Through the Black Forest

Yoal the mage and Nyrn the witch—after tidying themselves, the two left the cabin.

They stood in the Witchlands, where the Black Forest stretched on without end.

It was surely midday, yet the ebony canopy above made it little different from night.

"… You really want me to guide you, right?"

"Tiresome. I've said it enough times."

"There's no guarantee I'll get out of this unharmed, you know? And yet— nnf… kuh… ah…!"

Nyrn suddenly knocked her knees together and sagged down.

Through the black robe, the gentle curve of her lower belly faintly glowed.

The ache deep in her abdomen was impossible to ignore. As if holding back the urge to pee, she pressed her crotch tightly with her hand, determined to restrain her lust.

"I'm getting sick of your backtalk."

"D‑don't keep activating it…! I‑it causes you trouble too…!"

Rubbing her thighs together in frustration, Nyrn grabbed a small vial hanging at her waist.

She popped the lid and poured it down. Thick, milky semen slid into her throat.

It was the seed Yoal had shot on her face, which she had collected—her pitiful attempt at a means to suppress her heat.

"I don't mind if it takes a little time. But for you, quicker would be better, wouldn't it?"

"… Fine."

Reluctantly, Nyrn lifted a lamp in one hand and began leading Yoal.

The Black Forest, famed as a demonic realm.

From afar came the cries of birds and beasts and the laments of the dead—hardly what one would call tranquil.

There were traces of bent grass and parted roots, but nothing that deserved to be called a road.

An unbroken night sky that knew no day, game trails tangled in bizarre complexity, stands of trees that moved of their own accord.

With dense miasma saturating the land and magical beasts everywhere, an ordinary human could never cross it.

"Even so—Yoal‑sama."

"Just Yoal is fine."

"… How unexpected."

"I don't need your deference. As long as you don't forget your place."

Yoal followed calmly behind Nyrn.

She snorted lightly and pushed aside the shoulder‑high brush.

"Yoal, you… how did you even make it as far as my place?"

"I'm good at sensing mana. Fighting, though—I'm hopeless."

Yoal tapped the side of his own waist.

Hanging there was a single revolver.

"… Guns are forbidden for mages of the Association, aren't they?"

"Most of them don't need to rely on guns."

"That's not the point."

"I carry it because I need it. For one thing, I'm not an Association mage."

At his breezy answer, Nyrn's eyes widened.

Mages unaffiliated with the Magic Association were rare; there was no other institution for advancing the study of magic.

Exceptions were those driven from their countries who settled in lawless zones like the Witchlands—or thugs who only called themselves mages.

When a renegade with real ability appeared, a subjugation order would be issued. To make enemies of Association mages and survive was extraordinarily difficult.

"On my own, your cabin's vicinity was my limit. Beyond that, the flows of mana were so intermingled I couldn't make sense of them."

"… So the reason you targeted me—"

"Pure chance. You happened to have something convenient on hand, so I put on a little act."

"Grrr."

Nyrn stamped her foot, cheeks flushing with a temper tantrum.

Even so, she kept moving, so there was nothing to complain about.

"So, realistically, how long until we get there?"

"It won't even take a full day to reach the center. In a straight line, you could cross this forest in two."

"… In practice, it won't go that smoothly."

Looking back, countless armies had tried to traverse the Black Forest. What Nyrn had just recounted was one such example.

Successful cases were, crucially, nonexistent—except when they had a witch guide.

"If I'm guiding you, getting lost is impossible. So once I've done that, um…"

"Say it clearly."

She glanced back over her shoulder and wiggled her hips shyly.

Her face, half‑hidden by her bangs, blushed red as she struck a coquettish pose, trying to entice him.

"You can dismantle the lewd crest later. So, um… could I have a 'reward'…?"

"… Hn?"

Yoal gave her a glance—and then looked up at the sky.

Unease solidified into certainty—his impassive face shattered in an instant.

"Hide!!"

"Eh—ah!?"

Nyrn floundered at his sudden shout.

Yoal ignored her, scooped her up, and immediately leapt away from the spot.

An instant later, from far away came a sound cutting the air.

A silver‑and‑steel amalgam streaked in at supersonic speed.

A projectile packed with enormous mana slammed into bare ground.

An instant—and it exploded.

With a bang, a blast wind and colossal heat burst outward.

The wave of hot air blew the Black Forest's trees outward in concentric rings.

The ground caved into a bowl‑shaped crater; the terrain caught up in it was erased without a trace.

"… That's insane."

Yoal looked back to gauge the scale of the attack.

Hearing about it and seeing it were, as expected, very different.

It had passed close enough to feel the wind at his back, but he had just barely avoided a direct hit.

"This… would be Lady Charlotte. There isn't another mage alive who can hurl a bombardment‑projection formula of this scale from ultra‑long range."

"I don't care about the power."

"You should! I'm getting dragged into this because of you!"

"We're not hit yet—the problem is the distance, or rather that we were acquired. And there's something worse."

"… What could be worse than this?"

Still holding Nyrn in his arms, Yoal kept moving.

If they stopped, they risked another strike.

"Who fires something like that at a lone outsider? And the decision came way too fast."

"… After doing this to me, you've got the nerve to call yourself a 'lone outsider'…?"

That said, his misconduct wasn't something the other side would know.

Maybe Nyrn's story wasn't such an exaggeration after all.

He clicked his tongue and cast his mana‑sense net at maximum range.

"Give me directions. If you don't, you'll die with me."

"Seriously, give it up already!?"

He had not the slightest intention of giving up.

 

 

A faint wisp of gunsmoke rose from the muzzle.

A spent casing ejected and went clink‑clank across the cold stone floor.

"Got them?"

"… No."

It was the ruin of a castle that must once have seen great splendor—much of it left crumbled as it fell.

The living quarters, by contrast, were kept scrupulously clean; the outside wind never reached the inner rooms.

On the top‑floor balcony overlooking the Black Forest, two women stood.

"Was my search inaccurate?"

One was a petite girl in an apron dress—the Ladies' Maid, Airy Heilem.

Her bright silver hair was tied in twin tails; her sand‑colored eyes betrayed no emotion.

At a glance she looked delicate, but her apparent age was impossible—she had served the Witch‑Queen for twenty years.

"No. He must have sensed the attack and dodged preemptively."

The other looked around twenty, a tall woman in a black uniform with gold buttons and a brick‑colored cape.

The Royal Guard, Charlotte.

Her honey‑colored hair was cut short, and her teal eyes, fixed on the far distance, were keen to a frightening degree.

Only the curve of her mouth, laced with wry humor, hinted at a faint smile.

"Dodged your round?"

"Not impossible."

"It hasn't happened once in these twenty years."

"Then he's among the very best, even within that set."

Charlotte shook her head and calmly reloaded.

In her hands was a jet‑black sniper rifle with satisfying weight.

Peering through a clairvoyance formula feeding the scope, she tracked the two targets with the muzzle.

"What about the witch with him?"

"I don't know the details, but she's clearly being used as his piece. Unfortunate, but unavoidable."

"Then—"

Airy nodded and cast her mana‑search net.

A detection formula on a scale that covered the entire Witchlands.

Its structure was simple and direct—it made the Black Forest itself the medium.

Each ebony tree blanketing the land served as Airy's eyes and ears.

"Response confirmed."

"Good—let's finish him."

The detected coordinates were shared with Charlotte at once.

Using them, she fixed her aim.

She gave the trigger a light click.

—Projection of a nuclear‑heat formula using an ultra‑long‑range sniper round as the medium.

Hemisphere flame bloomed, gouging a bite out of the black canopy.

A sudden gale stripped the branches and leaves.

"—Target is moving, fast."

"… Teleportation?"

Charlotte pulled her eye from the scope and glanced at the spotter she trusted.

"Impossible. The target doesn't have that much mana—and if he did, he wouldn't be slogging through the forest."

"Then—pure speed on foot…?"

"Hard to say. We should assume he has some unidentified means enabling high‑speed maneuver."

"… Useless to speculate."

Charlotte repeated the same procedure twice more—no effective hit.

She slung the rifle to her shoulder and nodded, decision made.

"… No good. I'll go myself."

"Truly?"

Airy's eyes widened in shock, then slowly shuttered.

"At this rate we're only going to burn the forest. Better this way—we can secure that witch too."

"Shall I accompany you?"

"… No. Stay here and observe. If anything happens, use comms. We can't have anything happen to Alma, right?"

Witch‑Queen Almaeira.

Though she was Almaeira's guard, Charlotte's way of addressing her was familiar.

"Understood… Attempt to evade detection located. Likely a high‑level concealment formula. I'll maintain the search and report results to you en route."

"Got it. I'm counting on you."

"Yes… I pray for your fortune in battle."

Airy saw her off with a perfect bow.

Charlotte vaulted lightly over the railing and dropped from the balcony to the ground.

She set her course for the Black Forest and cut across the Witchlands.

In scale the land was closer to a hamlet than a nation.

Witches' log cabins dotted the woods, and farming and other industries were minimal.

Herb cultivation was lively, but mostly as a pastime.

As for facilities: the crumbling castle ruins, a token watchtower—

and an abandoned church at which none prayed, save one.

"… Ah."

"Oh?"

At that moment, Charlotte ran right into her.

The one and only person emerging from the abandoned church—the Witch‑Queen, Almaeira Serenarie.

"Praying again, Alma?"

"… Yes."

Almaeira smiled softly and nodded.

Her voice rang like a bell.

She wore a dark habit said to have once been the vestments of a pure saint—now much like a dress of pitch black.

Her petite frame was unchanged from twenty years ago, and even fallen into darkness, her long platinum‑blonde hair still shone.

Only her blue eyes seemed heavier with sorrow, as if sinking into shadow.

"Do it every day if you must, but with that gloomy face nothing will grow. You haven't forgotten the Demon King's promise, have you?"

"… Eh…?"

"You forgot!?"

Almaeira tilted her head with a blank look.

For all Charlotte's devotion to Almaeira now, she still held reverence for the Demon King.

After all, to Almaeira the Demon King was a savior—she'd never imagine the promise would slip her mind.

"Once you've become a proper woman, you'll be taken as the Demon King's bride. That was it, right?"

"… Ah."

Almaeira clapped her hands lightly in her trailing sleeves.

For twenty years, the promise had gone unfulfilled—her tiny frame could not accept the Demon King's giant body.

In short, a very long engagement.

"Get a grip. Don't tell me you still can't forget that dead man."

"… I'm sorry."

Almaeira lowered her head with a troubled, sheepish smile.

Charlotte let it drop. At times like this, Almaeira looked timid but was more stubborn than anyone.

"Speaking of which, Sharo—are you headed somewhere?"

"Yeah. We've got a troublesome intruder, and he's pretty good. If I get a fix on his position, I'm going straight there—"

Just then—

"Mana reaction confirmed. Transmitting coordinates."

"Got it," Charlotte replied, then turned back to Almaeira.

"We'll talk later. I'm off—watch things for me."

"… Yes. Thank you, as always. Please be careful… don't get hurt."

"Ha. Who do you think you're talking to?"

Arrogant as it might have sounded,

accompanied by Almaeira's smile it was as warm as gentle sunlight.

Buoyed by her smile and words, Charlotte set off.

She stepped into the Black Forest and moved to close the distance quickly.

Curiously, the target's coordinates didn't move at all.

—Gave up, seeing no escape?

After closing to a certain range, Charlotte sprang up into the trees with inhuman agility and leveled her rifle.

She could use the sword at her hip, but a kill before she was noticed was best.

Matching the blinking coordinates, Charlotte took aim—

—and was struck speechless.

"… W‑what…!?"

They weren't there.

The scruffy man and the witch—

—neither left even a trace.

Charlotte tried sweeping for heat sources; there was still no response.

"Airy, what's going on? You don't make mistakes in detection…"

She tried the comms at once.

One second passed.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

… Ten seconds.

No response.

"A‑Airy!?"

No response.

In that instant, Charlotte truly felt a chill of dread.