared hollowly at the burning pouch before grinding his teeth and raising his head.
His furious expression quickly transformed into one of astonishment.
“H-How…?”
Kaspar was staring at him with a perfectly normal expression.
“Ah, I just had a feeling that I shouldn’t let you take it.”
“Why?! Why are you—?! Gah!”
Jerpet vomited blood and collapsed.
An impossible sight unfolded before him—the vivid moment when the natural order itself shattered.
“Ghhrrngh… aaagh…”
He tried to say something, but his language disintegrated.
Terrified, Jerpet desperately attempted to gather his consciousness and prevent even his identity from collapsing.
But he had already reached his limit.
His body went limp like a puppet whose strings had been cut, entirely independent of his will.
Everything was paralyzed, as though he had become trapped inside the prison of his own body.
Frozen in place while involuntarily staring at Kaspar, Jerpet witnessed an even more unbelievable sight.
“Ah, I see… The Bride of Black Roses. So that is your epithet, Lady Fallen Throne. My name? Ah, my name is Kaspar—Kaspar Hauser.”
Kaspar was casually conversing with the higher being.
—You are beautiful, Kaspar.
“Thank you. No one has ever complimented me like that before.”
—You look surprised.
“Ah, yes. I didn’t expect that we would be able to understand each other.”
Based on Jerpet’s explanation, Kaspar had expected something else entirely.
He had imagined a terrifying being so desperate to restore itself that it would attempt to devour every consciousness it encountered.
But she was nothing like that.
The bride beneath the pale veil was unimaginably beautiful.
Her blue, jewel-like eyes were dazzling, as though they contained the ocean Kaspar had only ever heard about.
Three thousand strands of silver hair cascaded over her shoulders like a glittering waterfall.
Her otherworldly beauty intertwined with an aura that was not merely composed but slightly cold, creating a strangely transcendent presence.
“Why do you like me?”
Yet Kaspar was no ordinary person.
Seemingly unaffected, he asked his question in the same even tone as before.
At the very least, she did not feel like a predator that devoured others indiscriminately.
—Normally, that would be true.
Jerpet’s mind began scattering once more.
He tried to gather it in terror, but it was useless. His consciousness slipped away like sand falling between his fingers.
After hearing from Kaspar what Jerpet had told him, the Bride of Black Roses unexpectedly smiled and nodded.
“Then… why am I still all right?”
—Because you have caught my interest, Kaspar.
Her voice was soft and gentle, capable of stripping away the defenses of anyone who heard it.
Ordinarily, that was what would have happened.
Anyone else would have smiled vacantly, worn a dreaming expression, and stared longingly at the bride’s face.
The grotesque tolling of bells echoed through Jerpet’s mind.
His consciousness filled with dense fragrance and black thorns until he could no longer think.
Even then, the same scene remained reflected in his eyes.
Kaspar stood facing the bride in the black veil.
He nodded and murmured as though genuinely conversing with the Fallen Throne.
The Bride of Black Roses had her face completely wrapped in white bandages, preventing anyone from seeing her bare features.
It was exactly how the legends described her.
Under normal circumstances, Jerpet would have demanded to know what Kaspar was hearing and responding to when neither a voice nor even the movement of lips came from beneath those bandages.
But with half his brain already dead, no questions arose within him.
No emotions surfaced.
His memories scattered into darkness.
The roses filling his mind began to bloom.
Black roses sprouted in dense clusters across Jerpet’s aged body like flowers of the underworld.
Dong… Dong… Dong…
No trace of the old mage’s body remained anywhere.
That was the end of Jerpet—the exile of the Metal Magic Tower, ruler of the refugee camp’s southeastern district, and the man known as the Dream Merchant.
The black petals that had surged upward scattered.
They fluttered gently downward like petals celebrating a wedding.
Amid them stood Kaspar, facing the Bride of Black Roses.
—Kaspar.
“Yes?”
The liberated tolling of oblivion’s bells echoed faintly in Jerpet’s brain-dead ears.
Whoooosh.
A wind that could not possibly exist so deep underground blew from somewhere, lifting the mound of roses that had once been Jerpet and scattering it into the air.
—Will you enter into a covenant with me?