EPILOGUE

What Flows Through

01

A number of huge glass tanks stood in a row in a room in the Aguinas family annex that formerly served as a potion storehouse.

“Is this the black new medicine…?” muttered Nierenberg in distaste.

The Aguinas family’s engineers involved in creating the new medicine had been arrested and held in a corner of the room. Their faces were characteristic of those who’d stifled their emotions for a long time, with sunken eyes and listless fatigue, but the little remaining emotion that could be read showed their relief at finally being free.

Royce Aguinas, the previous head of the family who had regained his sanity, cooperated with the Labyrinth Suppression Forces’ investigation. Weishardt surmised from Royce’s testimony that the case touched on classified information, so only he and a trusted confidant were involved in the questioning. Based on the testimony from Royce and the engineers, the written report on the black new medicine began as follows:

The black new medicine was made from black magic to transfer damage by using the secret arts of the Sacrificials.

The Sacrificials redirected atrocities set to befall the emperor and other preeminent individuals onto a substitute. From time immemorial, these curses or misfortune were instead transferred to human-shaped objects known as Proxies. These objects didn’t need to be flesh and blood to absorb the bad luck that came with wicked thoughts or impurity, as long as it had yet to amount to an actual curse. Rather, as in ancient times, it was the job of the group known as the Sacrificials to transfer these misfortunes to objects they made from paper, wood, or soil, and subsequently purify them.

However, as the human world evolved and the small country developed into an empire, magic and technology advanced. Evil thoughts became more complex and numerous, and the clan’s methods for dealing with them grew more effective and sinister in equal measure.

They began to use living humans as Proxies.

But that didn’t mean it was okay to use just anyone as a Proxy. First, they had to be compatible with the person they were protecting, the Recipient. If it was a single incident or a limited number of successive atrocities, all they had to do was activate the Proxy with their technique for that period of time. However, there were victims who would eventually attract more malice, just like swamp air that’s always stagnant and damp, in a way that threatened to change their future. In these cases that required a constant substitute, innate compatibility was necessary.

Since few people were capable of serving as Proxies, others in the clan searched for techniques to dispel the wicked thoughts the Proxies absorbed. Since there wasn’t an abundance of people with an affinity for any given Recipient, it was imperative that the ones available lasted for as long as possible.

For generations, every emperor had visited the village of the Sacrificials and formed a Sacrificial Pact with the Proxies deemed most compatible. The Proxies who signed this contract bore all the hatred and atrocities focused on the emperor. It was said that sometimes, they even sacrificed themselves to the daggers of assassins who plotted to overthrow the emperor. The Sacrificials had aided the emperor and the Empire from the shadows by healing and protecting the Proxies tormented by others’ ill will and purifying them from malice.

A select few high-ranking aristocrats, such as Weishardt, had heard this much. There had been talk of allocating someone from the Sacrificials to Leonhardt back when his skills had become clear. The reason he didn’t sign a Sacrificial Pact was because he would take a lot of physical damage in the course of subjugating the Labyrinth, and he had poor compatibility with the Proxies who specialized in curses, so it was highly unlikely a Proxy would be able to withstand it. Also, the man himself was strongly opposed to it based on the Schutzenwald family doctrine: “The next generation shall inherit our dying wish.”

The repulsive truth behind the secret art of the Sacrificials was the Proxies themselves.

The bodies of children chosen as Proxies were restructured from an early age with medicine and magic to increase their affinity with their Recipients. Completely replacing their blood was only the start; their bodies were opened up countless times to engrave black magic crests directly onto their bones.

They might get their right arm dissected one time and their left leg the next, followed by their flesh, skin, fat, and nerves—all immersed in a special magical liquid to transform them before healing magic was used to restructure their original form. Apparently, even the tissue of those who had poor affinity with their Recipient was replaced with artificially cultivated tissue.

It was said that a body remade in this way was highly efficient at absorbing atrocities aimed at the Recipient. However, it wasn’t possible to have a normal life in a body remade with such dark arts. The body didn’t move how its owner wanted it to, and even light and air caused pain. Those who’d had their flesh replaced with artificial tissue couldn’t even stand to leave their liquid medicine bath.

But none of that posed a problem for the Sacrificials.

The body of the Proxy didn’t belong to that person but rather was a second body for the Recipient. The Proxy was solely intended to transfer the Recipient’s misfortune onto themselves. And their pain and suffering never reached the Recipient. No matter how much the Proxy writhed in pain, it was only temporary—until they became a completed Proxy.

Ruiz had learned the secret art of the Sacrificials that bound Recipient and Proxy together. As promised, the Sacrificials divulged everything to him when they welcomed him into the fold. Ruiz had devoted his entire soul to deciphering the secret art and developing practical uses for it.

Because he knew what would happen to him once he became a complete Proxy.

Since ancient times, the role of Proxy had been assigned to human-shaped dolls with no will of their own.

A Proxy was their Recipient’s second body. There was no reason for them to have a will.

Ruiz was fortunate enough to complete his research just a short while before his body was fully restructured into a Proxy. He used every method he could think of to send the black magic medicine he’d created to his younger brother, Royce Aguinas.

Ruiz had anticipated the Sacrificials might interfere. They never intended for their secret art to be revealed to the outside world. They’d disclosed it to him because they knew he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it once he became a Proxy. Ruiz was on the verge of his full transformation into a Proxy and couldn’t leave the village. No matter how much he’d mastered their secret art, it would remain secret as long as they inspected his letters and packages.

He didn’t record the secret art in writing. Such an unwieldy, conspicuous method would never reach Royce. It would be a success if even just one vial of the magic medicine out of more than a hundred sent to Royce reached him and he got to drink it. Ruiz and Royce were identical twins. There was no higher possible compatibility between individuals. Even if he didn’t use any kind of technical means, Ruiz had bet that this drug would work on Royce.

In the end, Ruiz’s gamble succeeded. Just before his “self” was destroyed in the Proxy completion ritual, he began to inhabit Royce’s body. Ruiz’s magic medicine, charged with his essence in a vial the size of a pinkie finger, made use of the Proxy contract. Instead of unilaterally sending misfortune from a Recipient to a Proxy, the soul of Ruiz the Proxy was transferred to the Recipient, Royce, by activating a technique that used the medicine as an intermediary. Ruiz appeared when Royce wasn’t conscious and imparted the clan’s secret art to Robert.

Ruiz’s sole miscalculation was the fact he continued to feel the pain inflicted on his original body despite being robbed of it. The hatred and malice toward the emperor horribly tormented Ruiz’s body and continued to inflict pain and suffering on him even as he inhabited Royce’s body.

Every time he tried to escape from the pain, Ruiz encroached further on Royce. Royce’s body was temporary for Ruiz. If Royce strongly rejected Ruiz, he might have been able to stop the appropriation of his body.

However, Royce didn’t. He had been the one originally meant to be taken into the clan. He should have been the one to endure the pain and suffering Ruiz was experiencing. Royce chose to accept Ruiz, and together they suffered and lost their sanity bit by bit.

The black new medicine was a magic drug based on the secret art Ruiz had imparted.

This cursed medicine transferred the damage suffered by whoever ingested the drug onto a Proxy.

There were three requirements to be a Proxy:

First, a person’s disposition.

It was possible to mitigate a Proxy’s compatibility if they weren’t constantly redirecting calamities to themselves—as long as they weren’t expected to handle more than a generic Proxy in a fully-matured body.

Second, the pact that bound Recipient and Proxy together.

This was achieved through Ruiz’s applied research. Pact conditions could be temporarily created by the Recipient ingesting part of the Proxy’s flesh. In the case of Ruiz and Royce, who were extremely compatible, they stayed bound together. But a connection with a generic Proxy restructured from an adult’s body would be severed shortly after it absorbed any damage. It was quite convenient for Robert’s purposes as it required a constant supply of potions.

And finally, the third condition—a flesh puppet incapable of sentient thought.

02

“Y-yaaaaaagh! What…what the hell are those?! No, please, help me! I’ll do anything, anything at all! Please!”

At exactly the time the Labyrinth Suppression Forces were subjugating the King of Cursed Serpents, the thief Robert had Ordered to sleep woke up, saw the Proxies sleeping in the tanks, and screamed bloody murder. He was one of the ones who’d been brought to the Aguinas estate.

The same bandit who had flown at Nierenberg under Robert’s orders.

“Anything? Now that I think about it, my family lacks sufficient human resources suitable for fighting. Should everything go as planned, I won’t have you used for ingredients,” Robert proposed.

The bandit clung to him as if he’d been sent from heaven itself to help him.

Humans—no, flesh puppets with patterns drawn all over their bodies and tube after tube protruding from them floated in the giant tanks lined in up the black room. The tops of their heads were open with their brains exposed. Probably to remove their craniums. Their scalps had been peeled like the skin of fruits and dangled in front of their eyes as if to hide their faces.

The bandit, who’d murdered countless people, had seen the inside of a human head before. So he knew. The flesh puppets with no craniums floating in the water tanks had had part of their brains removed.

With a burble, the flesh puppets in the tanks spit up blood bubbles and shuddered.

In the next moment, their stomachs ripped open, and their limbs burst into pieces with audible cracks, even though they didn’t appear to be struck by any outward attacks.

The black room suddenly became very busy as people who appeared to be healing mages treated the puppets, while the engineers operated a nearby magical device to send something through the tubes into their bodies and to adjust the liquid medicine in the water tanks.

“No, this is far too rough. They won’t survive,” muttered Robert. The engineers’ efforts appeared to be in vain, as in the next instant, the bodies of the flesh puppets turned black and fell apart like pieces of rotten meat.

03

After hearing Weishardt’s report, Leonhardt breathed a deep sigh.

“So that was the nature of the new medicine we were using…?”

Heresy to the most reprehensible degree—but that didn’t change the fact they would never have made it to the fifty-third stratum without it.

“And what of the people who were designated as materials?” asked Leonhardt.

“Only half of the ‘red’ ones woke up.”

The remaining half had passed away when their tubes were removed. They must have been forcibly kept alive, barely managing to stitch together their remaining life force with the medicine that had completely replaced the blood in their bloodstream.

“Even among the ones who woke up, those who received high dosages of magical gems will continue to have some sort of impairment. All of them were identified as either penal laborers or lifelong slaves. It seems those with physical disabilities became their preferred materials for the ‘red’ medicine, while those without have been difficult to handle after a little bit of healing.”

The Labyrinth City always had labor shortages, but there weren’t many jobs for slaves and others with disabilities or physical impairments. This might become a burden that would consume the assets of the Aguinas family, who’d lost its source of income, the sale of new medicine.

“And the ‘black’ ones?” asked Leonhardt.

Weishardt quietly shook his head.

“Medical Technician Nierenberg has seen to them.”

“I see… Yet another nasty job we’ve thrust upon him…”

One could say the turmoil surrounding the Aguinas family progressed as Weishardt had predicted and ended without any losses. However, the truth that had come to light left a lingering discomfort in the hearts of the Schutzenwald brothers.

Because they couldn’t refute Robert’s parting words: “I suppose if you didn’t have an alchemist, you would have continued to use the new medicine despite knowing its ingredients.”

04

The fresh snow crunched underfoot as Nierenberg hurried home.

By the time he’d finished most of his work and given directions to his subordinates who’d arrived at the Aguinas estate, the night was over. The city, dyed completely white from the snow that had covered it before he knew it, looked like a wholly unfamiliar place.

When he got close to his house, a single snowball came flying at him.

He knew who the offender was. He’d gotten a fleeting glimpse of black hair when they quickly hid behind a corner of a stone wall. Rather than dodging the snowball, he lightly caught it in his hand.

“Welcome home, Papa! You were late, so I made all these snowmen!”

When he rounded the corner toward his house, he saw Sherry wearing a wool hat low over her eyes and pointing to a line of snowmen in front of the house.

The skin on both sides of her face was as white and beautiful as snow. Not the faintest hint of the gruesome scar remained on her face that broke into a lovely smile. Her black hair hadn’t completely grown in yet, but since the season just happened to be winter, she could sufficiently cover it with a hat. Her hair would soon grow full and frame her sweet face.

The piles of snow sparkled in the morning light, indicating to Nierenberg that it was time to begin anew.

05

Weishardt had been troubled since the incident with the Aguinas family.

He’d long wondered whether they had alchemists. It started when he stumbled across a preliminary calculation report of the potion storage facilities in the estate’s library. Weishardt was no expert in magical tools, but it was easy to see from these calculations that this situation was very different from the conditions two hundred years ago, even if he accounted for other factors.

These potions couldn’t last for two hundred years.

When he reached that conclusion, he understood how relatively fresh potions had been supplied at fixed intervals over the past two hundred years to each family who owned a storage facility. The Aguinas family explained the freshness was a result of new tanks being unsealed, but what if there had been an alchemist at those times?

So, when the Black Iron Freight Corps began bringing in potions, he realized an alchemist who’d made a pact with the region’s ley line had appeared, and he predicted how the Aguinas family would react upon learning of the alchemist’s existence. You could say formulating a plan to ensure the safety of Mariela, the alchemist, was a matter of course.

Weishardt cut the quantity of potions they purchased in half and observed the reaction of the Aguinas family. The Aguinas family may have concealed the existence of an alchemist and demanded a high price for the potions, but they were to cover the costs to manufacture and store the potions, on top of research and development—not for selfish gain. The fact that the family had continued to provide potions for two hundred years to compensate for the shortcomings of potion storage facilities built by the Empire and the margrave’s family should be appreciated.

And if they had been forthcoming that this was humane and necessary for the Labyrinth subjugation efforts, he would have given them more leeway.

It was an accident that Nierenberg’s daughter was a victim of the slime incident, but it was a convenient one. For one, she was the most suitable decoy for the Aguinas family, but more than that, Nierenberg was loyal to his professional duties, which was why he drew the line at special treatment and refused to take a potion for himself. He apparently intended to entrust Sherry to the Black Iron Freight Corps so she could be taken to the imperial capital and treated there. But hundreds of potions became available for use in the subjugation of the Labyrinth thanks to an Alchemist Pact-Bearer, and there was no reason not to offer a potion to a close aide who had done a lot for the Forces. So Nierenberg received a high-grade potion as compensation for his particular duties, and he was able to heal his daughter, Sherry.

They distributed the victim list, swapped Sherry with an intelligence operative, and had Nierenberg’s housekeeper leave early to make it easier to commit the crime. To ensure Sherry’s safety, she was safeguarded at the Schutzenwald estate after her treatment, but Nierenberg’s mood got worse as he continued to live with the intelligence operative day after day. Other than it causing the Labyrinth Suppression Forces’ soldiers to become scared from the bottom of their hearts, it could be said things progressed as expected.

Robert had stooped to kidnapping Sherry to obtain information about the alchemist with so little resistance that it was anticlimactic. His psyche had probably long since worn away. The red and black magic medicine found in the cellar was that atrocious. And alchemists that the Aquinas family had been watching over for generations.

But the blame couldn’t be placed entirely on the Aguinas family, especially considering the secret history of the alchemists, their unfortunate faith, and their resolve to continually supply potions until they were on the brink of death. And the question of dealing with the family, including the alchemists, was a headache of a problem.

With a sigh, Weishardt took a glass from a sideboard, used magic to put ice in it, and poured his favorite brandy. He gently held a sip of undiluted brandy in his mouth and recalled that night.

Why was Mariela, that alchemist, there…?

Even with his brilliant mind, this was the one thing Weishardt couldn’t understand.

Her contact with Caroline Aguinas had been friendly and limited to within Sunlight’s Canopy. In the unlikely event Caroline tried to take Mariela from the shop, an intelligence operative, Merle, would be contacted immediately, and a plan would be formed to stop it naturally. Who could have guessed the pair would meet by chance downtown, out of sight of the intelligence operatives, and manage to make their way to the Aguinas estate?

Weishardt excelled at deliberate intrigue and could hide the entirety of his emotions. He had complete control over his facial muscles through his own will. He had a wide field of vision and could observe the situation around him while pretending to look elsewhere.

If that weren’t the case, everyone who happened to be present at that place would probably have noticed Mariela, because Weishardt was more surprised than he’d ever been in his life and gawked at her, which no one had realized.

When Weishardt first met Mariela in the corridor, he’d thought she was a delivery person from some shop. Since nobody friendly with the Black Iron Freight Corps had appeared in the City recently, though, Merle had been assigned to report on not only her movements, but her outward appearance, too.

She’s too normal… I suppose she’s more like a small forest creature than a unicorn…

He’d heard she was young. But that’s what he’d heard about Pact-Bearers in general. He’d expected her to have a noble, extraordinary air due to possessing proper calmness and exuding intelligence despite her youthful appearance.

However, she was an ordinary person whom nine out of ten people passing her on the street wouldn’t take a second look at.

It was a good thing he’d had her sit in a corner of the drawing room within his sight so the soldiers who didn’t know the circumstances wouldn’t be rude, though.

Why was she hopping…? Is she performing some sort of ritual from two hundred years ago? I’ve never heard of such a thing.

She’d been restlessly bouncing up and down in her chair until she was stopped by her escort standing behind her. Instead of intelligence, she exuded an air that made her seem even younger than she actually was, which was a bit disappointing.

If she was the same age she appeared to be, how could she make high-grade potions? And a hundred a day, at that. Weishardt had ordered potions in units of a hundred, but he’d only instructed to make the next order after the delivery of the first, and he’d never expected to receive daily deliveries.

He’d heard it was necessary to make over a hundred thousand mid-grade potions before being able to make high-grade ones. The bottleneck in creating potions was one’s quantity of magic. Ordinary people needed a few decades until they were able to make high-grade potions. And what about the amount of magical power needed to make a hundred high-grade potions a day? Even with the maximum magical power rating of five, it was a wonder it could be done.

This was why he’d imagined she was a mysterious alchemist in the form of a young woman. When he learned one hundred high-grade potions could be delivered day after day, he secretly broke into a cold sweat as he felt thankful they’d been able to establish friendly relations with someone possessing such marvelous magical reserves.

He knew the method for raising the upper limit of one’s magical power. Starting from under the age of ten, a child needed to keep using their magic until they ran out, day after day.

Easier said than done, as the pain caused by running out of magical power was greater than physical torment. It felt as though your mind had been sent into a frenzy as you were sapped of magical power.

It was common to hear of people beating up their bodies for the sake of training until they lost consciousness. However, how many people really had the ability to keep running until they passed out?

That was what it was like to keep using your magical power until you’d run out, an act accompanied by mental exhaustion and pain that could cause you to pass out. This was something children under ten years old did every day.

Even for people like Weishardt and top-notch mages who were discovered to have skills as children and taught to have high aspirations, it wasn’t an easy thing to manage.

But alchemists endured harsh training from an early age and continued to make potions with one-track minds.

You might say this was a state of mind, the apex that only a handful of people could eventually reach. Why did a girl who reached that pinnacle at a young age appear so ordinary? Could she be camouflaging herself like Merle and the other intelligence operatives?

As a child, Mariela had been engrossed in the “game” of drying the rainbow flowers her master gave her into pretty colors, and she relentlessly dried every last bit of anything else she laid eyes on, from herbs in the area to weeds to washed clothes. She’d never thought of it as harsh or as training.

In typical fashion, her master had taught her things like “how to skillfully pass out while protecting your head” and “how to skillfully hide in a safe place before passing out,” mingled with jokes, and treated fainting from magic exhaustion like it was hide-and-seek to entice Mariela. After Mariela did a good job fainting, she would wake up in bed after being found by her master, who said, “I found you agaaain” and tickled her while rolling around and laughing at her. As time went on, fainting from running out of magical power turned into something like getting tired of playing and going to sleep.

Weishardt, who didn’t have a clue about this, explained the situation to Caroline while watching Mariela like a hawk, assuming she had to be extraordinary.

He stationed a soldier who was fond of children near Mariela so he wouldn’t do anything rude, but that had backfired. For some reason, the soldier had searched in his pockets, taken out a preserved cookie, and given it to her. It wasn’t as if it had been nibbled on already, but since the seal was already broken, some people would probably get angry and consider it to be leftovers. Moreover, it wasn’t a high-class pastry, but preserved food meant for tactical maneuvers. If he’d given it to the children in the area, they would have been delighted, but it wasn’t something to be given to a noble person.

…Why…is she eating it…?

The sound of someone munching on a crispy, crunchy cookie with nuts could be heard in the drawing room where a serious topic had turned the place deathly silent.

Their conversation had been closed off from everyone else through magic, but they could hear Mariela’s chewing.

Caroline giggled—“Hee-hee…”—at Mariela, who stuck out like a sore thumb, and then her face softened as she said, “This reminds me, shall we have tea as well?”

Because that preserved food probably made her thirsty…

Weishardt tilted his glass of brandy as he recalled that day and thought, When we’re in a state of confusion, people start reflecting on the craziest things.

“It’s rare to see you having a drink.”

“Brother. I have been considering the situation regarding the Aguinas family.”

Leonhardt had entered after knocking lightly. A whiskey man himself, he poured his favorite drink into a glass and sat next to Weishardt.

“So what’s your plan?”

“Robert’s deeds were abhorrent, and he will be charged with the use of forced coercion through the illicit application of black magic, along with abduction, blackmail, and breach of faith with the Labyrinth Suppression Forces. Moreover, the involvement of the secret arts of the Sacrificials cannot be made public. Perhaps something along the lines of ‘disinheritance due to illness’ would be appropriate? Robert seems extremely tired, so it might do him so good to be placed on a leave of ‘convalescence.’ Even in light of his contributions to date, the Aguinas family could name Caroline as their heir and find her a suitable husband.”

Weishardt took a sip of his brandy, continuing his report, which was mingled with a sigh.

“We will need to investigate whether that new medicine had any lasting effects on the soldiers who used it, as well as decide what to do with the Aguinas family’s engineers involved in its manufacture and with the surviving slaves. Considering we also have a Labyrinth to conquer, it’s all giving me a headache.”

“What about the alchemist? You met her, right?” Leonhardt asked, groping for why his brother was so forlorn.

Dealing with the Aguinas family was a problem that could be solved, even if it would require a lot of work. However, the alchemist, Mariela, was a different story. The Aguinas family’s alchemists had either remained asleep or woken up, but then either turned to salt or vomited blood and passed away not long after. There was no guarantee Mariela would be able to avoid the same fate.

The usefulness of potions in the subjugation of the Labyrinth had been proven with the previous King of Cursed Serpents and Sea-Floating Pillar. And it had shown them that the potions the Forces needed might differ depending on the stratum.

Forcing her to endlessly make every type of potion possible was out of the question. What would they do if that shortened her life span? They couldn’t afford to take foolish measures that would damage their friendly relations.

As Weishardt fell into an uncharacteristic worried silence, Leonhardt continued.

“I just remembered a story Father told me a long time ago, something a wise man of old once said: ‘Drops of Life flow through ley lines and all the life that inhabits them. It is available whenever you most need it.’ Maybe it was the ley line’s guidance that led to those two girls to run into each other unnoticed by Merle.”

Leonhardt’s words were vague, with no basis nor proof to back them up, but they sank straight into Weishardt’s heart.

There was only so much a pint-size person could do. In that case, they must do everything they possibly could for her.

“I agree. Let’s toughen up her escort for the time being. You never know if some fool will make a pass at her after recent events. There’s something about her that makes her seem unguarded.”

Weishardt swirled the glass, making the ice clink around, and drank his brandy.

He wasn’t the type that could get drunk on a few sips of alcohol, but he liked to savor the way the taste changed as the ice melted little by little. While they’d been talking, the ice had shrunk considerably, and the brandy was weaker than he liked. Still, it wasn’t bad, and he drained the rest of the drink.

06

“Aaaah-choo!”

Mariela let out a spectacular sneeze in front of Sunlight’s Canopy’s living room fireplace. Her master once told her the number of sneezes meant different things: “One for praise, two for criticism, three for falling in love, four for a cold.” In other words, someone, somewhere was praising her at this moment.

You’re making me bluuush…

In the Labyrinth City, however, the saying seemed to be “One for criticism, two for praise, three for a cold,” so when she sneezed once, she accepted her master’s theory, and when she sneezed twice, the Labyrinth City’s theory. Either way, Mariela interpreted sneezes as signs of praise. She continued to be praised every day. Gee, how flattering! But these inoffensive sneezes made Sieg extremely concerned.

“Mariela, did you catch a cold? I’ll make you some hot cocoa. I think you ought to stop with the potion making today and get to bed early.”

“I’m fine, Sieg. It’s not a cold.”

“But…” Not only was he extremely worried by a simple sneeze, Sieg also hesitated to speak.

“Sieg, what’s wrong?”

This kind of behavior was proof he had something serious on his mind. Mariela had only recently realized that such thoughts were usually pretty trivial, and just reassuring him, “It’s fiiine!” would settle things.

“Mariela… The alchemists sleeping in the Aguinas family’s cellar… They all…died suddenly even after waking up…”

Aha, I knew it.

She’d never imagined Sieg would worry about a thing like that. “I’m fine!” she reassured him with a grin.

“You know magic circles don’t activate properly if they’re slightly crooked or off, right? There was probably something wrong with their magic circles. I used the one my master Imprinted in my head, which is why it worked like it was supposed to. So, there’s nothing wrong with me. And I bet I’ll outlive you!” Mariela spoke slowly, as if she were trying to persuade a little kid. Sieg’s uneasy expression reminded her of a lost child.

“Really?” Sieg asked quietly, and Mariela beamed.

“Yeah, really. I just forgot to extinguish the lantern and overslept. And because of that, I met you. And Lynx, and everyone else, too. I’ve been having so much fun every day. Actually makes me feel glad I forgot to put out the lantern.”

That was the absolute, honest truth. Sieg, Lynx, Caroline, all her regular customers—each day was enjoyable with them in her life. I wish things would stay like this forever, she thought. But…

“What does the margrave understand about the resolve those individuals had two hundred years ago, the hopes they had when they made those potions?!”

Mariela could still hear Robert’s scream from within that cellar, with the many coffins lined up inside. All the alchemists who’d slept in those coffins had felt death’s close embrace as they whittled down their lives making potions that would be preserved until this very day.

Mariela felt guilty about her happy life surrounded by kind people.

“I’m fine. I’m gonna get to work making today’s potions.”

Wanting to at least make the potions that had been requested, Mariela stood up. Perhaps Sieg accepted what she said, because his uneasy expression disappeared and he followed her, saying, “I’ll help.” It wasn’t like fetching materials or carrying completed vials up from the cellar was a big deal, but the potions were done slightly faster than usual, and they carried them to the cellar to wait for Lynx and Malraux.

Bang, bang, bang.

Clang, clang, clang-clang.

After the signal they’d predetermined, Lynx, who’d come through the underground Aqueduct, appeared.

“’Sup, guys? Hey, why the long face? Didya eat something bad off the ground?”

“I don’t do that! I just harvest stuff.”

“Aha, so you did eat something off the ground.”

Mariela puffed up her cheeks indignantly as Lynx burst into laughter.

“All of Mariela’s cooking is superb,” said Sieg in an attempt to back her up while handing the day’s potions to Malraux.

Over the two hundred years Mariela slept, there were alchemists continuing to struggle unbeknownst to nearly everyone.

She believed her current life rested on the foundation they’d built and maintained. After that one night at the Aguinas estate, Mariela grew absolutely certain that her present quiet, joyful days were absolutely precious.