The blackout had lasted just a moment. But the residual magic from the Labyrinth still coursed through Cesar's body like icy spring water over a frozen tundra. The murky energy stung in his skull, distorting his expression with pain.
That pale gray beam had greedily devoured every twisted soul along the corridor, leaving behind only piles of fetid, rotting toys sewn together with flesh. On either side of the hallway, candle flames flickered out one by one, as though an invisible ghost had swept past. Faded bloody handprints stained the black curtains like burial shrouds, draped motionless over the trembling, stitched-up limbs, turning the place into an endless, moldy morgue.
Silence.
A silence so heavy it pressed on the chest like a stone slab.
Even the dolls' patter-patter footsteps behind them didn't break the stillness—it only deepened it.
Every step Jeanne took over the dolls' bodies made a wet squelch, like treading on mushy, rotten meat. Along Cesar's blurry field of view, yellowing maggots and decaying eyeballs tumbled out, rolling across the old wooden floorboards.
Say what you will, but the master of that Labyrinth had one hell of an appetite—any soul, any creature, all accepted without complaint.
Jeanne had dragged him for hundreds of meters. Along the way, Cesar burned more soul reserves to disperse the dolls swarming in from side corridors. Thankfully, the piles of "solid waste" on the floor—heaps of flesh-dolls—slowed down their squat, clumsy legs, sparing Cesar a bit of energy. The hallway was narrow, so as long as he incinerated the souls of one or two strategically placed dolls, he could block off an entire wave behind them.
After casting the concealment spell on both of them, Cesar found that his remaining soul stockpile had dropped to half. He motioned for Jeanne to take more turns and keep running a bit longer before they stopped to rest.
And then, the dreams returned.
Year 1351 of the Millennium Calendar. Late Autumn.
A valley of frozen tundra stretched deep into the earth, carved into a colossal mass of rock. The ancient, hulking city of Cas occupied the horizon like a slumbering beast. Above it, the Dark Elf lord's Moon Nest hovered like a black meteor, drifting through the mist-choked sky…
Everything unfolded before his eyes like a mural.
Thousands of giant ravens swarmed out like a black cloud before a storm, blotting out the sun. Dozens of Labyrinth energies collided violently, turning the world into a living nightmare. Boulders rained down from shattered cliffs like a hailstorm, while the Empire's summoned demon legions howled as they perished alongside the mountain, blown apart by the Dark Elf's final spell…
The Empire's dream of unifying the continent collapsed that day.
But whether it had failed or succeeded didn't really matter—to Cesar Betrafao, a nameless mage in the Roman Third Legion's spellcaster corps.
Still, after watching every other mage in his rank die horribly, he couldn't help but be overwhelmed with fear—
The fear of death.
That same year, Cesar joined the black sorcerer circle under the Zavron faction. He began delving into alien deities and studying reincarnation magic.
And later, the black sorcerer awoke—
But he awoke inside a dream, only to enter another dream entirely.
A strange voice.
A song—haunting, ethereal, like a ghost humming in the wind.
A doll, dressed like a young girl, knelt in an unknown garden—among wild lilies, praying silently before a row of crude gravestones. The pure night breeze danced along with her song, making the moonlight encircle her like a halo. Stars floated above, drifting like fireflies over a lake, dropping gently down to land in her hair.
Cesar stood there, dazed. Not asleep, but not awake.
And then the doll turned her head.
Beneath her soft golden hair, she gave him a peculiar smile—cold, but gentle. A serene, eerie warmth.
"Oh… what a lovely dream," she said.
"It reminds me of the Hunter."
What the hell… Cesar thought. Is this one of the Labyrinth's exports?
Cesar opened his eyes and slowly sat up from the shadowed corner of the hallway. Around him, the corridor remained cloaked in darkness, the candlelight long extinguished. The air was thick with the musty scent of mold and dust. The silence felt heavy, pressing down on the chest like a lid on a coffin.
He rubbed his temples, muttered a curse, then cast spirit-vision on his eyes. With that, Jeanne—still fast asleep in the opposite corner—and the black cat dozing on his lap both emerged in pale outlines of black and white.
"You… you're awake?" the cat blinked, turquoise eyes glancing up at him. Its voice was still high-pitched, childlike, and trembling.
The crisp, girlish tone made Cesar feel marginally more human.
Seeing that the Inquisitor wouldn't be waking up anytime soon, Cesar crossed his legs and decided to make small talk with the cat on his lap. Its fur was surprisingly well-kept—clean and glossy. The creature's body was slender but not malnourished, clearly well-fed, far better off than the pile of moldy dolls they'd left behind.
"So, hey—you got a name?" the black sorcerer asked as he lazily took one of the cat's front paws and began gently kneading it. The paw pads were surprisingly soft.
"Vi… Viola," it stammered, shrinking its head and shivering in his grip.
"Oh? Your master give you that name?" Cesar asked, utterly unfazed.
"N-No… my f-father did…"
The poor thing looked like it might faint from fear just correcting him.
"Do I really look that scary?" Cesar asked, amused.
"I… I'm still a girl… I-I… sob…"
Tears welled up instantly in the cat's eyes. Its hind legs trembled, and the paw he held remained frozen—clearly terrified of pulling back. Its whole body looked ready to collapse to the floor.
Then, all of a sudden, it seemed to force itself into calmness—like someone resigned to their fate. It said, in a brittle little voice:
"B-Black Sorcerer, sir… could you take Viola away from this place? I-I can sweep floors… wash clothes… weave fishing nets… If the Great Black Sorcerer wants me to serve… serve…"
"What are you doing now?" Jeanne interrupted with a lazy yawn as she sat up.
"I thought I was teasing a cat," Cesar replied, deadpan. "Then I realized I was probably creeping on a traumatized little girl."
He didn't add that, frankly, he'd been enjoying it a bit.
"G-Grand Sorcerer… Lord Sorcerer… I can even bury corpses… any kind, no matter how rotten…" the cat whimpered, her voice hiccupping through sobs as she pleaded.
"Do we really have that bad a reputation out in the countryside?" Cesar asked, scratching at his chin.
Jeanne cut in with a cold chuckle.
"You guys are bedtime story villains. Like, 'If you don't go to sleep, the black sorcerer will come and take you away for his experiments.' Or, 'If you misbehave, the black sorcerer will feed you to horrible monsters from another world.'"
Cesar looked at her, feigning curiosity. "You seem pretty familiar with children. Were you ever a caretaker in an orphanage?"
"…"
She said nothing. But her expression turned foul.
"How about you sing her Starlight over the Field to soothe her, Miss Caretaker?" he teased. He had a feeling the church had made her do plenty of things she hated—things like…
"I'll start you off," he cleared his throat dramatically. "The stars over the field hang above my father's old home, and my mother's sorrowful hands…"
The black cat let out a small sob. Perhaps the lullaby sounded familiar—it clutched at Cesar's robe with one free paw.
Then Jeanne's voice hit her like a thunderclap.
"—Sing your damn mother! Are all black sorcerers this brain-damaged!?!"