Whimper, whimper.
Thwack, thwack.
An axe hacked at the wooden door, the child hiding in the dilapidated warehouse stifling sobs.
Moonlight poured into the warehouse, accompanied by a round, smooth, slightly deformed face.
"Piggy Johnny? I'm coming in~"
"Aaahhh!"
"Stop, Gilles!"
Jeanne, one arm cradling Reines, swung her banner with the other.
She leaped, her banner fluttering, and smashed it down.
A black mist enveloped Gilles, and his figure vanished, reappearing some thirty feet away.
"Ohhh, my holy maiden! You're as beautiful as ever. How does it feel? This splendid banquet?"
"Gilles, you've fallen to vile sorcery. Stop this! Don't further tarnish your past glory."
Jeanne pointed her banner at Gilles, her eyes blazing with anger and disappointment. She couldn't forgive her former comrade—not for betraying God, but for humanity's sake. No one could condone a fiend who preyed on children.
"Oh, Jeanne, how wonderful to see you again! But... I'll free you from God's control, set you truly free!"
Gilles' face twisted into a manic grin, his eyes bulging like a frog's.
Boom!
Blood erupted from the warehouse to the right, splattering Jeanne's fair face.
An octopus-like monster lunged at her, claws and tentacles flailing.
Shink!
Jeanne's banner pierced it like a lance, pinning it dead.
She stared at Gilles in silence, her eyes devoid of mercy or pity—only rage remained.
"Gilles!"
Jeanne roared, her fury unprecedented. Even when burned for abandoning God or betrayed by her nation, she had never felt such wrath.
"That's it, Jeanne... enjoy this feast! Hahaha!"
Black mist shrouded Gilles again, and he vanished.
"Really... taking pleasure in slaughter? Even for someone like me, who assumes they're inherently vile, this is nauseating!"
Mages pursued the Root, a distant goal requiring superhuman effort. To become a mage demanded more than ordinary dedication; reaching the Root required even greater sacrifice.
The greatest obstacle wasn't enemies or talent—it was loneliness.
A day, ten days, a hundred days, a year, a decade...
Mages clung to their dream of the Root, pressing forward alone. Endless solitude could twist everything.
Mind, thought, body, even ideals.
Magic's foundation lay in accumulation, making ancient mage families stronger and long-lived mages more powerful.
For mage families, time warped ideals into obsessions, like maggots burrowing into each generation's heirs.
For mages, prolonged solitude twisted their will. Rationality became an obsession to sustain them, turning them into monsters.
Yet, there were ways to alleviate loneliness.
Though the path of magic was solitary, humans had a natural remedy: "pleasure."
The easiest way to find pleasure was to witness others' suffering.
Ancient mages, unbound by morality, sought to relish others' pain, even orchestrating it for their own delight.
Reines was a born mage, seemingly devoid of morality from birth. She thrived on others' suffering for her pleasure.
If this were an art...
Reines was a natural master. But Gilles' methods, which even she despised, were nothing but repulsive grandstanding.
In Reines' eyes, Gilles was a clown—a disgusting, inept one. Not only did he fail to amuse, but he also provoked revulsion.
...
In a certain sewer...
"Ugh, this stinks. Rider, is that Gilles guy here?"
Waver, guided by a faint trace of mana, followed the water flow to Gilles and Ryunosuke's hideout.
The stench was overwhelming, a choking, fishy odor.
Waver channeled mana, preparing a simple "Light" spell to survey the area.
But...
A hand covered his eyes, and Iskandar's heavy voice followed. "Kid... I'd advise against looking."
"What are you talking about? If Gilles isn't here, shouldn't we investigate for clues?"
Since Iskandar showed no caution toward a Servant, Gilles was likely absent. As a Master, further tracking was logical.
"...Kid, I get it, but let it go. This is beyond what you can handle..."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Waver, indignant, cast his "Illumination" spell. A capsule in his hand ignited green flames, which he tossed, sticking to the ceiling and lighting the surroundings.
Waver hopped off the chariot, inspecting...
His step splashed blood onto his face.
"...Urgh..."
Blood coated the concrete, forming pools. Mangled children's corpses soaked in it, too gruesome to behold.
As Iskandar warned, this was indeed beyond Waver's current capacity.
"Damn it... this is infuriating!"
Ripples spread through the blood, footsteps approaching.
Under the light, a man Waver didn't recognize appeared. His unremarkable features were overshadowed by an indescribable presence.
"Rider and his Master? Your noses are sharp."
"Careful, kid. He's dangerous. Are you Caster?"
Iskandar sensed a threat, like a gun pressed to an ordinary person's back.
Or like an ice spike piercing one's core in freezing cold.
***
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