Prequel (Part 1)

When he came to, Yoal was standing at the water's edge.

A mud-like pitch-black water surface. A vast sea with no end in sight.

The sky was sealed by dark storm clouds, and what little light filtered through was terribly thin.

His surroundings were also dim, as if the curtain of night had fallen.

"… Where is this…?"

His consciousness and memories were unclear.

Yoal slowly shook his head and saw a faint light in the distance.

He instinctively started walking toward it—squelch, the sound of wet sand echoed underfoot.

Leaving a trail of footprints behind him, he checked his own attire.

His familiar black robe from the Magic Association. But the edges were strangely torn and grimy, practically rags.

Seeing those traces, Yoal remembered.

He had died that day—surrounded by a mob and beaten to death.

Why he still had consciousness, why he was in such a place—none of it mattered to him.

Everything was over now.

His final memory was the smile she wore atop the execution pyre.

—"Saint" Almaeira.

The possibility of getting her back was now not even one in ten thousand.

His body had no wounds. But his joints ached as if creaking.

Yoal walked weakly like a specter, eventually reaching the source of the light.

There was a small boat moored there.

Blue flames blazed brightly at the prow. This must have been the source of the light Yoal had seen.

And on the boat stood a ferryman dressed in black rags.

"Yo, young'un. Wanna ride?"

He was a bare skeleton.

Short in stature, his skull head was completely covered by a black hood.

Blue flames burned in his hollow eye sockets, and he held a large oar in one hand.

"—You are"

"You can tell just by looking, right?"

"… … … … Underworld ferryman"

"Exactly"

Each time the skeleton spoke in a hoarse voice, clacking sounds rang out.

Yoal glanced at him, then looked around at the pitch-dark surroundings.

"… Is there no other path?"

"Who knows. I've been a boatman here for a long time, but I've never heard of one."

"… I see"

"Quick to give up, aren't ya, young'un. If you walk around, you might find something. There are quite a few folks wandering around here. Half of 'em give up and come back."

"The other half?"

"They don't come back."

If he had a face, he would have laughed sardonically. The ferryman clacked his teeth in a tone that convinced Yoal of that.

"I have a question."

"Yeah. If you're thinking of drowning yourself, better not. Coming here isn't bad either."

"No… where is this place?"

When Yoal asked, the ferryman pointed beyond the prow.

"Get on. I'll show you the way while ferrying you over—this is the mouth of the Underworld. The scale path that settles human karma. The sea of sins, Odium."

Yoal nodded dejectedly and, half-resigned, stepped over the stern.

He tripped midway and tumbled onto the boat.

"Whoa there. Careful now."

"… Sorry."

"I get that death is weighing on you—but alright, we're shoving off!"

The oar swung, and the chain anchoring the stern was cut loose.

Soon the boat set out to sea.

 

 

"Looking good for you, young'un. At this rate, we'll arrive in less than half a day."

"… How can you tell?"

About three hours had passed since the ferryman started rowing.

The surroundings were still the same unchanging darkness.

Pushed by capricious winds and the ferryman's oar, the boat progressed steadily forward.

The ferryman paid no mind to the thick darkness spreading before them.

"Yeah. Like I said before, this sea is a path that measures human karma."

"Karma?"

"Ahh, basically, how sinful you are."

"… I don't think my sins are that light."

Though young, Yoal was a soldier. The number he'd killed couldn't be counted even using every finger on his body.

He ate meat normally too, and had dissected animals for experiments.

If listed, he was rather deeply sinful.

"Even I don't know the criteria. They say kill a thousand and you're a hero, so karma ain't measured just by the number of lives taken."

"… I see."

Though he was dissatisfied with opaque criteria judging his life's deeds, complaining to the supernatural was pointless.

Yoal hugged his knees resignedly and gazed up at the storm-clouded sky.

"If you're deemed without karma, the boat moves forward. The wind works in our favor too. Young'un, you must've been quite the upstanding youth. It's rare to make this much progress this smoothly."

"Getting to the Underworld quickly isn't very appealing."

"Don't say that. Spending dozens of days on a boat is boring—think you could endure it? Not a single bit of scenery to look at. For the really bad ones, it's over in an instant though."

"… What happens then?"

"I knock 'em off. Too heavy and the boat sinks."

Though his tone was laughing, it didn't seem like a joke.

Yoal looked at the water surface from the boat's edge.

Completely black, absorbing light. Nothing visible underwater, the water quality was like heavy mud.

Each time the oar parted the surface, the blackness clung like water weeds.

"Don't stare too much. Sometimes folks fall in like they're being pulled."

"… What happens if you fall in?"

"That's the end of it. No saving you then. I won't help either. Might get pulled in myself. After that, I don't know either."

"That's what I figured."

Yoal shrugged and buried his face in his knees.

The ferryman turned over his shoulder and glanced at him.

"The first half—that is, what we're going through now is past karma. And the remaining half is future karma. Well, the path doesn't look much different, but conditions might change a bit, so keep that in mind."

"… Future?"

That's ridiculous, Yoal muttered.

The future was already lost, wasn't it?

Being measured by what he'd lost was utterly galling—but complaining to the supernatural was pointless.

"Don't get so worked up, young'un. It's hypothetical—if you were to keep living from this point on. You understand?"

"… Logically speaking."

"If you understand logically, that's enough. No need to force yourself to accept it—you just have to accept it anyway."

Basically like a natural disaster. Yoal nodded reluctantly.

Even if he suffered disadvantages from it, he was already dead once. No point getting flustered now.

"Still, damn, you're making really good time. This might be second only to that girl from last year."

"Last year?"

"Yeah. A really young beauty came through—not sure if it was a year ago or half a year ago, hmm, how was it. Anyway, that girl crossed to the Underworld in about five hours. She was very polite, wonder how she's doing now…"

"… What's her name?"

Yoal suddenly became concerned and asked.

Needless to say, whose name came to mind.

"We have a rule not to ask the names of those we ferry."

"… I see."

"Beautiful clear hair, neither silver nor gold, and eyes that looked a bit sad… was that priestess garb or something? The oddly soot-stained vestments caught my attention…"

"—"

He swallowed hard, catching his breath.

Each feature was quite ordinary. But could it really be coincidence that all of them matched?

The soot stains in particular seemed decisive. In the Leverant Kingdom, "witch" hunts weren't that common.

Suppressing the urge to interrogate him, Yoal crept toward the prow.

"… Old man"

"I'm not senile yet—what is it?"

"Is that girl still over there?"

"Nah. Apparently the Demon King or whoever picked up her spirit, or so the rumors say. Not sure if it's true—oh, what's wrong, young'un?"

"… Nothing."

He unconsciously loosened his grip on his collar.

Yoal sighed deeply and covered his eyes with his palm.

"What, did that ring a bell?"

"… A little."

The truth was, he wasn't sure. It could be someone else who looked similar.

But—a disgraced Saint catching the Demon King's eye seemed like exactly the kind of thing that would happen.

Bang, bang—he struck his forehead with his fist repeatedly, wringing out his brain from end to end.

"Don't mope like that, young'un. Don't stay bound by the past forever… Look, we're about to pass through the past karma."

At the ferryman's words, Yoal gave a small shake of his head.

Resurrection or reincarnation spells couldn't be easily created.

Dozens, hundreds of sorcerers had challenged and tasted defeat on this theme—the conquest of death. Even those who devoted their entire lives to it had knelt in vain.

How could a sorcerer who hadn't even lived twenty years possibly overcome death?

"… Hmm?"

At that moment, the ferryman tilted his head curiously.

He plunged the oar deep underwater and slowly swept the surface. But the boat didn't move an inch.

The ferryman repeated this several times. Plop—the pitch-black water surface rippled. Faint ripples appeared on the surface, swaying delicately.

—The wind had vanished before they knew it.

"… Old man?"

The ferryman clacked his teeth, holding the oar silently.

The boat wouldn't move at all. The reason was obvious.

After all, he had said, "we're about to pass through the past karma."

What followed that path was.

—Suddenly, the stern tilted greatly.

Like a scale pan lowering, the tail of the boat began to sink.

"Wha…"

Future karma.

The weight of karma.

The boat creaked violently under the accumulated sins that would have piled up if Yoal were still alive.

"… Damn it!"

He stood up with a curse. His chances of survival were zero, but it was better than sinking the boat.

Yoal projected magic into the air, creating makeshift scaffolding. An application of fortification spells originally meant for defense.

The ferryman slowly dragged the oar from the water surface. Pitch-black mud clung stickily to the oar tip.

"Thanks for your help, old man. I'll get off here—"

"Don't take it personally, young'un."

The ferryman's oar swept in an arc, striking Yoal's flank as if drawn in by gravity.

Struck with unbelievable force for a skeleton, his lowest rib shattered.

"Gah…!?"

Carried by the swing's momentum, Yoal was slammed headfirst into the sea surface.

The great sea of sins, Odium—its mud-like sticky seawater clung, trying to ensnare his legs.

Yoal instinctively reached out and grabbed the boat's edge.

Instantly, the ferryman raised the oar warily into the air.

"… Why?"

"Don't resent me. This is also part of my job. The fate shown by karma's scale must never be defied—sorry, I'm really sorry."

It swung down in a straight line.

The mud-coated oar tip struck Yoal's fingers in one blow, shattering their bones.

A sickening crunch—a sound too terrible to bear. Yoal groaned in intense pain.

Pain that distorted his expression. Power rapidly drained from his fingers. His lower body sank with a glug, being dragged to the bottom.

"… I… don't… accept… this…"

His fingertips clinging to the boat's edge slipped stickily.

Yoal exhaled weakly, submerging his mud-soaked body in the sea of sins.

"—So long."

The ferryman plunged the oar into the water again and slowly rowed the boat away.

Nothing remained behind.

Eventually his entire body sank into the sea, and Yoal fell to deeper depths.

 

 

A world of darkness where you couldn't see an inch ahead, a sea deeper even than the abyss.

The darkness spreading through the water far exceeded anything on the surface above.

With a gurgle, Yoal expelled the air from his lungs while clawing at the water.

More like a lump of clay than mud.

He could barely move his limbs, swimming was out of the question.

Yoal just flailed pathetically.

He desperately flailed his whole body but to no avail.

Rather than climbing up from underwater, Yoal's body sank moment by moment into the deep sea abyss.

—Damn it, Yoal closed his eyelids.

In the darkness, vision was useless.

He stretched his hands toward the surface as far as they would go. His broken fingertips clawed at the water as if seeking something to cling to.

His whole body felt heavy.

The cloth had absorbed plenty of water, weighing down on Yoal's shoulders.

The cloak clung to his body, hindering him terribly.

The mud-like water seemed to erode his flesh. If there were any cracks, it would seep in and fill every gap with black water—of course this was just his imagination, but it was clearly different from normal seawater.

There was no way out. No secret plans, no wisdom, nothing. Lacking oxygen, his mind was already blank.

But he wanted to live.

He just wanted to live, Yoal thought.

Revealed from pain and the terror of extinction was nothing but raw survival instinct.

It was so base he could hardly stand himself—though he'd already died once.

"… Gah, gobu, gopopo…"

He spat bubbles, spat blood.

Red mingled in the black water, forcing him to drink his fill.

He would die. Or disappear. Become nothing but drifting debris in the sea, never even reaching the Underworld.

That was unacceptable.

Because Almaeira was alive.

Because Almaeira might be alive.

Because Almaeira might have been revived.

In the end, that was where it all came down to. His own wish to live and everything else.

Because they had died together the first time—he couldn't bear to be parted by death again.

I see, Yoal laughed while covered in pain.

No wonder the boat sank too.

He was wishing to twist fate out of longing for just one woman.

With a wet gurgle, Yoal spat bloody bubbles and looked up overhead.

He looked up at the invisible darkness, opening his eyes as if he could see everything.

What came to mind were primordial words.

Words hold power, and power eventually became magic.

Therefore, this must be called primordial magic.

—I am here.

Just a spell that releases that word-spirit.

Blood-stained lips traced a seal.

The words vanished without making a sound. Small bubbles rose to the surface as Yoal stretched his hands high.

—In an instant, a massive crimson "spear" pierced the sea of sins.

It bored through the pitch-black water surface. Huge splashes leaped up, and the sea was split in two.

The "spear"—its tip alone dozens of times his height—Yoal clung to it limply.

Instantly, the "spear" was drawn into the sky.

The massive tip was pulled from the sea surface. Tearing through mud-like blackness, the aftermath alone kicked up a huge tsunami.

The small boat overturned by the tsunami was now a trivial matter.

"Geho…! Goho, gofu, ugu…!!"

Yoal crouched while leaning on the "spear", vomiting with enough force to expel his organs.

Black water overflowed along with a small amount of blood. When he had nothing left to vomit, Yoal looked up at the sky and noticed something.

That "spear" protruded from the canopy.

Piercing through the swirling storm clouds, tearing the sky to reach the sea.

Yoal pressed his eyelids shut at the absurd size—to call this a magic spear was laughable.

Far below, the small boat had been shattered by the tsunami. The ferryman had probably sunk too, but he didn't care.

Clink, clink, clink.

The sound of chains rubbing came from the sky. Yoal glared fixedly upward.

Water dripped from his gray hair. Very annoying that it obstructed his vision.

"… Who are you? Who exactly are you that saved me?"

It might not have been intentional help, but he was certainly saved thanks to this magic spear.

Grimacing at the pain of his fracture and discomfort of wet clothes, Yoal sat on the spear's decorative part.

Instantly, the metallic clinking of chains rang out as they wound up, and the magic spear was vigorously pulled into the sky.

"Uuuoooeee～～～!!!!!"

During the ascent—his weakened body took the pressure change head-on. Yoal was tormented by renewed nausea, forcefully vomiting up everything in his stomach.

He had nothing left to vomit but vomited anyway.

Yoal clung to the magic spear until he crumpled, finally losing consciousness.