Calipha bowed so low that her nose nearly touched the floor. The cruelty and arrogance of the woman who had founded Dark Star, reigned supreme over the Black Mages, and committed every manner of atrocity were nowhere to be found.

Only the rapture and terror of a fanatic standing before her god held sway over her entire being.

Shiro Ristal.

Had Calipha borne children, the boy would have been no older than her grandson. Yet she dared not look him in the eye. She could not even begin to fathom his true identity, but of one thing she was certain.

This boy was like a constellation descended to earth. He was a god incarnate, walking the world in human flesh. The essence of black magic Calipha had accumulated over decades was no more than a firefly before the sun when compared to Shiro's divine authority.

“L-Lord Shiro... What an honor, that you should grace this place with your presence...” Calipha said, her voice thick with emotion.

Leaning casually against the door, Shiro looked down at her. Merely standing there, his presence shone so brilliantly that it seemed to purify the musty aether filling the tower. Paradoxically, the oppressive force he exuded tightened around Calipha's throat.

Yet the emotion in his gaze was entirely different from what it had been when he rebuked Marketer for his mistake.

“You appear to be heading to Belkain.”

Shiro spoke, his languid voice lingering in the air. Calipha's shoulders trembled, but she pressed her fingertips hard against the floor and answered.

“Yes, Lord Shiro. Some rat has dared... dared to tamper with and destroy the factory producing offerings for you.”

Her voice brimmed with murderous intent. That factory, Belkain, was not hers alone. She had merely been given a “site.” It was Shiro himself who had provided Belkain as the grounds for her factory.

“I will accept your reprimand for failing to manage the factory properly once I have torn that rat limb from limb. So please, I beg you to postpone today's reprim—”

“No.”

Shiro slowly shook his head.

“I have not come to reprimand you. I have come to dissuade you from going.”

His next words cut Calipha short. She raised her head a little to look up at him, unable to understand. Shiro was still smiling, but the chill hidden behind that smile swept down her spine.

That was Shiro's true nature. He always wore a merciful smile, but there was nothing merciful about his character. Within that boy, who seemed as warm as the sun, flowed blood blacker than night and colder than winter ice. To become a rug beneath his feet, one had to keep proving one's worth and earning his recognition.

Failure, then, was unacceptable. Even if one failed, one had to rectify it flawlessly and produce an even better result. Calipha knew that well. She had reigned over the Black Mages for half a century, yet she had not even become a useful rug for Shiro.

Only by proving her worth still further, by earning still more recognition, could she become one of Shiro's own. That was Calipha's ultimate desire.

“B-But, Lord Shiro, the factory in Belkain no longer functions. That land you so graciously bestowed upon me...”

Calipha hesitantly continued.

“There is no point in going now.”

Shiro pushed away from the door and slowly approached her. His shoes clicked against the marble floor, producing a strange resonance. With every step he took, Calipha's heart pounded as though it would burst.

“Belkain is now covered by an immense veil of silence of unknown origin. Even if you went there yourself, you would not be able to lift that veil and drag out the restless spirits.”

There was neither anger nor regret in Shiro's voice. Instead, it overflowed with an almost frighteningly intense interest.

Calipha thought him a man who tolerated no failure, but that misunderstanding arose because she did not know him fully.

Shiro believed anyone could fail. He himself had experienced failure many times. He believed that no truly perfect plan could exist in this world. No matter how painstakingly crafted a plan was, no matter how “perfect” one imagined it to be, he knew full well that even a minor variable could bring it crashing down.

That was why Shiro loved variables. His plan was still in progress, its completion a long way off. And a variable had emerged along the way. This one was by no means small, either. It had created a situation he had not foreseen, giving him a chance to reflect on himself and pursue still greater perfection.

Shiro's eyes settled on Calipha below him. She was not an Eclipse like Marketer, merely a candidate being tested to see whether she was worthy of becoming one. Yet he found her more useful than that old, bloated, dull-witted Marketer, who had been strangled to death by his own greed.

Calipha had offered no excuses. She had intended to go to Belkain herself and discover the truth. Even before Shiro, though fear and his oppressive presence had driven her to her knees, her murderous hatred for the rat who had made her fail had not diminished.

Thus, Shiro judged that he could “use” her further.

“I do not know who... could have done such a thing. But he is a variable.”

His gaze rose from Calipha to the empty air. Shiro narrowed his eyes as he stared at nothing.

Who had intervened in Belkain? Even Shiro had yet to find out, but he did not believe the successive “failures” involving Marketer and Belkain were mere coincidence. Someone unknown, some unidentified variable... was ruining his plans.

That intrigued him intensely. He suspected that Marketer's death and the failure in Belkain were connected, yet Belkain was not a place associated with “Eclipse.” It was land that the constellations had exploited and cursed.

The restless spirits dwelling there, held in thrall by the constellations, had been granted temporary rest by someone. That inexplicable deed was more than enough to pique Shiro's interest.

“Someone unknown to me appears intent on opposing the constellations. How thrilling...”

A smile of innocent, boyish delight touched Shiro's eyes. But it soon transformed into an icy gleam directed at Calipha, pinning her beneath it.

“Calipha. I will not reprimand you for this mistake. Thanks to you, I have discovered an entertaining spectator.”

“L-Lord Shiro... You are too gracious.”

Calipha hunched her shoulders, trembling all over. Shiro continued.

“For the time being, do not go anywhere near Belkain. Do not search for the rat who ruined your factory, either.”

“...!”

“I want to see... just how far this variable can prove himself. If you disobey me and try to trample that budding potential... then you truly will disappoint me.”

Shiro's form began to fade. As though he had never been there at all, the brilliant light scattered, and musty darkness settled over the office once more.

“Ah... Aah...”

Shiro had gone. Silence filled the room. Calipha remained prostrate for a long time, staring blankly at the spot where he had stood.

Only after the last traces of his presence dispersed and the musty smell of aether once more filled the room did she brace her trembling hands against the floor and rise.

Madness glittered in Calipha's eyes.

“Ah... Lord Shiro, my master.”

Calipha clutched fiercely at her chest. Her heart was pounding fit to burst. To her, the fear and oppressive force she felt from Shiro were unmistakable proof of love.

What she felt for him transcended anything that could simply be called loyalty. It was religious worship, a grotesquely twisted sexual love. Those cold eyes, smiling as he said he had found an entertaining spectator rather than rebuking her...

When that gaze turned upon her, Calipha felt an ecstasy as though she were being stripped bare to the very depths of her soul. Despite the decades she had lived, only Shiro could make her feel anything so intense.

“To think he would not reprimand my mistake... How merciful he is.”

Calipha staggered, steeped in rapture. His interest in that “variable” had become the object of the fiercest jealousy she had ever known. Someone who held Shiro's gaze, who made his heart race. That unknown rat had destroyed the factory she had so painstakingly built, yet Shiro felt nothing but “interest.”

Calipha gnawed at her nails. Flesh tore away and blood seeped out, but she felt no pain.

“I'm so jealous... It's driving me mad.”

The voice leaking between her lips was as sinister as a snake's hiss. These were Lord Shiro's orders: Stay away from Belkain. Do not try to trample that budding potential.

Calipha had no intention of disobeying him. Disappointing Shiro terrified her more than death.

But she was jealous. Unable to stand still, Calipha paced in circles.

For a long, long time, until the heat in her heart subsided.

* * *

At dawn, after Belkain's gray night had passed, heavy footsteps shook the earth, cutting through the thick fog.

Yuto opened his eyes. He could sense familiar aether from the silhouettes approaching far away, beyond the mist.

“Yuto!”

Levian waved from Flokai's back, with three large carriages following in a line behind them. She had borrowed the fastest horses and sturdiest carriages from the checkpoint. The fatigue of traveling all night was plain on her face, but greater still was her relief that nothing had happened to Yuto during the night.

“I brought the ones in the best condition. I stocked up on food and candles, too.”

Levian reported to Yuto as she approached with Flokai. Behind her, the checkpoint soldiers who had brought the carriages halted and gazed up at Belkain's gates in bewilderment.

Yuto had opened those gates with Void Touch. To open them from outside would have required dozens of people working a mechanism, yet a mere boy, a girl, and a single Evomon had done it... The soldiers stared at the gates in disbelief, then stole glances at Belkain's ruins beyond.

“The screams... They're really gone...” one soldier murmured.

Levian had told them beforehand, but even witnessing it for themselves, they could scarcely believe that the cursed people who had screamed for five years had fallen silent.

“I told them we dealt with the Black Mages, too,” Levian whispered, drawing closer.

“I couldn't hide that when asking for help. Oh... I kept quiet about the things I couldn't tell them, so don't worry.”

There had been dozens of Black Mages and orc warriors. The idea that they had wiped out such a force defied common sense, so Levian had mixed a few suitable lies into her report to the checkpoint.

“You know how to handle things.”

“I'm a merchant, after all.”

Levian answered with a triumphant smile.

“You've all endured a difficult night. Please board the carriages now.”

“Wh-Where are we going?” one of the survivors stammered at Yuto's words.

“We'll head to Merchant City first,” Levian answered in his stead.

“You're still suffering from the aftereffects of the magical experiments, so you'll spend some time recuperating at a facility in Merchant City. And while you're there... we'll need to establish your identities.”

Levian, too, was aware that they were not all innocent victims. The survivors were a mixture of people who had come to Belkain to scrape together a living, criminals fleeing the cities' laws, and slaves brought in for experiments.

“Those of you who fled justice will stand trial in Merchant City.”

Some of the survivors began to tremble. Watching them, Levian snapped firmly,

“Wouldn't that be better than dying in there?”

She remembered how mercilessly Yuto had slaughtered the criminals they encountered in the city.

Levian intended to take full responsibility for dealing with the survivors.