Magic Academy Mayhem: A Class Full of Maniacs - Chapter 49

On both previous visits, the road before the gate of light had been completely dark. Nothing had been visible.

Today, however, pale-blue motes floated in the air.

They gave off only the faintest glow, but in this darkness, they stood out vividly.

If everything in an illusory space was a subconscious projection, then this change likely meant that something had shifted in the owner’s state of mind.

As Cynthia observed her surroundings, she tried drawing on the magic within her and cast a light spell.

The moment light appeared, she had her answer.

Her inability to use magic before had not resulted from the owner’s rejection after all. Her magic circles had simply been too low-level.

Under the light, the scenery of this black realm became fully visible.

Bones lay scattered everywhere. Dense fog filled the air, and every withered tree was black, as lifeless as a shadow.

The only thing that did not appear sinister was perhaps the pale-blue light drifting overhead.

Cynthia withdrew her gaze and followed the route she remembered toward the gate of light.

The instant she stepped through, she summoned her Spirit Weapon.

As expected, the vengeful ghosts swarmed her the moment she entered, as infuriating as ever.

They were numerous and could reform after death. Exterminating them completely was impossible.

Fortunately, their ranks were not high.

It was as though their only reason for existing was to torment the boy bound in chains.

Cynthia could not understand how anyone could fare this miserably in their own subconscious world.

Without hesitation, she summoned three clones with her skill and layered Domain of Death over them.

Countless undead manifested in an instant and rushed forward to battle the vengeful ghosts.

With the undead and three clones sharing the burden, Cynthia was no longer at the same disadvantage as last time.

Her Spirit Weapon transformed into a scythe. She advanced in a straight line toward the nearby mound of bones.

The ghosts bit and clawed at her path. She did not bother dodging.

Every ghost that came at her died.

She could consider it payback for last time.

Cynthia hacked her way to the edge of the bones. She had thought she would finally see the boy’s face, but when only five steps remained, a scarlet barrier appeared from nowhere and blocked her path.

Cynthia stared at it.

Subconscious rejection?

She glanced at the boy concealed in black fog.

His head drooped. His breathing was so faint that he appeared to be asleep.

Her arrival had drawn away many of the ghosts surrounding him, though not all.

Behind the black fog, she could not distinguish his face or even the color of his hair.

Cynthia tried saying a few words to him but received no response. He was likely unconscious.

After some thought, she attempted to break the barrier before her.

Strangely, it not only reflected every attack, but prevented even ordinary light spells and wind magic meant to disperse the fog from penetrating. Calling it a complete seal would not be an exaggeration.

Should she rise to the challenge?

No. Cynthia decided to give up.

She had already confirmed that her inability to use magic in an illusory world had been caused by the low level of her magic circles. The trip had not been wasted.

This barrier plainly existed because of its owner’s rejection. Insisting would be rather impolite.

Mm… More importantly, insistence would accomplish nothing, polite or otherwise.

Within a space constructed from consciousness, the will of the owner—the true body—could essentially decide everything.

In other words, the barrier was invincible here.

Cynthia was about to kill a few ghosts to pass the time until the circle expired. She had not taken two steps when a rather cool voice sounded behind her.

“That’s all the patience you have?”

“…”

So he had been awake the entire time?

Cynthia stopped.

The voice behind her was like clear water falling over cool jade, extraordinarily pleasing to the ear.

In that instant, although she still had not seen his face, a name surfaced in Cynthia’s mind.

She turned back to the boy behind the barrier and called tentatively, “Richter?”

The boy seemed to scoff.

His gaze came straight toward her. Mist appeared to veil those bloodred eyes, making his emotions impossible to read.

He made no attempt to conceal the violence in his tone. A sinister chill coiled through it like a snake around one’s body.

“Three uninvited visits, and now you mistake me for someone else?”

“…”

Cynthia fell silent.

Richter’s natural voice was gentle. Because he loved to perform, his usual speech carried an almost intimate softness. Only when he could no longer be bothered pretending did the original coldness show.

The person before her sounded cooler, and his cadence was different—more remote and mature.

But the voice itself was almost identical.

Cynthia considered the matter.

Could it be that the Richter in reality had no awareness of this illusory space, and therefore the conscious form and the true body did not share memories?

That was the only explanation she could think of.

“Then what is your name?” she asked cautiously.

“I forgot.”

…

That nonsensical answer made Cynthia even more certain her theory was probably correct.

Her gaze swept over the endless vengeful ghosts and the bones covering the ground. Her mood became difficult to describe.

Ordinarily, everything in an illusory world was a projection of the subconscious.

This place could only be described as the ruins of an abyss. Was Richter’s mental state truly this terrible?

No wonder he was usually so… changeable.

“You won’t tell me?”

Cynthia looked back at him. “Tell you what?”

“Your name.”

It seemed he truly lacked his memories of reality.

Cynthia introduced herself with her full name. “Cynthia Valensidra.”

Afraid that calling him Richter again might provoke another fit, she proceeded carefully. “Then what should I call you?”

His voice sounded almost simultaneously. “What is our relationship in reality?”

Their questions overlapped.

Cynthia paused.

He lacked his real-world memories, yet knew he was a conscious form rather than the true body?

While she considered that, someone had already begun guessing at random.

“Enemies?”

Enemies. An excellent answer.

The corner of Cynthia’s mouth pulled. She followed his lead. “Correct.”

The boy stared at her for a moment, then suddenly laughed.

“…Cyril.”

His pronunciation was strange. It did not sound like the language of the Empire.

It resembled a northern dialect, yet carried something of a foreign accent.

Cynthia pieced the sound together through guesswork. “Cyril?”

Clearly a personal name.

“Is that what you want me to call you?”

Cyril remained entirely concealed in black fog, but playful amusement entered his voice. “You don’t even know your enemy’s name? Is Lady Xiya joking?”

“…What a remarkably accurate guess. I was joking.” Cynthia offered a false smile. “In truth, we’re much closer than mere enemies.”

Only a moment ago he had claimed to have forgotten his name. This man truly was…

Could a subconscious entity resembling a second personality give itself a name?

Was that within the bounds of normality?

“Closer? Then are we… **…”

The boy calling himself Cyril said something more, but the vengeful ghosts roared too loudly. The latter half vanished beneath the noise.

Cynthia was about to ask him to repeat it when the scene began to blur.

The magic circle’s power was running out.

The instant she realized it, everything before her fell into darkness.

Then… her consciousness left the illusory world.

*

Cynthia opened her eyes and stared at the magic chandelier suspended overhead.

…Apparently, she would have to consult the books again.