77

The ministers of the eleven bloodlines sat solemnly in the council chamber.

"So you're saying... the plague has started spreading to other villages as well?"

In response to one of the ministers, Mukbar from the Ministry of Forests replied,

"Plague may not be the exact word. It's more that toxic substances have spread through the rivers and mountains, and people are dying because of it..."

"And that's not all. Though His Grace the Grand Duke is holding the line against Prince Farid, the fourth son of Naizman, in open battle, Muria and Naizman have begun dispatching troops to other regions as well. We've been left helpless in those areas..."

At the words of Aslan, the Minister of Defense, the expressions in the room darkened.

"Didn't we already dispatch all the reinforcements we could?"

"They simply outnumber us. And to make matters worse, they've evolved while we were being complacent."

"Evolved?"

"The fairyfolk—weren't they always fragile and feeble? But now, their stamina and mana have increased drastically. Would you believe me if I said they're nearly on par with us now?"

"...How can that be..."

The ministers exchanged looks of disbelief.

They had long dismissed the fairyfolk as weaklings, and this sudden shift left them shocked.

"It's likely Muria and Naizman didn't form an alliance just recently.

This feels like something they've been preparing for behind the scenes for a long time."

At Aslan's assessment, the Minister of Magic nodded grimly.

"The same goes for Naizman. Their warriors have improved so rapidly, I almost suspect we have a spy among us."

Long sighs and groans followed.

Sibareth had always maintained dominance over Muria and Naizman for several reasons:

First, while Muria's land was fertile, the fairyfolk population was too small.

They loved peace, avoided conflict, and lacked both physical and magical strength—thus making them poor match for their more aggressive neighbors.

Second, Naizman's land was far too barren.

It lacked the means to develop culture or grow its population.

Most of the country was desert, and its people survived as nomads struggling day to day.

Moreover, unlike the royal bloodlines of Sibareth or the fairyfolk of Muria,

Naizman had no race born with natural mana.

Their mages were primarily spirits, many of whom were weaker, mixed-blood elementals.

But Sibareth—

It had the largest territory of the three, balanced grasslands, a royal family overflowing with mana, and land rich in gemstones—the very source of that power. This had always given Sibareth the upper hand.

Was this the end of Sibareth's fate...?

Many of the ministers thought so, though none dared to voice the tale of the Red-tailed Meteor.

Just then—

The chamber doors opened, and in walked Roland with his apprentices and the scholars of the Magic Ministry.

Roland held a large tome at his side.

He lifted his robe, his silvery-gray eyes gleaming, and declared in a dignified tone:

"Rejoice, everyone. We have finally deciphered the Codex of Light."

"Oh! Already? You have my praise. As expected of the kingdom's greatest minds!"

Some ministers clapped, others stepped forward to pat them on the shoulder with praise.

Back when Leca and Jakiel first spoke of the Red-tailed Meteor, Roland had begun deciphering the Codex of Light—a historical and prophetic text from the Old Kingdom era.

The title and first chapter were written in the common language of the Three Kingdoms, but from the second chapter onward, it was encoded in the secret script of ancient mages.

"Well? Was there anything useful?"

Mukbar asked. One of the young scholars beside Roland bowed his head.

"We weren't able to find a direct method for purifying the corrupted land.

However, there were several passages of deep significance."

"And what did they say?"

"It mentioned that in the Moon Year 5500—which is this year—Sibareth would face great upheaval."

A murmur rippled through the chamber. The Foreign Minister, Alaba, pressed further.

"And? What exactly did it say?"

"It said—

'Dark magic shall run rampant.

One of great height shall die a wretched death with no place to go.

And a darkness from another world shall stir calamity in Sibareth.'"

Alaba let out a long sigh. One of the ministers muttered,

"Let the wretched death of the high one stop at the Grand Vizier..."

"The darkness from another world can only refer to that brazen black-haired girl."

Another minister added bitterly.

"It may not count as a purification method per se," Roland spoke quietly,

"But we did discover an incredibly important passage."

"What kind of passage?"

Instead of replying, Roland opened the book to a marked page. There were no letters there—only a magic circle inscribed.

He placed his hand upon the circle and began murmuring an incantation.

And then—A violet mist rose from the circle, which vanished, replaced by golden letters floating above the page.

The light was so bright that several ministers turned their eyes away.

Roland began reading aloud, slowly.

"In the Moon Year 5500, the great upheaval upon Sibareth shall lead to the downfall of the kingdom. To prevent this end, there is only one way.

One must offer a Sacred Human to the River of Death, Pandemonium.

The noble death of the Sacred Human shall restore life to all beings and deliver the kingdom from ruin."

At that, Roland stopped and recited a second spell. The golden letters disappeared, and the magic circle was restored to the page.

No one spoke.

A silence like death spread through the chamber.

"Tea? Out of nowhere...?"

She hadn't even finished her sentence—in the blink of an eye, Mia found herself seated at a small wooden table indoors.

But her body was still tightly bound in vines.

"What the heck! You have to let me go if you want me to drink tea!"

At that, the end of the vine wrapped around her extended like an arm. It deftly picked up a teacup and lifted it to Mia's lips.

Staring in disbelief at the witch who was smiling sweetly across from her, Mia snapped,

"Are you kidding me?"

"You're a feisty one, aren't you? If someone offers you tea, just drink it instead of yapping so much."

The vine-arm tilted the cup insistently, pouring the tea into Mia's mouth.

With no other choice, Mia parted her lips—and the vine obligingly helped her sip the tea.

After a few drips, Mia looked around the room.

It was a chaotic mess of magical tools and odd junk crammed in every corner.

The witch spoke nonchalantly,

"So, why are you going to see Beelzebub? Do you really think you'll come back alive?"

Mia let out a bitter smile.

"It just turned out this way. I didn't really have a choice."

The witch gently blew on her hot tea as she sipped.

"And how exactly do you plan to get there when you don't even know where the barrier is?"

"I have an orb that explains the path."

"Oh? Let me see it."

"You'll have to untie me first to—Ah!"

The vines suddenly unraveled.

Relieved, Mia reached into her cloak and pulled out the orb, handing it to the witch.

The witch studied it carefully, from start to finish.

"Hmm. What a horribly unhelpful guide."

"...Right?"

"It doesn't even tell you the location of the barrier in the Black Forest.

There are gaps all over this thing. You'll probably die before you even get to the demon god."

"Have you... actually been there?"

"Once. Didn't meet him, though."

The witch slurped the last of her tea. Then she ordered Mia to finish hers as well.

When Mia did, the witch took her cup and closely examined the tea leaves left at the bottom.

"Let's see… Time to read your fate. Oho...? What's this?"

"What is it?"

"Hmmm..."

The witch furrowed her brow, looking vaguely troubled as she fell into thought.

"Well, might as well do a good deed today."

"...What?"

"Take it or leave it. The barrier is east of here. Just head straight out of the forest. I'll give you one of my fireflies. Follow it."

"Oh... Thank you so much!"

"The barrier opens around five in the morning. You can sleep here until then. It's not much, but I'll give you a blanket."

She pointed to a corner of the room. There sat a dusty mat, a blanket, and a pillow. Mia was overjoyed—at first.

Then suspicion crept in.

"Wait... Didn't you say earlier you couldn't give me that information for free?"

At that, the witch bonked Mia lightly on the head.

"You cheeky little brat. If you don't like it, get out. I won't stop you."

Mia hesitated.

But if the witch had evil intentions, wouldn't she be acting more charming?

Like the witch in Hansel and Gretel? This one's so blunt—maybe she's harmless.

"Hehe… Then I'll gladly rest here for a while."

Without any pride, Mia crawled into the makeshift bedding the witch had provided.

It was still broad daylight, but rest while you can—this might be the last cozy bed she'd see for a long while.

The moment she lay down, sleep overtook her. Hearing her faint snores, the witch got to work.

First, she took a dried lizard hanging from the ceiling and sliced it into little pieces.

Then she caught a furry spider crawling across the floor, knocked it out,

and began pulling silky strands from its belly.

Once she'd harvested enough thread, she carried the sliced lizard and spider silk to the bubbling cauldron in the corner.

Psshhh!

The liquid inside turned green and began to froth furiously. Next, the witch took a handful of her own hair and tossed it in,

then placed her hand over the pot and muttered a spell:

"Hocus pocus!"

The bubbling brew shimmered—then turned crystal clear.

She glanced over at Mia, still sound asleep, oblivious to the world.