Episode 13

“…Lagias, what are you even saying?”

“Lapdog, keep quiet. …I’ll ask again. How does this situation look to your eyes?”

“No matter how you put it… I can only say it needs to be resolved as soon as possible.”

(What’s going on? Even Zeke managed to sense the traces of a curse.)

“Don’t tell me… you can’t use divine arts?”

“—! …It’s true I lack the talent… and the qualification.”

Disappointment, letdown, disillusionment. In that instant, the look Zeke turned on Ciel changed plainly.

—Ciel’s heart grew cold.

“Lagias, why bring that up now? It should be irrelevant.”

“You really are useless. Irrelevant? Then go tell that to every single person lying here.”

Zeke’s cold gaze pierced Ciel and the others.

“Uh, divine arts are… some kind of super recovery magic, right?”

Divine arts—just as Mauve said—were generally thought of as a collective term for advanced restorative magic. But they were only “recognized” that way; almost no one had actually seen them. Their effects were tremendous, and their wielders were vanishingly few.

“If you only look at the healing side, that’s how it seems…”

For injuries, people usually used recovery magic or potions compounded by apothecaries.
In a world where monsters ran rampant and death always lurked nearby, the means to heal wounds were prized.

“I’m no specialist, so I don’t know the fine points… but recovery magic, healing magic, and divine arts—these are often lumped together as ‘healing magic.’”

Treatment by magic typically relied on recovery magic: cuts from sharp blades, bruises from hammers, burns or frostbite from spells, and status ailments like poison or mental confusion from external causes—recovery magic worked in many cases. Its effect varied by spell and by the caster’s skill.

Healing magic was the stronger category that built on recovery magic. Many of its users were healers specializing in restoration, or priests of the Maria Church.

“If healing magic is stronger than recovery magic, why not just have everyone use that?”

“It’s far harder to learn than ordinary recovery spells. Greater effect means far fewer can wield it.”

It could mend major damage to a body part—and sometimes even reattach a severed arm seamlessly. Its unmatched speed of recovery, beyond what basic recovery magic could manage, was also a strength.

“It also consumes an immense amount of mana, so you can’t cast it repeatedly.”

“Makes sense—well thought out, really. …So the black-haired kid figured he could use something even greater than healing magic—divine arts—to save everyone.”

“…You are a caricature of a mob extra. It’s not that simple. Use your head, idiot.”

“—! Kid! How do you even know my name— …And what’s with that look like you’re pitying me!?”

(Huh? His name really is Mauve… That’s kind of sad.)

“Stop screeching. …The number of people who can use divine arts is tiny even nationwide: a handful of cardinals in the Maria Church and those who strongly inherit the royal blood. And they don’t move on goodwill alone. There’s money, politics, pride. They even hold back to keep their rarity high.”

Divine arts—called the work of the gods—stood at the apex of restorative magic. They could fully regenerate lost limbs and remove any cause of death short of old age. Even congenital diseases could be completely cured.

“You’re kidding… In a crisis like this? Isn’t it the state’s job to do something?”

“Results vary by caster. And to use divine arts on this many people would require absurd amounts of mana. The number who could do that is even smaller.”

Because divine arts were so rare, they were often tangled in politics, and the Church imposed vows that restricted their use.

Both facts were far removed from how things ought to be.

“Still… if we don’t get them to heal people, everyone—Apion itself—will die.”

“In the end, unless you strike the root, it’ll just repeat.”

(In the game, divine arts—Ciel’s specialty—were the most effective against curses and hexes.)

For whatever reason, unlike in the game, Ciel couldn’t use divine arts now.

From Hiroto’s intuition and game knowledge, he had guessed this phenomenon was caused by a curse—but without the curse’s source or details, that meant nothing. Sensing the traces of a curse was his limit.

“What is this ‘root’ supposed to be?”

“The one to deal with it is that woman. If she can’t… everyone dies.”

Ciel’s face blanched before their eyes.

(Spelling out “this is a curse” doesn’t solve anything at the root. She has to do it herself… Is this the so-called awakening event? Damn it.)

“…If divine arts are needed, we should petition the crown.”

“Hah. You think the crown will obediently do what I say? Even if they did, when would a wielder of divine arts arrive? …That woman is the only one who can change this.”

(She doesn’t need to master divine arts completely. If she can feel how to use them and trace the curse back to its source, there’s a path forward. Probably.)

“Tying divine arts to birth and hair color alone is hasty.”

“Hmph. You should have received some nonsense ‘oracle.’ ‘The silver radiance that banishes evil,’ was it? Sounds like a deranged religion to me.”

“!? How do you know what’s passed down among the royal line…?”

(Because I knew it from the game!)

“That doesn’t matter. …Are you going to do it or not? Answer clearly.”

“…Why me? There must be others more suited… Why… must it be me?”

“How should I know? From where I stand, either way is fine. If you’re useless, I have no more business with this town.”

He felt sympathy. Given Ciel’s background, it wasn’t strange she’d spiral into self-denial. But—even so, Hiroto didn’t have the leeway to offer unconditional help.

(So I kicked the hornet’s nest after all…)

“I can’t follow any of this… In the end, what does it mean? What happens to us?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself. That woman has to attain divine arts. All you and the people of Apion can do is trust her and wait. …Until the last one of you.”

Even amateurs like Mauve understood how hard it would be to attain divine arts. If that could be done overnight—

—the world would be much kinder.

Zeke’s words amounted to a kind of death sentence.

“Judging by the situation… I don’t expect much. Someone who only keeps her head down can’t do anything. …I’ve no intention of dying with you.”

He left the ward and sank alone into a sea of thought.

(That mouth is as foul as ever… but if we let time pass, this will only get worse.)

It was still unclear how the curse’s targets were being chosen. Were residents of the town being deliberately singled out, or was it coincidence because it resembled a curse?

Either way, there was no time left to examine every victim and search for a pattern.

They didn’t even know whether the curse was maliciously wrought, or an accidental occurrence.

(We don’t know its scale or strength either. But with damage increasing like this, it must be strong and vicious. …Too much to think about.)

As a boss character who had rampaged in the game, Zeke likely had the tolerance to resist curses—almost an immunity to status ailments.

But not everything from the game necessarily applied here—and now Luke was with him.

(Then should I just drag a divine-arts user here by force? …No. There’s no time, and that’s literally a crime. Getting arrested before the story starts would be a joke. A retreat really is the safest bet.)

The people of Apion had little time left. But the same was true for Hiroto.