Chapter 32
The road remained quiet after the attacker disappeared.
Too quiet.
Mai walked between Miss Aiko and Okama, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as they followed the road away from the village. The guards had returned to their settlement, leaving the three of them alone beneath the darkening sky.
Puss walked slightly ahead, her tail flicking from side to side. She had been unusually silent since the confrontation, which was impressive considering how often she normally complained.
Miss Aiko kept glancing over her shoulder.
Not at the road behind them.
At Mai.
“You’re thinking,” she said eventually.
Mai blinked. “I’m always thinking.”
“Not usually that loudly.”
Okama glanced at her. “She’s been staring at the ground for the last ten minutes.”
“I have not.”
“You almost walked into a tree.”
“That tree moved.”
“It did not.”
Mai felt her face grow warm. “Can we not talk about this?”
Miss Aiko’s ears twitched faintly. “About the attacker?”
Mai hesitated.
That was exactly what she had been thinking about.
Not just the attacker, though. She kept remembering the way he had looked at their crests. The greed in his eyes. The way Okama had stepped in front of her without hesitation.
And then there was the way her own crest had flared.
It had felt as if the world itself had reacted to the three of them standing together.
“I’m thinking about what he said,” Mai admitted. “About people hunting crests.”
Miss Aiko nodded grimly. “That is worth thinking about.”
“Do you think he was right? That some crests are more useful than others?”
“Probably,” Okama replied.
Mai looked at him. “That was fast.”
“I’ve been thinking about it since the event began. If crests limit power, reveal skills, and allow people to track progress, then anyone with enough ambition will want to control the strongest ones.”
Miss Aiko’s expression tightened. “And anyone with weaker ones may be treated as disposable.”
The words settled over them heavily.
The forest path stretched ahead, pale beneath the starlight. Somewhere far away, an animal cried out and was answered by another.
Mai touched the crest beneath her sleeve.
“What happens if someone takes mine?”
“They probably can’t simply remove it,” Miss Aiko said. “But they could imprison you, force you to use it, or sell information about it to someone who understands the system better than you do.”
“That’s comforting.”
“I wasn’t trying to be comforting.” Miss Aiko said bleakly.
“I noticed.” retorted Mai, slightly annoyed.
Okama slowed slightly until he was walking beside Mai instead of ahead of her.
“If someone comes after us again,” he said, “we don’t let them separate us.”
Mai glanced at him. “You say that like we have a choice.”
“We make one.”
His voice was calm, but there was something firm beneath it. Something that made Mai believe him despite herself.
She looked away before he noticed how much that affected her.
Miss Aiko continued along the road, staff resting against one shoulder. “We also need to stop showing our crests whenever danger appears.”
Okama looked down at his arm. “I didn’t make it flare.”
“No,” Miss Aiko replied. “But it reacted to something.”
“To the attacker?”
“Possibly. Or to us.”
Mai frowned. “What does that mean?”
Miss Aiko stopped walking.
The others stopped with her.
The teacher turned and studied each of them in turn. Her yellow eyes reflected the starlight faintly, making them seem brighter than usual.
“Crests are not just marks,” she said. “They are systems. Engines. Restrictions. If they reacted without any of you consciously activating them, then something triggered a defensive response.”
Okama looked thoughtful. “A passive effect?”
“Maybe.”
Puss turned around. “I hate passive effects.”
“You have one,” Okama said.
“I hate mine too.”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Mai stared at the catgirl. “You don’t know what your crest does yet.”
“That is why I hate it.”
Miss Aiko rubbed the bridge of her nose. “We need a safer place to examine them.”
“Not here?” Mai asked.
“Not on an open road where anyone with a functioning pair of eyes can see us.”
That seemed reasonable.
They left the road soon afterward and followed a narrow trail into the forest. Miss Aiko chose the direction carefully, occasionally stopping to examine the ground or touch the bark of a tree. Mai had no idea how she could tell one tree from another, but she had stopped questioning it.
After nearly an hour, they reached a shallow ravine hidden between thick roots.
A narrow stream ran through the bottom, reflecting the stars in broken silver lines. Moss covered the walls, and a fallen tree had created a natural roof over part of the ravine.
“It’s not comfortable,” Miss Aiko said, “but it’s hidden.”
“Comfortable is becoming an unreasonable expectation,” Okama replied.
They settled beneath the fallen tree.
Puss immediately claimed the driest section of ground and wrapped herself in the blanket Miss Aiko had given her. She looked almost peaceful until a branch snapped somewhere above them.
Her ears shot upright.
Okama’s hand moved to his sword.
Miss Aiko raised her staff.
Nothing emerged from the darkness.
After several seconds, everyone relaxed again.
“Good,” Mai muttered. “I was beginning to worry we might get a full five minutes without being attacked.”
Okama looked at her. “You’re improving.”
“At what?”
“Complaining under pressure.”
Mai threw a small pebble at him.
He caught it.
Of course he did.
Miss Aiko sat beside the stream and unpacked a small bundle of dried food. She divided it between them, giving Puss an extra portion after the catgirl stared at the food with such obvious suspicion that Mai thought she might bite the teacher instead.
When everyone had eaten, Miss Aiko placed her staff across her knees.
“All right,” she said. “Let’s examine the crests.”
Mai’s stomach tightened.
The red mark beneath her collarbone had not stopped glowing faintly. It was warmer now, almost pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
Okama rolled his sleeve up again.
His crest covered most of his forearm. It was larger than Mai’s, with several geometric lines branching away from the central ring. The markings seemed to shift whenever he moved his mana.
Miss Aiko’s crest was smaller, but denser. Several thin rings surrounded the main symbol, each one etched with tiny patterns.
Puss’s was the strangest.
Her crest had formed near the base of her tail, just above the point where fur became skin. It glowed a faint crimson, though dark lines curled around it like claws.
“That’s an unfortunate location,” Okama observed.
Puss’s tail lashed across the ground. “I did not choose it.”
“Could have been worse.”
“How?”
“Forehead.”
Puss glared at him. “You are not helping.”
Mai tried to hide a laugh.
Miss Aiko studied the three crests for several minutes. Then she pulled one of her spellbooks from her satchel and opened it to a page filled with diagrams.
“These are old records,” she explained. “Most of the information is incomplete, but there are references to people receiving crests during moments of worldwide change.”
“Like the event?” Mai asked.
“Yes. Though the records call it something different. The World Marking. The Crest Revelation. The Red Dawn.”
“Those all sound dramatic,” Okama said.
“They were written by historians.”
“That explains it.”
Miss Aiko ignored him.
“The important part is that every recorded event was followed by political upheaval, wars, and rapid changes in magical development.”
Mai stared at her. “Every time?”
“Every time.”
The stream continued to flow beside them.
Mai looked down at her hands.
“Then what happens next?”
“No one knows,” Miss Aiko replied. “That is the problem.”
Okama leaned closer to the book. “What do the records say about people with unusual crests?”
Miss Aiko turned several pages.
“Unusual how?”
“Crests that appear stronger than the others. Crests that react to danger. Crests that seem to have more lines or fewer keys.”
Miss Aiko paused.
“There are stories,” she said carefully. “Not reliable ones. Some speak of people born with single crests powerful enough to influence entire kingdoms. Others mention individuals whose crests developed skills no one had ever recorded before.”
Mai’s eyes drifted toward Okama.
His crest was still glowing.
The geometric lines surrounding it seemed more complicated than hers.
Miss Aiko noticed her looking.
“Okama,” she said, “have you gained any new information since the event?”
He was silent for a moment.
Then he nodded.
“When the second pulse passed through me, I saw something.”
Mai leaned forward. “What?”
“A system window. It only lasted for a second.”
“What did it say?”
Okama looked down at his crest.
“Crest type: Projectile.”
Mai waited.
“That’s all?”
“No. There was a second line beneath it.” His expression darkened. “Key count: three.”
Miss Aiko went very still.
Mai’s stomach dropped. “Is that bad?”
“It means I’m restricted,” Okama said. “The more Keys a person has, the weaker their output.”
“Can you remove them?”
“Not immediately. The system said they could be trained down.”
Miss Aiko closed the book.
“How many did you see?” Okama asked.
“None,” she answered.
He stared at her.
“What?”
“My crest didn’t show any Keys.”
Mai looked between them.
“Does that mean you’re stronger?”
Miss Aiko’s expression became uncomfortable. “It might mean my crest is different. Or incomplete. Or simply using a separate system.”
Puss lifted a hand. “Mine said something.”
Everyone looked at her.
She lowered her hand slightly. “I didn’t want to mention it.”
“Why?” Mai asked.
“Because it sounded bad.”
“What did it say?”
Puss hesitated.
Then she looked away.
“Crest type: Unknown.”
The ravine suddenly felt colder.
Okama’s hand settled on the hilt of his sword.
Miss Aiko’s eyes narrowed. “Unknown is not automatically bad.”
“That’s what people say right before something becomes bad,” Puss muttered.
Mai reached over and gently touched her arm.
Puss glanced at her hand, then at Mai’s face.
“We’ll figure it out,” Mai said.
The catgirl looked unconvinced, but she did not pull away.
A faint pulse passed through the ravine.
All three crests flared at once.
The stream beside them turned red.
Mai gasped as a translucent window appeared in front of her.
Not a normal system notification.
This one was larger.
Older-looking.
Its letters were carved in crimson light.
[[Crest resonance detected]]
[[Three awakened signatures recognized]]
[[External observation initiated]]
Mai’s blood ran cold.
“What is that?” she whispered.
Okama rose immediately. “Miss Aiko?”
“I see it.”
Puss’s fur stood on end along her arms and neck. “I don’t like being observed.”
The window flickered.
A second line appeared.
[[Foreign system interference confirmed]]
Then everything vanished.
The stream returned to normal.
The forest remained silent.
For a long moment, no one moved.
“What does foreign system interference mean?” Mai asked.
Miss Aiko slowly closed her spellbook.
“I don’t know.”
Okama looked toward the trees. “Something is watching the crests.”
“From where?” Mai asked.
He shook his head. “I can’t tell.”
Puss stood, her tail lashing wildly. “We need to leave.”
Mai stared at her. “Now?”
“Yes. Immediately. Preferably several kilometres away.”
Miss Aiko was already packing.
“That is the first sensible thing anyone has said in the last minute,” she replied.
They extinguished the small fire, gathered their belongings, and climbed out of the ravine. No one spoke while they moved. Even Okama stopped making jokes.
The forest seemed different now.
Every shadow looked occupied.
Every patch of darkness seemed to contain eyes.
Mai kept one hand pressed against her crest as she walked. It had gone cold beneath her fingers.
They travelled until the moon reached its highest point.
Only then did Miss Aiko allow them to stop again, this time inside the hollow trunk of a massive fallen tree. It was cramped and smelled of old sap, but it was hidden from every direction.
Puss sat with her knees pulled to her chest.
“Do you think it knows where we are?” she asked.
“No,” Okama said.
“You sound very confident.”
“I’m not.”
Puss frowned. “That is not reassuring.”
“I know.”
Mai leaned against the inside of the tree and closed her eyes.
She could still see the red window.
[[External observation initiated]]
Somewhere, something had noticed them.
Something had recognized their crests.
And somehow, Mai could not shake the feeling that it had been waiting for them to awaken.
Outside, a distant horn sounded.
One note.
Then another.
Miss Aiko opened her eyes.
“That isn’t a hunting call,” she whispered.
Okama reached for his sword.
“No,” he said. “It’s a signal.”
A third horn answered from somewhere farther away.
Then a fourth.
Puss’s ears flattened.
Mai felt the crest beneath her clothes begin to pulse again.
This time, it was not reacting to danger.
It was pointing.
Toward the east.
Toward something waiting in the dark.