Chapter Eleven: The Inevitable, Bloodshed, and Loss

Through the agony wracking his body and the intricate formulas materializing around him, Shiro could feel that he was being reconstructed into something inhuman. The enormous amount of Floating Magic harvested by the Magic Circle was being further amplified and poured into him, expanding his personal reserves of Magic as well. The sheer volume of Magic would have destroyed any ordinary human body from the inside as their capacity for Magic was overwhelmed. Shiro, on the other hand, could feel his body taking in every single drop of Magic.

He couldn’t even scream as the pain became all-consuming, but a part of him still calmly observed what was happening to him. Will I become... a true monster? he sardonically thought. I’ve been called that more times than I can count. What difference will it make if I really become one now? In fact, it seemed easier just to let go of his mind and suffering, resigning himself to being Hoenir’s puppet.

Or should I use my power to destroy everything? The world had beaten him down all of his life. Why shouldn’t I tear it to shreds? Shiro thought with reckless anger. Differences in birth, appearance, ability... All of those things were mere personal qualities on a small scale, but society had somehow come to see them as unbearable. Things that might have been merely differences were perceived as threats. Shiro wondered why he was persecuted for his differences while others were accepted for theirs, and why the world was so cruel to him.

As he felt dark emotions overtaking him, he began to drift towards them—until a voice stopped him.

“Mister Shiro loved you!” the peculiar little prince cried. The blond-haired, green-eyed prince considered himself lesser than those around him, but was never insecure about it. He had always had a positive outlook. Even though he couldn’t wield any magic, he was passionate in his studies and always eager to learn.

After some time, Shiro had begun to look forward to their semi-weekly tutoring sessions.

“Look at me, Noel.”

Hoenir’s residual Magic within him forced his body to move. Shiro saw Hoenir beyond the illuminated Magic Circle, holding a small figure hostage. The dagger in Hoenir’s hand had marked a line on his cheek. Blood spilled from the wound, soaking half of the prince’s face. While he did not speak nor beg for help, his eyes showed that he was refusing to give up. Hoenir lifted the dagger to end his life.

The time Shiro spent with the prince came to him in a flash. The prince saying he was sorry for mistaking him for a woman. The prince passionately studying magic. The prince trying to talk to him, even when Shiro was cold towards him. The little prince looking at him with admiration, not fear, when seeing his powers. He had always spoken with determination unbecoming of his age. “Mister Shiro,” the prince had begun calling him without permission after he refused to give out his name.

Now, that same prince was about to be taken from him forever.

No! Something inside him shattered. Just as Shiro realized that the Magic that had been confining him had broken, he used his own Magic, as well as the constant influx of Floating Magic, to calculate a formula. Target: All living creatures except for myself, the prince—and that woman, while I’m at it. Range: this room. At the same time, construct a formula to break the barrier... Using all Magic available to him, Shiro instantly constructed complex formulas with barely any incantation. The very act served as a testament to his inhumanity, but Shiro didn’t care.

As soon as the formulas were complete, the spell activated. The ribbons of magical formulas that made up the Magic Circle around him dissipated, depositing Shiro back on his feet. At the same time, the powerful barrier was destroyed, and a gust of wind charged towards the targets of the spell, slamming them against the wall.

As the clergymen groaned and fell to the floor, Hoenir—having been thrown against the wall—beheld Shiro as his consciousness slipped away. The creature had broken the curse he’d so carefully cast over years, and now stood adorned with brilliant light and goddess-like beauty.

I didn’t expect him to break my curse and use a spell to... No, Hoenir reconsidered. The thing he truly had not expected was for Noel to attack him. Even if it had been false, he had raised the boy. Even if the boy was going to attack him, Hoenir had expected him to at least hesitate.

But Shiro didn’t hesitate. He chose the prince, whom he had spent mere months with, over his own father. Hoenir recalled how it had taken him several years to earn Shiro’s trust. The prince had easily accomplished all that and more in a fraction of the time. Hoenir realized that from the moment he had tried to use the prince, the moment he had overreached in his attempt to solidify his plan...

“I was doomed to fail,” Hoenir muttered, and fell unconscious.

Herscherik, now released from Hoenir’s grasp, saw that the archbishop was motionless on the floor. He wiped the blood from his cheeks and turned around. “Thank you, Mister Shiro...” he said, then saw that Shiro, despite having broken the curse, was still standing within the active Magic Circle.

“Mister Shiro!” he called. “Why?! You’ve knocked them all out!” Shiro’s spell had rendered all of the clergymen and Hoenir himself unconscious. Even still, the ritual continued; in fact, the room was brighter than before, wind raging through the entire space.

“Prince Herscherik!” Jeanne shouted, running over to them. She had somehow been released from the ropes that had been binding her.

Herscherik glanced at her wrists and noticed a thin red line across the marks the ropes had left on her skin. Jeanne must have had a hidden knife on her that allowed to cut through her bonds on her own.

“He’s the core of the spell,” she continued, “so—”

“She’s right. This won’t stop... until I’m a Djinn or dead. One or the other. Besides, now that the Spellcasters who were controlling the spell have been knocked out, I doubt the ritual will even conclude properly. At worst, it might overload and take this entire cathedral with it.”

Shiro’s assessment was calculated, despite the fact that his life was on the line. The pain had subsided, but he was still unable to move in any direction, perhaps bound by the effect of the Magic Circle. Besides, there was even more Floating Magic rushing into him, and he could feel it modifying him as he spoke. Either from the side effect of the drug he had been dosed with or as a result of expending all of his own Magic for a complex spell, Shiro was now unable to craft another formula.

I never thought I’d actually be unable to cast magic... He had always used magic as naturally as breathing, so Shiro found his current predicament curious. He had never expected it to come to this. He was also curious about who had taught Hoenir about those high-level formulas and in particular the Magic Circle, which was unknown in the current day. But more than anything else, he was curious about Herscherik.

The prince, who had maintained his calm expression with a dagger at his throat, now seemed shocked. Seeing Herscherik’s face, Shiro felt a sense of contentment. He was now sure that the little prince was the only one who had ever truly accepted him. That made him realize what he had to do, even if it would cost him his life.

“Get out of here, now,” Shiro said. “I’ll seal away as much Magic as I can.” By using his own life, Shiro thought that he could at least limit the explosion radius without the use of any formulas. No, he thought with resolve. I have to do this.

“Seal away, and then what...? Don’t tell me you’re going to blow yourself up!” Herscherik desperately wanted Shiro to deny it.

He didn’t. Shiro quietly smiled, for the first time that Herscherik had ever seen. A divine smile like that of the goddess of beauty, but somehow tragically frail.

Herscherik lost himself in that beauty for a moment before snapping out of it. “I won’t let you do it... Never!” he cried. What do I do? What can I do?

One thing he wasn’t going to do was give up. Herscherik wasn’t going to accept any sacrifice as a foregone conclusion. He had declared that much to Hoenir. Racking his brain to remember what Hoenir and Shiro had said, along with his own meager knowledge of magic, he guessed that the Magical Circle was used to gather Floating Magic and pour it into Shiro, which would eventually transform him into a Djinn. If that Magic doesn’t go into Shiro, then...

A light bulb flashed on inside his head. Herscherik produced the silver pocket watch—an ancient relic, imbued with powers just as extraordinary as Shiro’s. Herscherik thought the watch might be able to steal away some of the overwhelming Magic concentrated on Shiro. It was a gamble. Herscherik didn’t know if it would work at all, or if his Magic-less body could withstand such a thing. But it was the only chance he had to save Shiro.

“Jeanne... You have to run.” It was a dangerous gambit, so Herscherik wanted to at least get Jeanne out of there.

Jeanne, however, shook her head. “No, Prince Herscherik. I will always remain by your side.” Jeanne smiled sweetly.

“Thank you...” Herscherik couldn’t find anything else to say. He held his pocket watch tight. “I’ll save you, Shiro—I promise. Don’t give up.”

And with that, Herscherik stepped into the Magic Circle. He was able to, since the barrier had been destroyed, but something that felt like static electricity stung his skin as he did so, making him wince. Still, Herscherik approached Shiro step by step. As he grew closer to the center of the Circle where Shiro stood, the shocking pain intensified. Herscherik gritted his teeth to bear it as beads of sweat ran down his face and dripped into the wound on his cheek, causing a sharp sting.

“Stop...” Shiro muttered, but Herscherik ignored him as he walked forward. “Stop it, please!” Shiro implored, seeing Herscherik inching closer as his face twisted in pain. “You don’t have to suffer like this!”

“Shut up!” Herscherik shouted back, and then gave a smile to reassure Shiro. “I’m selfish, you know. I’m not going to give up on anyone.” A whirlwind erupted from where Shiro stood as the light was refracted and magnified. Bracing to keep himself from being blown away, Herscherik took another step forward. “So...!” And another. “Trust me, Shiro!”

Finally, Herscherik stood an arm’s length from Shiro. He extended his hand with the silver pocket watch clutched in it. Please, pocket watch... Klaus! As if to answer Herscherik’s silent plea, the watch glowed brighter than it had ever before. As he did, he could feel Magic flowing into him—and not the miniscule amount of Magic the watch normally granted him. The flood of Magic made his vision swim. As Herscherik faltered, dizzy, he felt someone steady him.

“Stay strong, Prince Herscherik.”

“Jeanne...” Herscherik titled his head back to see her, embracing him from behind. Jeanne looked weak, but her face still showed a smile. She wrapped her hand around Herscherik’s, so that they both were clutching the pocket watch together. “Thank you, Jeanne.” Herscherik tightened his grip on the watch. Overwhelming Magic poured into him, threatening to obliterate his consciousness, but Herscherik stood fast. I will not give up.

The Magic Circle flashed brightly in a silent explosion of light.

A world of snow expanded before his eyes. He stepped out of his house, Hoenir leading him by the hand. Then, he turned around to look at the man and the woman who watched them leave.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry...” the woman cried, and crumbled. The man held her. Both of their faces were blurred as if by clouds of mist.

Oh. That’s right. Shiro remembered now. This was a memory that had he been suppressing until now. His parents, ultimately, were only human—not strong enough to withstand the malice of those around him. They took it out on their son to protect themselves. It was still inexcusable, since they had forsaken their duty to protect and nurture their child, but... Shiro also recognized that, if he had remained in that environment, none of them would have made it. In the end, Shiro believed that his parents truly had felt something other than hatred for him, deep down.

When Shiro opened his eyes, he saw the blond-haired, green-eyed prince peering down at him with concern on his face. “Are you all right, Mister Shiro? Do you recognize me?”

“Herscherik...” he answered.

Herscherik smiled in relief. “And thank you, Jeanne.” He began to help Shiro sit up. “How is your hand?”

“It’s all right, Prince Herscherik,” she reassured him as she sat on the floor.

When the three took a moment to catch their breath, the door flew open.

“Are you hurt, Hersch?!” Oran, soaked with blood from head to toe, stormed in with Kuro leaning on his shoulder. When he saw that Herscherik, as well as the other two, were safe and that the rest of the room were incapacitated, he sighed in relief.

“Are you two... hurt?” Herscherik asked. The blood-soaked Oran and lethargic Kuro didn’t inspire confidence.

Oran smiled in return. “Hm? I’m not hurt, but the dog’s having trouble moving. He’s been poisoned. Thought I’d bring him here to you.”

Despite his dreadful appearance soaked in the blood of his enemies, Oran had defeated the Templars without a scratch. Kuro, while in no truly life-threatening danger, had caused the poison to course rapidly through his body by moving too actively during the fight. The antidote he had seized from one of his opponents took some time to kick in, leaving him to lean on Oran’s shoulder for the time being.

As Oran repositioned Kuro, he clicked his tongue. “This is humiliating...”

“Woah—why do you sound so mad at me?” Oran said, as Kuro tightened his arm around Oran’s neck. “Don’t try to choke me!”

Herscherik was relieved to hear their usual banter. Everyone’s all right... How long do we have until Mark shows up? Herscherik checked his watch to see that there was still some time left until the royal guards, led by his brothers, were planned to arrive. As soon as they’re here, we’ve got to save any evidence we can... There has to be something that ties this to the minister. If it came to light that he was tied to a revolutionary (or more accurately, terrorist) faction of the Church, Herscherik saw no way for the minister to weasel out of it. If they were lucky, they might even be able to prosecute the minister for all of his wrongdoings after this.

“Hersch!” Oran shouted.

His thoughts interrupted, Herscherik looked up. There stood one of the clergymen who had been knocked out, now charging at Herscherik with a gleaming blade in his hand. The man was charging so fast that Herscherik couldn’t believe he had been unconscious only a moment ago.

Oran dropped Kuro where he stood and sprinted forward. Kuro produced one of his concealed weapons, but he hesitated to throw it while his hand was still trembling from the poison. Herscherik stood between him and the clergyman, after all. Shiro too, could not use magic and struggled to even move. The clergyman had chosen his moment to strike when all of them had their guard down.

Herscherik recognized the man as the one who’d hit Jeanne earlier. He heard Oran rush at him from behind, but Herscherik could plainly see that the clergyman would reach him first.

Then, a flash of copper entered his field of vision. What?

“Out of the way!” The man’s voice echoed, but Herscherik couldn’t see him around the long copper hair that had come between him and his assailant. The sound of impact followed, and the waterfall of hair trembled. “Let go!” the man shouted, before another sound of impact. Then another.

Even still, the veil of copper remained. Herscherik saw Oran run straight past him and draw his sword. The clergyman groaned, but Herscherik had no interest in his fate. The copper hair faltered, then fell to the floor.

“Jeanne?” Herscherik called. She remained motionless. “Jeanne!” He rushed over, turning her onto her back. His stomach sank when he saw her clothes soaked with blood from her chest all the way down to her stomach.

“Let me see, Hersch!” Oran rushed over, and the sight of Jeanne’s current state struck him speechless.

That made Herscherik fear the worst. “Jeanne will be all right, won’t she, Oran?!” he shouted, putting his hands over one of her wounds to stem the tide. He recalled how on medical dramas, they always put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. No matter what he did, warm torrents of blood kept flowing, staining his hands crimson.

Kuro tore off a piece of a nearby clergyman’s robe and threw it to Oran. Oran bandaged Jeanne’s wounds with it, but the bleeding didn’t stop. The red pool on the floor only grew larger. It was clear for all to see that Jeanne would not make it—except to Herscherik, who kept desperately pressing his tiny hands onto her wounds.

“Hersch...”

“Her bleeding won’t stop, Kuro. How can I make it stop?!” Herscherik pleaded, because he didn’t want Kuro to finish that sentence. No one could give him the answer he wanted...

Until a devilish whisper crawled into his ear. “I may be able to keep her alive.” Hoenir had risen to his feet, leaning against the wall and looking at Herscherik with a gentle smile. “With my Healing magic...well, even with my Healing magic, I’d give her a fifty-fifty chance. And no one in this country wields more powerful Healing magic than I do. A mere physician would have no chance, even if she had time to find one.”

“You planned this...?” Herscherik muttered.

Hoenir shook his head. “No. Now that Noel’s transcendence has failed, your death would not benefit me. It seems that man had an allegiance higher than the Church after all. Not that I cared. That fact had no bearing on my plan.”

There was only one other person the clergyman could have been talking about. “Barbosse...!” Herscherik muttered. Who else could it have been, all things considered?

“Now, Prince Herscherik. If you want to save the girl, you must accept my terms.”

“What’s your price?” Herscherik asked with a scowl, since he already knew the answer.

Hoenir grinned with satisfaction. “Your eternal fealty to me, Your Highness.”

Herscherik shook his head at the expected term. If he agreed, Hoenir would never loosen his grip on him. There was no use lying to him, either. Herscherik knew that if he agreed, he would end up as the man’s puppet after all.

Hoenir let out an amused laugh. “I thought you despised sacrifices, Your Highness. She sacrificed herself for you.”

“I...” Herscherik knew that. No matter how idealistic it seemed, he still didn’t want to lose anyone for the sake of his cause. But now, Jeanne had fallen to protect him, and her life was about to fade away.

“If you agree, you will save her life. What say you, Your Highness?”

Herscherik felt like his body weighed heavier by the second. He thought he heard Oran and Kuro, but their voices seemed so distant.

“Snap out of it!” Shiro shouted, and pain shot across Herscherik’s face. “Knight! Stop standing around like a fool and shut that man up!”

After a beat, Herscherik realized that Shiro had slapped him across his face. “Mister Shiro...?” He called, taken aback.

“A mind attack spell. A subtle one that doesn’t need a formula, but greatly effective against someone with no Magic. Especially in your current mental state.”

Herscherik looked over to see Oran drag Hoenir to the ground and put the tip of his sword against the archbishop’s neck.

“That’s my Noel.”

“Don’t call me that!” Shiro spat.

“But Jeanne’s going to...” Unable to make a decision, Herscherik watched Oran bind Hoenir with a rope Kuro had produced. He couldn’t accept Hoenir’s terms, but that meant a death sentence for Jeanne. What should I do...?

“Prince Herscherik...” A quiet voice reached him. A pair of trembling hands that were quickly losing their warmth held Herscherik’s, stained red from his desperate attempts to stop her bleeding through it all.

“Jeanne...” Herscherik held her hands in his and peered into her eyes.

Jeanne looked up at him and relief washed over her face.

“Please, do not be concerned for my sake... It’s time for me to reap what I’ve sown.” Jeanne recalled how she had destroyed so many lives, even murdering innocent people. She never expected to escape her past. She had committed far too many sins for that. This is exactly what I deserve...

“But—!” Herscherik tightened his grip on her hands. The coldness of them signified how little time she had left. “But...!” He couldn’t say the rest out loud. If he did, his resolve would crumble.

Jeanne placed a hand on Herscherik’s cheek, tilting his face up, and forced herself to smile. “You mustn’t lie to yourself.” Herscherik had once told her the same thing.

With a cough, blood trickled out of her mouth. Her life was slipping away with every second. Jeanne let go of Herscherik’s cheek and removed her earring. “Please, take this... Prince Herscherik.” She handed him her earring shaped like a cylinder coiled into a circle. The metal jewelry shared its color with Jeanne’s hair, and it was inscribed with detailed runes.

“Prince Herscherik, this will aid you in your...” Her voice grew weak. She no longer felt pain, as if her brain was refusing any signals of it. She began to feel cold, except her hand that Herscherik was still clutching tightly. The source of that warmth, however, had twisted his face up with the effort of holding back tears. “Don’t cry, Prince Herscherik...”

“I’m... not...” It’s true that Herscherik wasn’t crying, exactly but he felt like he was being slowly crushed. It would have been much easier for him if he could simply drown in his tears and show his emotions. But his heart seemed frozen, leaving him unable to express anything.

“I will always... be by your side...” Jeanne uttered the only wish she had ever dared to have for herself.

“Jeanne...” Herscherik’s grip tightened around her hands.

“I was so happy that you liked my song, Prince Herscherik...” Jeanne could feel her own life on the verge of flickering away. Her world began to dim, as if someone had begun to turn out the lights. “I love how your smile... is like a ray of sunshine...” The last thing Jeanne would see in this world was Herscherik’s face. “Please take care... of Vivi...” Her hands let go of the prince’s, and the light of life flickered out of Jeanne’s eyes.

Having restrained Hoenir, Oran came back to close her eyelids. Now, she looked like she was only sleeping. Herscherik felt a once warm part of his heart freeze over—an emotion that had stayed within him since Jeanne confessed her feelings was now crumbling away into nothing. No... That’s not all, Jeanne.

It’s true that he could never swear loyalty to Hoenir, but his desire not to lose Jeanne was just as real. That’s how much she’d meant to him. Ah, that’s right. Herscherik realized something for the first time, She was my... first... Now that he had realized this, though, there was nothing he could do to bring her back.

With his left hand still holding Jeanne’s, Herscherik stretched out his right hand to stroke her polished, copper-like hair. He loved how silky it felt against his fingers. The first time he had touched her hair like this was when she had cried in his arms like a little child. He’d wanted to protect her. Herscherik still vividly remembered the first genuine smile she had ever shown him, just after crying so hard.

He would never see her smile again.

“Jeanne...” Herscherik called, one last time.

Herscherik remained where he was without saying a word, only tenderly stroking Jeanne’s hair until the royal guards charged in.

After watching her pass, the Eternal Witch dismissed the mirror floating in the air with the flick of a hand. As soon as she could confirm she was no longer being sabotaged, she had produced the mirror to watch the prince’s progress, but it was too late for her to do anything about the outcome.

Destiny can be boundlessly cruel... The witch had originally foreseen a few possibilities. One was a future where Herscherik was killed by Hoenir, Shiro became a Djinn, and the world was torn apart by war. Another was the Magic Circle growing out of control, taking out the cathedral and everyone in its vicinity. Those had been averted by Herscherik himself.

Then, destiny presented him with two paths. Herscherik could have been killed, or Jeanne could have protected him with his life. The one who ultimately made the choice, however, had been Jeanne.

“She chose her destiny... For the boy she loved.” A moment’s hesitation would have resulted in Herscherik’s death. Jeanne had no reservations in choosing Herscherik’s life over her own. And so, Herscherik survived and Jeanne did not. “I better investigate that...” The Eternal Witch sighed.

Her utterance was heard by no one, and dissipated into the air as the Witch herself disappeared from view.