When Veric hit the water, the impact rattled her teeth and shook through her bones. But thanks to her blessings, it didn’t hurt, and she didn’t die. She took a deep breath. The frothing cloud of bubbles generated by her sinking tickled her nose.

The power of the Great Dragon coursed through her body and wrapped itself around her, protecting her from the intense currents sweeping her through the dark river. After all, the Great Dragon governed water and the sea. The problem was that it couldn’t protect her from other dangers underwater, too.

Broken rocks and debris hurtled along the current, tearing open skin and leaving bruises where they hit. The river split into treacherously winding hollows with sharp bends and hazardous rock formations. Veric dodged the worst of it by sensing the water around her, thanks to the Great Dragon’s favor. However, for those who didn’t serve the Dragon Shrine, they would undoubtedly struggle more.

Dozens upon dozens of blessings glowed in her mind’s eye. None of the lights had yet gone out, so their holders must still be alive. She’d granted a passive healing boost in water and the ability to breathe underwater, but was that really enough to keep everyone alive?

Veric clasped her hands together and prayed.

“Our lady of sorrows, take mercy on your poor lambs. Guide these lost souls to safety, and grant us succor for our pain…”

Blessings of strength, agility, and stamina; blessings to relieve pain. With each word of prayer, her phaenescence leeched away, and the lights in her mind’s eye grew stronger. They would be most effective for those who stayed in the water.

But the enemies’ magic had been able to control the flow of water, too.

The voice of the boy who’d been coordinating everyone — the Sattari, right? — whispered weakly in her ear.

“Swim perpendicular to the current to escape the water… and regroup… remember the timeline… incoming disaster… be careful what you look at…”

His voice finally grew too quiet to hear over the roar of the water, but his words were already enough to set Veric’s heart pounding. That was right; today was the third day of the Fantasm’s timeline. They only had one day before the disaster that destroyed this idyllic world would arrive.

How were they supposed to survive on their own?

Heeding the Sattari’s instructions, she didn’t waste any energy swimming directly against the current. It felt like an eternity being buffeted back and forth in the dark waters before she finally glimpsed the bioluminescent light of the caverns’ blue flowers glimmering above the water, indicating where there was space to surface. Veric propelled herself out as fast as she could, hauling herself up the mossy banks with muddy hands.

For a while, she just lay there panting from exhaustion. However, the rising water level soon prompted her to climb up a rocky platform by the cave walls, where it was relatively dry. She curled up against the wall and hugged her knees.

The flooding water had long covered the narrow entrance through which the underground river entered. Her lens was gone, washed away in the current. Veric had also long lost track of her location. It was hard to imagine that anyone could find her here.

But that also meant as long as she kept her eyes closed and endured a few days of hunger, there wouldn’t be any problem surviving until the end of the Fantasm.

She just hoped everyone else was safe, too.

Veric muttered a few more prayers for her classmates before lying down. Whether she waited here or decided to look for others later, getting proper rest and restoring her stamina was crucial. Although her titles could supplement her individually for as long as needed, the phaenescence that supplied her classmates’ blessings didn’t come from nowhere.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed before some peculiar splashing woke her up. Then there was the unmistakable sound of footsteps breaking stems and scraping against the rock.

Veric opened her eyes, and her heart sank.

Six masked figures had emerged from the water. One of them held a compass in hand. Another, with a flick of their hand, wicked away the water on their companions’ bodies and dried them off. Three of them had exchanged their original masks for ritual masks that no one could possibly fail to recognize.

Narrow eye slits. Sinister fangs, bared in a smile or a threat. Swathes of dark and light paint that cast the shape of the mask in dramatic relief. A circle painted on the forehead, to symbolize the cycle and the eye at the same time.

These were masks of the Scribe, worn for rituals related to the creation and witnessing of “history.”

Then what kind of history did they intend to create?

The last of the six figures raised their arms, and the wind answered their call, forming a barrier separating Veric from the water.

Of course. Because that was how to kill a member of the Dragon Shrine.

Still, Veric wasn’t going down without a fight. Even without the ability to use aura or magic, she wasn’t helpless. She stood up and called upon her title.

[Braveheart Who Challenged the Dragon’s Tears].

Pure energy rushed into her body. The phantom of a blue dragon solidified around her; large claws grew over her hands like glowing gauntlets, and a graceful, serpentine tail snaked down from the curve of her spine. As long as Veric didn’t lose her will to fight, the “miracle” granted to her by the Great Dragon would never end.

But Veric was still afraid, because of the ceremonial golden dagger that the compass holder pulled out from his robe.

It was this blade that had broken the barrier she’d initially cast to protect everyone. It had broken Roxana’s, too. That wasn’t unreasonable; Roxana’s talents weren’t in that area, after all. But Veric was supposed to be the next inheritor of the Dragon Shrine, the successor of the Saintess’ will. She had to do better than Roxana. How could her Phenomena be broken so easily?

She couldn’t afford to doubt herself right now. The blessings ensuring everyone’s safety underwater would only persist as long as she was alive. For their sake, she had to survive.

The three ritualists spread out and surrounded the area. They swayed and murmured in unison, moving their hands to trace Divine Script in the air. The mage probed her with blades of wind that Veric easily shrugged off. Although the Blue Dragon didn’t rule the air, as the sovereign of rain and storms, it would be absurd for such minor winds to break its protection. The last two enemies climbed the rock formation to draw close to her, but with the advantage of higher ground, Veric rebuffed them easily.

The wind grew stronger. Veric lowered her center of gravity and continued to fight like that, then resorted to digging one clawed hand into the rock while parrying close-range attacks with the other. However, with unstable positioning like that, she left too many gaps open.

The golden blade snaked past her defenses. Just like when it broke her barrier, it cut through the Great Dragon’s blessing as if it wasn’t there, biting deeply into her calf.

Veric snarled and knocked the attacker back. Their companion took advantage of her haste, though, grabbing her coat and pulling her sideways off the ledge. Veric smashed her head into theirs. They went limp, but they didn’t let go. Their weight dragged her into the mud.

Veric didn’t even have time to wipe the blood off her forehead before she had to roll hastily to the side. The golden blade embedded itself in the ground mere centimeters from her ear.

The attacker pulled the blade out of the mud and rained attacks on her from above. Veric could only block with her bare hands, accumulating deep gashes on her arms. She needed to get back on her feet before she lost control of the fight entirely.

Veric clenched her teeth and activated her next title.

[Alleviator of Shared Sorrows].

Her mental map of senses expanded to include her opponent’s body. She felt his aches and wounds; she felt all his pains. Veric brought her leg up to knee him in the ribs, where his robes covered a deep cut. He gasped, grip loosening on his weapon. Veric flinched from the sympathetic burst of pain, but she followed her initial movement to pull him down into a grapple, flipping their positions with a kick of her leg.

Before she could wrestle the golden blade away from him, though, someone wrapped their arms around her neck from behind. Veric choked, hands flying up to grab them. The attacker she’d knocked down earlier — was it them—?

The enemy beneath her didn’t miss his chance.

An impact to the stomach knocked all the wind out of her. She rolled her eyes down and saw the golden blade buried in her stomach. With a strained roar, the man beneath her ripped the blade to the side, spilling her blood and guts all over his upper body, staining his mask black and red.

If she relied on [Braveheart]’s miracle to stay alive, in this position, they could easily kill her over and over again until she gave up. But if she backed down from the challenge and faked her death, [Braveheart] would stop working, and she really would die.

The memory of a woman with fluttering white hair flitted through her mind.

—A single mistake in battle will cost you your life.

Veric should have learned more from Sacha when she had the chance.

If her abilities had been different — no, if she had just been a different person entirely…

In the midst of her overwhelming regret, her World Proof began to manifest.

The air darkened, and a great pressure descended. Time slowed to a stop, and everything froze in place, like insects trapped in amber, flowers preserved in glass. Her consciousness was pulled into another space.

There, in an endless darkness, hung a colossal bronze scale. She stood at the fulcrum, looking around at the multiple weighted plates that surrounded her.

One plate represented her healing abilities; another, her barrier and formation skills. Each plate stood for a noteworthy talent that she could pursue. Currently, the scales were all nearly balanced, weighted by glimmering pearls — tilted ever so slightly in favor of defense.

But the power source of her defensive skills was the Great Dragon, and right now, the Great Dragon couldn’t protect her from that golden blade.

Veric reached for the title symbol tattooed on her collarbone.

[Arbiter of Solace and Relief].

It was a lifestyle title — one gained from accumulated mastery or behavioral patterns over time. It was also the only type of title her World Proof would accept as sacrifice.

In this state, Veric could feel the power that hummed in the title, enhancing the abilities she’d gained from the Dragon Shrine. Her fingers sank inwards, as if reaching for her soul, and she tore out what had been grafted onto it. The power of the title coalesced into a gentle blue symbol floating over her hand. When she released it, it disintegrated into light, infusing itself into the scales.

Her title remained, of course. The past couldn’t be erased. But the power in that title would never return again.

In response to her sacrifice, the scales began to glow.

Veric lifted her hands and gestured. The pearls from healing, barriers, medicine, and alchemy poured away into a plate whose talent she’d never allowed herself to fully pursue—

Martial combat.

A Dragon Priest didn’t need to study such a thing, much less a Saintess candidate. Veric only had what she’d picked up by inviting herself to Luka’s training sessions. That half-remembered knowledge was not nearly enough to turn this situation around.

But perhaps having pure talent could.

The [Scales of Talent Caught Between Paths] settled firmly in place. The consciousness space faded away, taking the scales with them, and Veric settled back into her body.

The world began moving again, and Veric’s body sang with the sensation of being alive.

[Braveheart]’s power burst out. Veric’s fingers dug into the arms around her neck. The dragon phantom’s claws gouged deep into flesh and crushed bone. When she pulled her hands away, strips of skin and muscle dangled from her hands. The woman screamed and fell away.

The man stabbed at her again, aiming for the arteries in her thighs, but she caught the blade with her hand, heedless of the blood. With her free hand, she gathered her guts back inside her stomach, where an intense blue light knit her flesh back together in a thick and pale scar.

Veric was still afraid.

But she wouldn’t die.

As long as she didn’t give up, she wouldn’t die.

The air whistled. Veric twisted to the side, dodging the wind blades thrown her way by the mage. Then she lunged forward again to engage the two close-combat fighters again. How come she hadn’t noticed before? The wind and water abilities used by the enemies were powerful, but they weren’t precise. If Veric stuck close to the other two, she could guide those attacks into hitting her enemies.

It was as if the world had opened up before her. She saw the way their muscles tensed, the faint white gleam of their eyes when their attention shifted, the sweat that dampened their clothes. She felt the air currents against every patch of exposed skin. Each footstep and rustle of clothing sang in her ears.

The woman came at her with a wrestler’s grip as the blade wielder circled around, waiting for an opening. Normally, Veric would have been tense, fighting two-on-one, but now—

Now, it felt like the simplest thing in the world to dodge past their attacks, slipping into the shadow of their movement to strike the weaknesses exposed by [Alleviator of Shared Sorrows].

She didn’t know what method the woman had used to heal her arms, but the pain of Veric’s previous attack still lingered on her. Veric targeted those still-healing wounds again, tearing viciously before slamming her foot into the woman’s stomach and sending her tumbling to the ground. When the blade wielder swung at her head, Veric dropped down and swept her leg out, kicking his feet out from under him.

Blow by blow, she drove her attackers back.

It was working. She could do this.

And then a flutter of white paper dolls scattered through the air, spread by the mage’s wind. When they landed on the ground, they transformed into more masked figures that began to close in.

Veric leaped back and pressed her hands together. “O hierarch of meaning—!”

They didn’t give her time to finish the prayer. Heedless of defense, they threw themselves at her with the pure determination to obstruct her movements. Veric went down. Someone grabbed her ponytail, hauling her head back as the blade wielder appeared before her again. He rammed the golden blade into the side of her exposed neck. Veric tasted blood. Her vision went dim.

[Braveheart] surged with power. Straining her muscles, Veric reached up and grabbed the man’s arm, then surrendered to the weight of everyone pulling her arms down down. It tore the blade out of her neck in a spray of blood that quickly ceased under the Great Dragon’s miracle.

“Hierarch of meaning!” Veric shouted through clenched teeth, tearing her head away from the hands that reached to cover her mouth. With great effort, she dragged her hands together until her fingers were barely touching. “Show me the truth!”

The Great Dragon’s power shone over her surroundings. The enemies disintegrated into bundles of fragile paper, quickly whipped away by the wind. Even the blade wielder transformed into a paper doll. Only the mage and the silently watching ritualists were left. The compass, now cracked and broken, clattered to the ground with the golden dagger.

Veric reached out. That dagger was the problem, her great weakness. If she could just keep it out of the enemy’s hands—

She couldn’t complete the movement. Veric stared at the thin red tendrils that had sprouted from the ground and wrapped themselves around her limbs. It only took a moment to shake them off, but in that moment, the mage had already appeared before her to snatch both artifacts away.

Veric lunged for them with the phantom’s claws outstretched.

But the mage moved with an exquisite dagger art, slipping past her guard and leaving a long gash on her arm. With their free hand, the mage threw out another handful of paper dolls. More red tendrils sprouted from the ground to keep her from putting her hands together.

It took longer, this time, for Veric to shake the enemies off and dispel the paper dolls’ transformation. Blood dripped on the ground from her healing wounds.

The red tendrils whipped forward to bind her once more. They were getting stronger, faster. The mage flitted in and out between waves of paper dolls. Slash after slash, the golden blade traced new wounds on Veric’s body. Her clothes were turning black from all the blood.

Veric wasn’t winning. She knew that. But as long as she didn’t lose heart, she wouldn’t die.

She couldn’t let herself die here. Not as long as anyone needed her blessings still. And not as long as she hadn’t reached her goal.

Gasping for breath, Veric tore off a handful of red tendrils and prepared to face another round of fighting.

The mage spoke.

“How do you like them?” she said, stroking the scarlet fronds emerging from the ground. “These children were grown and watered by your very own blood, after all.”

“My blood?” Veric rasped.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed they’re growing stronger. It’s the effect of my World Proof, you see.” The mage tossed her head back proudly. “The more wounded you are, the more blood you shed, the greater hindrance that [Blood’s Binding Bloom] will pose to you.”

Veric’s face twisted in revulsion. To have such a vile name for a World Proof—

“What kind of person are you?”

“A happy one, and a successful one?” the mage suggested. “And now, someone who will win this battle. Dear inheritor of the Dragon Shrine, I’m sure you’ve realized it by now, but the dragon’s power can’t protect you from us. It can only heal you enough for you to feed my lovelies more, and the stronger they grow, the more you will bleed. Isn’t it a wonderful, virtuous cycle?”

Her stomach sank. Veric spoke forcefully to keep the fear at bay. “What do you want? Why are you attacking me?”

“Why not? I’ve always wanted to see how my power can compare to one of the Signifier’s seven hierarchs.” The mage chuckled lowly. “This endless blood revelry is a wonderful occasion for me. Just imagine how long [Blood’s Binding Bloom] could feed on you! But I suppose you might not be so enthusiastic.”

She tilted her face. Behind the mask, her eyes were smiling.

“If the torture ever grows too much to bear, all you have to do is let go of the Dragon’s blessings. And then it will all be over.”

Veric felt a deep chill.

“Why?” she said. “Why go this far just to kill me?”

The mage laughed.

“Dear child, this plan is so much bigger than just you.”

She didn’t wait for Veric’s answer before throwing out more paper dolls. Bloody vines unfurled from the ground. The golden blade gleamed viciously, reflecting scarlet from its blade.

Veric threw herself into the fight with renewed viciousness.

It was true that she’d been wounded many times, but under the brutal tempering of true battle, her combat ability was blooming. She could read the field of battle better, now; she could attack more cleverly, more accurately. New ideas on how to move her body constantly sprang to mind.

Maybe this new talent was the only reason why Veric could still resist at all.

Time passed, agonizingly slow. Every moment in battle was an eternity. With [Braveheart]’s blessing, her body endlessly healed, but her mind was wearing out.

She clenched her teeth, trying to breathe around the growing tightness in her chest.

How long had she been fighting here alone, in this dim and gloomy space? Was Luka looking for her? What about Roxana? Even if they were, could they even find her here?

How long did she have to last?

There were over three days left in the Fantasm World’s timeline.

[Braveheart] whispered to her.

As long as she didn’t lose heart, what was there to be afraid of?

The cold and sinister masks of the ritualists grinned at her. The mage’s laughter rang out over the battlefield, drowning out even the sound of the rushing wind.

“That’s right! Fight for your life! Show me your struggle! Your desperation! Let me see your face as you despair!”

If Veric’s talent couldn’t keep up with the growth of [Blood’s Binding Bloom]—

They would capture her and subdue her. And they would try to kill her.

Over and over, as long as the Great Dragon’s miracle brought her back, again and again—

Veric’s heart pounded jackrabbit fast in her ribcage. It was hard to breathe.

Luka. Roxana. Anyone…

Blue Moon! Ruler of sorrow! How long have I been serving in your temple? Save me…!

But Veric couldn’t help but wonder.

Someone like her, who was nothing like a Saintess and had no power to realize her dreams…

Was she really worthy of being saved?

The dragon phantom around her flickered. The transformed paper dolls around her didn’t miss the opening, jumping forward recklessly with the suicidal attacks that only they could afford.

Dragged down by their efforts and the blooming red tendrils, Veric fell down to one knee. Instead of struggling to counterattack, she raised her eyes to the wind barrier and the masked mage still laughing before her.

Veric knew herself. Even though she’d served as a Dragon Priestess for so long, she was still afraid of pain.

She really was going to die here, wasn’t she?

…

The barrier of wind exploded.

The mage screamed, and the transformed paper dolls simultaneously collapsed. Veric shook off their slackened grips, squinting against the wild wind with watering eyes.

She saw—

Acacius appearing behind a masked ritualist like a vengeful ghost. His eyes shone madly as he drew a black knife across the ritualist’s throat. The body gurgled and fell to the ground. Acacius didn’t spare it a second glance. He coiled like a wildcat, gripping his knife tightly, and leaped forward at the mage.

“Look out!” Veric shouted hoarsely.

Scarlet vines streaked towards him. With a graceful twist, Acacius spun midair, cutting through dozens of their attacks. Dozens more made it through. They caught Acacius whole meters from the mage, his arm outstretched.

His hand was empty.

Veric followed the direction of his fingers and saw the hilt of his blade buried deep in the mage’s eye.

The mage staggered, lifting up one shaking hand.

“Im…possible…”

And she collapsed.

[Blood’s Binding Bloom] disintegrated. Veric pushed herself shakily to her feet and stared blankly. She couldn’t see the other two ritualists. The only people left standing were her and Acacius.

Acacius turned and trekked through the grass towards her. He was dripping with water from the river, and his suit was stained all over with blood and dirt. He picked up the golden blade from the mage’s side and tucked it into his belt before looking at Veric. The spinning pattern that had appeared in his eyes before the cavern collapse was still there, giving an eerie pressure to his already cold gaze.

“Verica.” As if untouched by recent events, Acacius spoke in his ordinary flat inflection. “Can you move?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah…”

“Can you cast your blessing on us again? The ones for traveling underwater.”

“Y-yeah. But why?”

“We need to move before the enemy looks this way again.”

Before they… looked?

Acacius was holding the knife in his hand again. Or did he have an identical weapon set? He cut his finger, then pulled a compass from his pocket. It was the same artifact as what the enemies had been using. He flipped open the cap. With a casual swipe, he rubbed clean the space where Veric’s name had been crudely scrawled in blood.

Was that how he’d found her?

“Who do you trust to protect you?”

Veric swallowed down her questions in the face of his brusque focus.

“I… trust Luka. With my life.”

Acacius looked at her expressionlessly.

Then he used his bleeding finger to write Luka’s name in crooked letters on the compass. He flipped the cap shut and threw it at Veric. She caught it on reflex.

“You lead the way underwater. It’s dark down there and I can’t see well. Any objections?”

“No, but…”

“But?”

What was the compass? Where did Acacius get it, and why did he come for her? What the hell even was his plan?

In lieu of any of that, Veric said, “But are you really okay with finding Luka? And — and working together with him?”

“Why are you asking me?” Acacius replied curtly. “Come on. We don’t have time.”

He held his hand out. It was cold and grimy. He tugged her towards the water, stepping over the limp bodies of the transformed paper dolls. At the edge, Veric finally saw the missing two ritualists’ bodies. One of them lay askew, as if their limbs had all been broken, and the other looked as if it had been torn apart by a wild beast. Just what in the world had Acacius done?

If it was Acacius at all.

“Verica. Blessing.”

The cold voice pulled her out of her thoughts. He certainly seemed like Acacius. But Veric couldn’t forget the wild anger that had burst out of him when the Great Dragon’s authority had marked him, nor the ominous brand that had formed on his chest. It was incredibly suspicious, but at the same time, if he really was deceiving everyone, it was stranger still that a hierarch’s power hadn’t dispelled it.

Still, one thing was true.

Whoever was standing before her now had saved her.

Veric clasped her hands together and prayed.

“Our lady of sorrows, take mercy on our souls. Guide us through troubled waters and grant us succor for our pain…”

“Good. Let’s go.”

Without waiting for her response, Acacius pulled her forward into the water.

Had his grip always been this weak?

It wasn’t important. Veric could always ask him later. And if he didn’t want to answer her questions, she’d observe until she found some answers on her own.

She followed him in.

Chapter 22 Chapter 24