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A lukewarm breeze brushed against my cheek.
The cityscape before me vanished, replaced in an instant by the lush, overgrown entrance of a labyrinth.
“Is this the place, Orun?”
Fuuka stood beside me, eyes fixed on the maw of the dungeon as she asked for confirmation.
“Yeah. Their plan is to gather the magic beasts here and teleport directly into the Tsutrail Explorer Guild.”
Just as Amunzaas could move between locations using the teleportation circles in the Downing Trading Company’s branches, the Cyclamen Cult had their own network. They didn't rely solely on Explorer Guilds; they used the Labyrinth Cores nestled in the deepest parts of the world's mazes to facilitate their travel.
Apparently, not every labyrinth functioned this way, but the Cult possessed the means to leap from one to another.
However, I had already tampered with the circle in Tsutrail. Their destination was effectively severed. Unaware of this, they would attempt the jump just as they had done before. During their previous assault, they had teleported to a labyrinth slightly outside the city—the one where Gary had triggered a stampede—and then marched into Tsutrail on foot.
This time, I had no intention of letting them go anywhere.
I was going to crush them—Rasetsu and The War Ogre—right here.
I’d already deployed a barrier across the entire island to jam any teleportation attempts.
“...We can’t let them overrun Tsutrail again. Let’s do this, Fuuka.”
“Ready when you are.”
I allowed the rage I’d kept buried deep within my heart to surface as I traced a magic circle in the air. This wasn't a showy, superficial construct like the one I’d used to destroy the Tsutrail detention center.
This was a genuine magic circle.
This was magic on a scale restricted by the Principles of Magic—a spell deemed so volatile it could threaten the very stability of the world. Through this circle, I was forcing its manifestation into our reality.
Well, Titania had used it recently, so one more activation shouldn't break anything.
Obsidian mana coalesced into a single point. The air around it began to warp and groan.
“—[Black Night of the Underworld: Erebus]!”
Upon the spell’s activation, a pillar of jet-black mana erupted from the sky, piercing the earth.
Normally, labyrinths existed in separate dimensions. No matter how deep one dug into the soil, they would never break into the dungeon floors. But this magic forcibly synchronized those disparate spaces, bridging the gap between worlds.
The darkness surged downward, swallowing the red-robed figures waiting at the bottom of the abyss.
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“...How strange,” Stieg Strom, the Rasetsu, muttered. He held his hand over the Labyrinth Core, his brow furrowed.
“The hell are you doing? Just jump us already!” Zimon Ogre, The War Ogre, barked at his companion.
“Believe me, I am trying. However... I cannot designate Tsutrail as a destination.”
“Huh? What are you talking about? That shouldn't be possible!”
Zimon slammed his hand onto the Labyrinth Core, his face twisted with irritation. He waited, but the air remained still. Nothing happened.
“...Tch! What is this crap?!”
“...Given that this Labyrinth Core is functional, the only logical conclusion is that the circle at our destination has been tampered with.”
“Get to the point! What’s that mean?!”
“It means that Leon Conti, the Guildmaster of the South, has betrayed us.”
“Betrayed us?! Don’t screw with me!”
“Well, he was never truly aligned with our ideals. We installed him as the Guildmaster because we believed he wouldn't provoke Orun Doura or Oliver Cardiff, but it seems that gamble has backfired.”
“I don’t give a damn about any of that! So we just have to kill everyone, Guildmaster included, right?”
“You are refreshingly simple. ...It can’t be helped. We’ll teleport to a labyrinth near Tsutrail instead, and then proceed on foot—!?”
Stieg, mid-sentence, suddenly snapped his head up. The habitual, smug composure he wore like a mask shattered instantly.
Darkness tore through the ceiling of the lowest floor, a torrential flood of shadow bearing down on them. It was so massive that it consumed the entire floor in an instant.
“The hell!?”
Zimon managed a cry of shock, but it was too late. Everyone present was ruthlessly swallowed by the black tide.
“...!?”
Stieg desperately deployed a magic barrier around himself. In theory, his barrier was of the highest possible density—nearly impossible to breach with standard magic, or even Special-grade spells.
Yet, the absolute darkness unleashed by Orun began to eat away at the shield. It eroded the mana bit by bit until the shadow reached Stieg himself.
Though his barrier mitigated the worst of the impact, he couldn't keep his feet. He collapsed to his knees, gasping.
“This... this is...”
Stieg began repairing his damaged body with magic, his voice trembling with disbelief.
“Hey, Rasetsu! What the hell was that!?”
Zimon, though battered and bleeding, had somehow remained conscious. His innate self-healing was already stitching his wounds back together.
“To survive that without a barrier... you’re as absurdly tough as ever. —War Ogre! Above you!”
At Stieg’s frantic warning, Zimon looked up. There, through the shattered ceiling of the world's deepest pit, he saw something impossible: the blue sky of the surface and the brilliant, blinding sun.
And descending from that light like a falling star, Fuuka closed the distance.
“—Preemptive strike, part two.”
Fuuka’s voice was devoid of emotion as she brought her blade down. Bolstered by the sheer momentum of her descent, the blow carried devastating force.
“Guh!?”
The impact caved in the ground beneath them, but Zimon managed to catch Fuuka’s katana against the flat of his greatsword.
“Raven hair and a Shinonome-motif wafuku... Could it be—?”
Stieg stared in shock, realizing her identity as she pinned Zimon down. But he was interrupted.
“—Isn’t your attention a bit too scattered?”
Orun’s voice drifted from directly behind him.
In the same heartbeat, Stieg felt a cold, wrong sensation in his chest. He looked down. A jet-black blade was protruding from his sternum, having pierced him from the back.
“This brings back memories. When we first met, you were busy plunging a sword into your own comrade’s back. How does it feel to be on the receiving end for once?”
Stieg twisted his neck to look back. He met Orun’s gaze—eyes as cold and unforgiving as the void.
“Orun Doura...! ...Ugh!”
Stieg’s face contorted with effort, and water suddenly erupted from beneath his feet. It swirled into a violent, spiraling pillar, enveloping him.
Orun didn't look surprised. He simply yanked Schwarzhase free and leaped back to create distance. Seeing this, Fuuka also broke away from Zimon, leaping back to land at Orun’s side.
Orun, did I follow the orders?
Fuuka’s voice echoed in my head via telepathy.
Yeah, perfectly. You made it easy for me.
Normally, Fuuka could have used [Future Sight] to deliver a strike Zimon couldn't have blocked. But my instructions had been specific: pin Zimon down and force both of them to focus entirely on her. To that end, she had made a flashy, uncharacteristic entrance.
With this, our victory is as good as decided.
While we conversed mentally, the water tornado around Stieg began to lose its vigor. As the spray dissipated, the space where he had been standing was empty.
“As usual, you’re quick to run away. Fuuka, I’m going after Stieg. You take care of The War Ogre as we planned.”
“Got it. Leave him to me.”
Fuuka gave a sharp nod.
I didn't waste another second. I activated [Shift] and vanished, chasing Stieg's trail.