Cesar walked over to her. Jeanne was leaning back against the wall, one hand resting on her knee—a posture more masculine than most, fitting his earlier remark: "I thought you Inquisitors didn't even distinguish between genders." He picked up the black cat and casually set it on Jeanne's shoulder before asking:
"Still got any food left in that bundle?"
"Enough," Jeanne replied, lowering the cat—Viola—into her arms as she added, almost as if justifying herself, "As long as the path to this house's master isn't too far, it should be enough."
The cat curled up against her arm and nudged her bare right forearm with its head. Viola had nearly fully adjusted to her life as a feline. The silence around them was suffocating. Jeanne kept one eye on the end of the corridor, absentmindedly scratching the cat's chin. Under the effect of the spell, her pale golden eyes glimmered faintly—quiet, mysterious. A rare softness, completely different from her usual presence.
Then, Jeanne unwrapped the curtain bundle and handed Cesar a slice of cured meat. It had gone cold and was smudged with dust and sweat from her hands, but the flavor held. For someone like Cesar—who had served in the military for years—salted meat was a far easier meal than hard rations.
"Black sorcerer, I remember you saying before you fell asleep that just a little soul energy could sustain your basic needs. Was that a joke?" Jeanne asked, looking up at him.
"Post-nap hunger." He gave the honest answer without flinching.
"…If we weren't stuck inside an Eldritch god's labyrinth, and if half this place weren't basically yours, I'd have sentenced you to a public flogging," Jeanne snapped sharply, though she made no move to take the food back. Instead, she pressed her fingers hard against her brow. "Also—are all black sorcerers this undisciplined?"
"I haven't been in the army for, oh, about a hundred years," Cesar replied, leaning against the wall. Discipline was long gone. What he remembered best were the corpses.
Jeanne seemed to think for a while, then asked:
"You fought in the Broken Moon War? The one between the Romans and the Moon Nest?"
"Technically," Cesar nodded, "it was a war between the Empire and the Eleven Free Cities—each ruled by mages. If we're being exact. At the time, Caesar was just a few cities away from fully unifying the Ginebechis continent. But then those mages struck a deal with Anomand Reck, lord of the Moon Nest—and seven dark elven mage legions merged into the Crimson Guard."
He exhaled slightly and continued, like someone who had finally found someone willing to listen.
"In the end… our Second Legion was lost in the Black Hound Forest. The Third was wiped out on the tundras outside Cas. Not even one in ten survived. The Fifth and Sixth Legions vanished along with Fort Mok, which later became the Pale Canyon."
Jeanne searched her mind for scraps of historical knowledge—half-learned, mostly from church doctrine—and asked:
"I heard your Caesar at the time tried to ally with the Insectoids from the Fog Forest?"
Cesar paused for a moment before answering.
"There were rumors, yeah. According to Senate archives, Caesar considered it. The Insectoids were highly advanced in non-magical warfare. And they had a blood feud with the Moon Nest. So Caesar approached them."
He shook his head. "But they refused. I've never read the full Broken Moon reports, so I don't really know why."
He shrugged and added with emotionless indifference:
"In the end, Caesar signed a treaty with the Moon Nest's lord and the eleven mage city-states. And just like that, the Broken Moon Year came to an end. The Moon Nest still hangs up in the sky, and those giant ravens still swarm over Cas."
Jeanne's gaze turned sharp again. "Black sorcerer. Do you think your Empress—will she start another war?"
"Who knows." He shook his head slowly. "I don't."
His tone was flat, lips pressed into a thin, pale line.
"When Nero first ascended, I thought she was… interesting. After the coup in Year Six, I thought she was insane."
"There've been plenty of Caesars throughout history who voiced displeasure with the Senate. But the one who threw every last noble and power-holder into the coliseum… and had them torn apart by leftover otherworldly monsters from the black sorcerers… while nobles and peasants watched and cheered…"
"She's the only one."
"Praise the intervention of the Shadow Temple," Cesar said with a mocking grin. "Maybe Her Majesty is still out there dreaming of ten thousand years of glory. Gods in this world are always shifting—wouldn't be surprising if Nero wanted in on the fun… By the way, do you still have food? I'm hungry again."
"No."
"You're joking, right? Didn't you just say this place is half mine?!"
"I know exactly how much food is required to support one person's daily activity—especially if that person is a mage," Jeanne shot him a sidelong glance, sneering. "Did you think this was a camping trip?"
"I've been explaining history to you for a good while now. Couldn't I at least get a coin's worth of gratitude? Even street bards get tossed coppers."
"When we return to the Holy City," she said with a slight raise of her brow, "I might raise your salary. A little. Not too much."
"Oh, thank you so much for your royal generosity. Is that the part where I'm supposed to say, 'Much obliged'?"
"With a more respectful tone. You should be calling me Lady Jeanne," she said coolly. "Though I don't expect that to happen anytime soon."
"If there's really no food left…"
At that moment, Viola poked her head out of Jeanne's arms and spoke in a soft, cautious voice, "I still know a few paths… they lead to the garden."
Cesar had plenty of sarcastic retorts lined up—something like "Not that there's any hope for that later either"—but he was too lazy to take the bait this time. He sat back down, and after a brief silence, replied to the cat:
"No need. Just take us to the top floor to find your master. We'll deal with food after that."
He paused, then added with deliberate clarity, "And just so we're clear—until your master is completely dead, the mind-control and binding spells on you are staying in place. I trust you understand."
Given the personalities of the two people present, Viola could only nod obediently.
Jeanne looked over to see Cesar once again lying flat on the ground.
"What now, black sorcerer?"
"I'm taking a nap," Cesar replied without opening his eyes. "Can you not act like some foreman at a slave mine whipping me back to work? The concealment and warding spells I cast before resting are still active."
"Are you always like this?" Jeanne asked with a hint of disdain.
Cesar yawned, unmoving. He lay there like a corpse. "What would you prefer? That I skulk around abducting village girls and kids like the old fairytale black sorcerers? That I laugh maniacally and collect pitiful peasant souls by staging backwoods massacres like a cultist? Come on. I used to have a normal life before the Senate got torn down in a coup."
"…Hmph."
Jeanne didn't reply. She'd meant to criticize him for being too lax. But the black sorcerer clearly hadn't understood. Frustrated, she pressed hard against her brow, hugged the cat tighter like a pillow, and laid herself down on the floor beside him.
And then the dream began.
They stood in a narrow, sealed corridor—cramped, oppressive, its contours strangely blurred. The hallway collapsed steadily from both ends, floorboards dropping into a bottomless void, as if the entire structure was suspended in midair. The crumbling moved at a surreal pace—dozens of times slower than in waking reality. It was slow enough to feel sickening.
On either side of the corridor were countless doors—impossible to number. Each was carved with disturbing, nonsensical patterns. They weren't symbols or images. More like the chaotic scrawl of a madman, something without logic or meaning.
Jeanne's face was dark with unease. Her appearance in the dream matched her waking self almost exactly, though her armor and clothing here were pristine. She stood in the center of the corridor—black half-plate armor, an ambiguous headpiece, and a short cloak draped over her shoulder like a grim banner, cutting the corridor in two. Her long, pale-gold hair hung past her waist, and her presence was stifling—formidable to the point of suffocation.
"…Don't tell me this labyrinth is tied to dreams too. What is this? Ghost City No.1 while we're awake, Ghost City No.2 when we sleep? Is this some kind of joke?"
She turned her head—
And met Cesar's gaze.
There was no emotion in his eyes. Just cool, analytical silence.
"And you are?" she asked warily.
"This is my soul, dear Inquisitor," Cesar answered with a nonchalant smile, though it bore a touch of something feral. "Our branch of black sorcerers resists the corruption of Outer Gods through soul demonification. After we're reborn, our bodies also begin to shift toward demon form. The more we transform, the wider we can open the gate."
As Jeanne observed, his tongue was forked. Dark crimson scales covered parts of his skin. His hair had a bloodish sheen. His eyes were pale gold, slit like a beast's. And from his tailbone extended a sharp, carapace-like tail nearly as long as a leg.
His face, curiously, still resembled his human form.
"You should be grateful the Church started tolerating demons two centuries ago," Jeanne said, eyeing the half-demon in front of her without showing any disgust. She simply shook her head. "I've got one more question. Last time you fell asleep in here… did you see that strange doll?"