Chapter 9

“Resistance?”

Al Terua held out their palm.

“Try pushing this hand.”

The memory of ‘death’ from last time made him slightly afraid, but Quilbion steeled himself and pushed against the Ascetic’s palm.

“If we consider the force of Quilbion pushing me as sorcery.”

Al Terua’s hand slowly moved backward.

“The students here lack resistance, so they get pushed back endlessly like this.”

“What happens when they’re pushed back?”

“Their memories get suppressed. Conversely, if you build up resistance and furthermore develop counter-force.”

Al Terua put strength into their hand. Quilbion didn’t resist and naturally stepped back.

“You can break free from the bindings of sorcery. The three of us came to our senses because we possessed excellent resistance.”

“I have a question.”

Quilbion asked while looking at his palm.

“If Twella and I have resistance, why did we only realize it now?”

“You were probably in equilibrium before. Your resistance and the sorcery’s suppressive force were evenly matched, creating a sustained state where you neither advanced nor retreated.”

“What broke that equilibrium?”

“Growth.”

Al Terua approached and placed their hands on Quilbion and Twella’s shoulders.

“You probably only hold memories from the past year. Memories of waking up in your dormitories, receiving education, and living without deviation in a thoroughly controlled environment.”

Hearing those words, he looked back on the past. Just as Al Terua said, he could only recall unchanging days.

A daily routine he’d never questioned until recently.

Now it was different.

It was astonishing how he’d lived through such monotonous days without a single deviation.

Most troubling of all was the answer to ‘when did I come here?’

Even tracing his memories back, all that waited at the end was the image of opening his eyes in Friendship House.

Nothing existed before that.

The only memory from outside was the pig.

“You wouldn’t have realized it, but your bodies grew with time. Not just your bodies, but your mental world became clearer too.”

“Mental world?”

Twella carefully spoke the word.

“For now, let’s call it your thoughts or mind. The world of existing concepts. It’s a domain you need to know to learn magic, but we’ll be mastering sorcery, not magic.”

What was magic, then?

Every word that came from Al Terua’s mouth was incomprehensible.

“It’s truly difficult. Explaining with limited information. So first, I need to clean your heads.”

“Our heads?”

It certainly didn’t mean cleaning in the literal sense.

Quilbion was tapping his head with both hands when Al Terua pulled out the paper he’d seen last time.

Square paper the size of a palm.

“You both remember this, right?”

“Yes.”

“This paper is called a ‘talisman.’ Think of it as a basic tool needed for sorcery.”

Quilbion gripped the paper and rubbed it slightly. A rough texture. When he pulled it, it had considerable elasticity.

“The best way to increase resistance is to learn sorcery.”

“What should we do with this?”

It wouldn’t end with just holding the paper—there had to be a next step.

“First, try focusing on the paper. But with your eyes closed.”

For now, he did as instructed.

He pulled down his eyelids. A black curtain covered the world. His ears, seemingly twice as sensitive as when his eyes were open, caught Twella’s breathing.

Al Terua’s footsteps reached him too.

Focus, focus.

First, he recalled the hand that had been gripping the paper. He thought of the paper spread stiffly between his fingers.

Hmm…

Was this the right way to do it?

“Excuse me.”

“Shh. Just focus for now.”

This was difficult.

The Ascetics had always provided methods. Methods for cleaning, methods for training, methods for eating.

He’d only needed to follow the methods, so imagining anything ‘outside the method’ was quite challenging.

If it were an action with a clear purpose like finding food, it would be somewhat easier.

But abstract focus was a torturous task.

That’s when it happened.

“It’s dancing.”

Twella said.

Words like ‘what are you talking about’ didn’t leave his mouth.

Quilbion confirmed with both eyes.

The talisman Twella was holding was swaying as if dancing.

She still had her eyes closed. Al Terua looked between Twella’s face and the talisman with interest.

“Good, keep focusing.”

“Ascetic, can I open my eyes now?”

“No. Right now you need to limit your senses. Block out unnecessary visual information and focus on the talisman, yourself holding it, and what’s happening between them.”

“Yes.”

Something was happening.

Quilbion was staring blankly at the dancing talisman when Al Terua’s face intruded into his field of vision.

“Do you have time to watch?”

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Let’s focus. If Twella did it, I can too.

He’d always achieved top scores with excellent grades in Friendship House. He’d never fallen behind, so he’d grasp it quickly this time too.

A dancing talisman.

He imagined the swaying paper and put strength between his brows.

“Stop.”

Al Terua said.

Quilbion gently opened his eyes and checked the talisman he was holding. It was just crumpled from the force in his fingers.

“You possess overwhelming talent.”

Al Terua said to Twella.

Their eyes looked incredibly warm.

“Quilbion isn’t bad either. Perhaps because you were influenced by Twella, a path has opened to some degree.”

Influenced.

Quilbion loosened his hand and turned his head toward Twella.

The child who’d called the Sun disgusting when all the students were praising it.

Quilbion had thought himself clever. He’d believed only Drich could compare, and the rest were below him both intellectually and physically.

It had been arrogance.

What he’d believed to be skill was merely efficiency. Twella, who’d seen through the lies and glimpsed fragments of truth, was the one who truly shone.

Then?

He imprinted the talisman’s shape in both eyes and squeezed them shut again.

“Quilbion.”

“There are still ten minutes of rest time left. I’ll try a bit more.”

If he’d fallen behind, he just needed to act to catch up.

“Alright. Let’s try a bit more. Twella, you try again too. This time, try to feel the temperature.”

Twella’s talisman moved on its own.

Did it happen if you focused?

He drew the swaying talisman on the black clock that had darkened.

Move, move, move.

He screamed silently with desperation, then gently opened his eyes.

The talisman remained motionless, as it should.

*

“It was faster than expected. Let’s pick up the pace. Come find me again tomorrow.”

They descended the stairs after Al Terua’s farewell.

Twella didn’t run away like last time. Instead, she matched his pace with her mouth closed, staying by his side.

“Hey.”

“You’re curious how it moved, right?”

“…Yeah. No matter what I did, it wouldn’t move. I couldn’t even grasp what I should feel or what I should focus on.”

When you didn’t know the method, questions were best. Twella was far superior in sorcery, so she’d give a clear answer.

“Do we have to make it move?”

Twella answered.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this thing called sorcery. Do we really need to learn it?”

Quilbion stopped walking. Twella didn’t stop and descended a few more steps.

“Am I too lacking to explain?”

“No, that’s absolutely not it. I don’t think you’re lacking at all. Rather, I think you’re amazing. It’s just…”

Mid-sentence, Twella flinched in shock. So much that her reddish cheeks turned deathly pale.

“Twella?”

“Stay still! Please stay still. I’m begging you.”

“What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

He was worried about the sudden change. The moment he descended one step to close the distance with Twella.

“Step back!”

Twella looked up and shouted.

Her mood swings were severe. This wasn’t normal. Had something gone wrong while studying sorcery?

Thinking this, he raised his head like Twella.

Crumble.

Something like stone powder fell.

He made a sound and squinted. It stung—powder had gotten into his eyes.

He was gently closing his eyes to flush out the impurities with tears when it happened.

A grabbing hand pulled his body forward.

“Whoa!”

His center of gravity collapsed. Someone caught his body as it tumbled toward the floor.

Crash—impact transmitted through his body.

But he wasn’t seriously hurt.

It seemed the person who’d grabbed his arm was trapped underneath.

“Twella, Twella! Are you okay?”

He wanted to open his eyes and check ahead, but his eyelids wouldn’t lift.

The person who’d grabbed his arm must be Twella, but why?

The budding question was buried by a heavy sound from right behind him.

Bang!

Quilbion curled up and hugged Twella, who was pressed against him.

The noise didn’t continue.

Acrid air covered his nose and mouth. Quilbion coughed and forced his left eye open.

Enduring the tearing pain, he barely opened one eye.

“Twella, are you okay?”

Twella’s form appeared in his blurry vision. Twella made a groaning sound, then soon said she was fine.

“Are you hurt anywhere? Are you really okay?”

“Yeah, what about you?”

“My eyes just sting a bit.”

A commotion arose from below. The voices of friends mixed with Ascetics’ voices reached him.

Quilbion wiped his left eye with the back of his hand. His hazily blurred vision cleared somewhat.

“…”

When he turned around, the stairs were a mess. Broken boards and stones. He raised his gaze. The ceiling had collapsed.

It was chilling.

If they’d been even a second later, they would have been crushed.

He knew instinctively. That he’d just had one foot halfway into the stage called death.

The cessation of life activities Al Terua had mentioned would have occurred.

His heart beat faster than ever. Cold sweat briefly appeared, then his entire body grew cold.

Death.

That word, which had been only vague, turned his mind inside out with a sickening sense of reality.

Nausea surged when it happened.

“Quil.”

Twella’s hands touched both his cheeks.

Just that touch calmed his head, which had been heading toward the end of chaos.

“You’ll be okay. So… don’t worry.”

Twella said this and smiled gently.

It was clearly a smile.

A beautiful smile to the degree that he wanted to keep looking at it, to the degree that the definition of beauty was understood in that moment.

Surely it was.

Yet Quilbion recalled a completely different word while facing that smile.

Sadness.

It was truly strange.

*

“The Pioneer watched over you. I’m certain. That’s why they came. If not for their mysterious power, you would have been seriously hurt.”

Drich made a fuss.

He traversed the bed repeatedly, endlessly praising the Pioneer.

“Drich.”

“Huh?”

“What happens when you’re seriously hurt?”

“Well… you get hurt.”

“I mean, what exactly is being seriously hurt?”

Drich’s mouth moved wordlessly. As if he had much to say but couldn’t assemble the right sentences.

“No! If you’re seriously hurt, you’re seriously hurt. Lately you’ve been asking strange questions about obvious things.”

If you’re really seriously hurt, death comes next.

It was precious information gained through experience.

Did Drich know?

The terror of death encountered only through text. That emptiness, that chill, and furthermore, that terrible sense of complete severance.

“Anyway, the Pioneer…”

“It was Twella.”

“What?”

“The one who saved me was Twella. Not the Pioneer.”

“What could she do?”

“She could pull me.”

After smiling at the bewildered Drich, he closed his eyes.

He tried to picture the talisman, but what appeared was Twella’s face.

When he’d first seen her, he hadn’t understood, and the next time they’d clashed, he’d been annoyed.

The annoyance had dissolved and disappeared, leaving a place filled with the desire to help, but now another emotion had sprouted.

He wanted to protect her.

Helping and protecting.

Quilbion fell asleep while mulling over the difference between the two words.