Isabel’s Question

Time flows differently within the Demon Palace compared to the outside world.

This is a fact I have mentioned once before.

The Palace’s time changes drastically depending on the floor.

Therefore, the time spent descending the Palace does not equate to as much time passing on the outside.

The reason for this temporal disparity between floors is simple.

It’s to lengthen the maturation period of the Apostles who reach the lower levels.

The second floor is three days, the third floor is seven, the fourth floor is a fortnight, the fifth floor, a waning moon.

Up to the fifth floor, the time is somewhat conceivable.

However, from the sixth floor onwards, the deviation increases exponentially.

Sixth floor, forty-five days.

Seventh floor, one hundred days.

Eighth floor, one hundred and eighty days.

Ninth floor, three hundred and sixty-five days.

We are currently on the eighth floor.

One day outside equates to one hundred and eighty days passing here.

Our time and the time on the surface are flowing completely differently, separated by a time difference of one hundred and eighty days.

It is fortunate at least, that there is no physical aging within the Demon Palace.

This was likely intended for the Apostles, but it also applied to humans.

One month and a week had passed since Isabel and I were caught up in the Palace’s transference and became stranded.

We’d barely managed half this floor for a full month, a stark contrast to the week it took to pierce through the ninth.

The eighth floor: a place where buildings of forms unseen in reality connected to each other in bizarre configurations.

Beneath towers that nearly scraped the heavens flowed a river, stained the color of amethyst.

Strangely, this amethyst river periodically erupted into waterspouts that clawed at the sky.

Bearing a ferocious acidity, the slightest touch meant the melting away of flesh.

When the river rose into its watery dragons, one had to flee without fail.

The eighth floor, the Apostle’s Skyscraper.

The most dangerous level within the Demonic Palace, a fortress composed of an endless labyrinth.

Five brushes with death we’d endured here.

The closest call, without a doubt, had been just moments ago.

The named Apostle of the eighth floor: Lifeblood.

Lifeblood’s specialty was a power to absorb life on contact.

Composed entirely of liquid, physical attacks proved useless against it.

Which meant that neither Isabel’s nor my attacks had any effect.

In the end, I had to use a Lightning Caller to barely manage our escape.

Our breaths, Isabel’s and mine, came in ragged unison.

The after-effect of a desperate flight from the brutal encounter with Lifeblood.

“Haa, hhh… sorry… because of me…”

Isabel gasped the words out, struggling for air.

During the struggle with Lifeblood, Isabel had taken a gamble to give us an opening.

But after a month and a week of nothing but exhausting ourselves, her dwindling stamina finally betrayed her.

I could feel how much thinner she’d become.

No rest, and who knew the last time she’d truly slept.

A forced march like this… the price was both fat and muscle, consumed as fuel.

The human body, to survive, would burn through the reserves it had so carefully hoarded.

No matter how intensely Isabel and I had trained, we were still only human.

The situation was less dire for a man, with the advantage of greater muscle mass, but a woman’s muscles weren’t equivalent.

Bearing the same workload and exhaustion, it was only natural that the woman would be depleted first.

“Isabel, eat this.”

I rummaged through my bag, offering her jerky and biscuits with my right hand.

“I’m alright.”

“You’re in no shape. If you exhaust yourself further here, you’ll collapse and won’t be able to get up.”

“I told you, I’m fine. Besides, that goes for you too, doesn’t it?”

Isabel said this, trying to return the jerky and biscuits to me.

But we were both running on empty.

Our hands brushed, and the jerky tumbled to the ground.

I barely managed to keep hold of the biscuit.

If it had fallen, it would have shattered to pieces.

Seeing this, Isabel bit her lip and apologized.

“Sorry.”

A consequence of consideration in our frayed states.

I pushed the biscuit into Isabel’s mouth.

In the end, Isabel had no choice but to accept it.

“Keep water handy as well.”

I said, and just as I was about to pick up the remaining jerky with my left hand…

My body merely tilted, then froze solid.

Hastily, I reached out with my right hand and grabbed the jerky.

Isabel, still chewing the biscuit, watched this spectacle in silence.

Then, slowly, her eyes widened, and she lunged at me.

“You!”

“What is it? Did you want the jerky that badly?”

“That’s not it!”

Isabel wrapped her arms around my left shoulder and arm.

Then, she immediately pulled up the sleeve that had been concealing it.

Revealed in that instant was my left arm, blackened beyond recognition.

As if life had abandoned it, my arm lay still, devoid of movement.

So, I was exposed by my earlier movement after all.

Isabel’s face turned as white as a sheet.

Her eyes, shaking violently, met mine.

“…It was when you tried to save me, just now, that you came into contact with the Life-Water.”

Isabel, just before she touched the Life-Water.

I’d called upon my Thunder-Bringer and lunged towards Isabel.

In the process of pulling her close, a fragment of the Life-Water splashed onto my left arm.

I never imagined even a fragment could do this much.

Thanks to it, my left shoulder is currently unresponsive.

Merely, dyed a stark black, offering no reaction whatsoever.

The price I paid for having my left arm’s life stolen by that fiend.

“It’s alright. The Life-Water’s effects are only shared within the same floor. If we can advance to the 7th floor, it’ll be resolved.”

My power is diminished, but progressing isn’t impossible.

As I explained this to Isabel, her body gave a noticeable shiver.

“If you use the Wings of the Goddess…”

“That won’t do.”

I immediately rejected her suggestion of using the Wings of the Goddess.

“Your Wings of the Goddess are your last remaining trump card.”

The 7th floor, after the 8th.

There, a Gatekeeper stands sentinel.

Preventing entry from outside and inside alike, always guarding that place.

To defeat that one, we need a force of power as high-output as Isabel’s Wings of the Goddess.

Isabel’s stamina had fallen to a visibly alarming level.

If she were to expend the Wings of the Goddess in this state, we’d have no way to advance to the 7th floor.

“Until then, Isabel, you absolutely must preserve your Wings of the Goddess. If we can just make it to the 7th floor, we can somehow join up with the vanguard.”

Given the current skill level of the students from Jerion Academy, they surely can break through to the 7th floor.

I believe in them.

That’s why I’m determined to advance to the 7th floor, no matter what.

I reached out with my right hand, chewing and swallowing a piece of jerky.

The jerky’s sweetness spread throughout my mouth, and vitality returned.

Originally, I intended to give it to Isabel, but now, I need to convey my will to survive, undeniably.

Therefore, I clearly revealed my resolve before her.

“Isabel, in this situation, injuries are naturally inevitable. But one thing is certain: we will escape the Devil’s Palace unscathed.”

Our rations dwindle at an alarming pace.

To linger here, expending our strength needlessly, is forbidden.

I steeled my will once more.

“Let’s go.”

“……”

Isabel’s face held a thousand unsaid things, but she swallowed them down.

Recriminations can wait until we’re out.

What we need now is unwavering trust.

And so, Isabel and I, we move on.

＊＊＊

We are a third of the way to the seventh floor.

Our rations are nearly exhausted.

Typically, the rear guard holds the bulk of the provisions, positioned for safety.

We, at the vanguard, carry far less.

But this, we anticipated to a degree.

Thankfully, I possess knowledge of the eighth floor’s ecosystem.

The Demon Palace, though artificial, sustains a semblance of natural order, and within it, sustenance can be found.

Though even that which is edible comes with a price, a subtle corruption of the body. Still, it is better than starvation.

However, to procure these provisions under the gaze of the Apostles proves more arduous than imagined.

Fiends unleashed by the Apostles prowl ceaselessly.

Exposure means immediate battle.

Failure to eliminate them inevitably draws the Apostles themselves.

Thus, our vigilance cannot waver.

With great effort, I char the meager mushrooms we’ve salvaged, the flames of a magical sigil flaring to life on my fingertips.

These fungi possess a numbing poison, a regrettable side effect, but we are in no position to be choosy.

If it fills the belly, it must be eaten.

The consequences can be dealt with upon our return.

Isabel follows my lead, chewing on the mushroom.

Whatever I procure, she accepts without a trace of suspicion.

Isabel’s knowledge of the eighth floor extends only to the Named Apostles.

Therefore, she trusted me implicitly in such matters.

She never once inquired how I knew such details so intimately.

Only, Isabel, during our respites, kept her gaze fixed on my left arm, ravaged by the Elixir of Life.

Nearly two months were at hand since its insidious transfer.

Isabel and I had come thus far, aiding one another.

Thus, this injury was solely due to my own carelessness.

Had I grasped the situation more firmly and proceeded with greater caution, I would not have been afflicted.

“Isabel, let us rest here today.”

A juncture where the paths of the Apostles cleverly avoided intersection.

There, we decided to lean against the wall and take our repose.

In approximately a week, we should arrive at the entrance to the seventh floor.

We’ve progressed well, this far.

Only a little further to endure, truly.

“You.”

Isabel sat beside me.

The space between us was minimized to the utmost.

To allow both of us to react instantly and move in unison should one sense anything amiss.

Isabel’s shoulder brushed against my right.

She hugged her drawn-up knees, and parted her parched lips.

“May I…ask you a few things?”

Isabel, who had hitherto asked nothing at all.

Any curiosities she harbored, she intended to pose after we escaped this place.

With that thought, she had swallowed every question.

But time had passed, and even our provisions had dwindled.

My left arm had remained immobile for far too long.

Isabel, too, had nearly reached her physical limit.

Her gaunt frame was palpably evident.

Perhaps for this reason, she seemed to believe she could no longer defer her questions to the future.

If she did not ask now, she might not be able to ask next time.

Such was the thought that gripped her.

Isabel’s state felt precarious, indirectly conveyed.

I did not, however, point it out just then.

“I’m a man of many secrets.”

“Jesting at a time like this is so like you.”

Isabel’s head thudded lightly against my shoulder.

“But, for now, please answer me sincerely.”

What was it she wanted to ask?

Isabel harbored countless doubts about me all this time.

Our connection, it was a relationship woven around the figure of Lucas.

A relationship that began with my denigrating remarks toward Lucas.

“The day you first came to the Academy.”

I’d been acting in my own way, but eventually, it always comes to light.

More than anyone, Isabel had observed me directly, intently.

“That business with insulting Lucas, was that for my sake?”

“……”

I knew all along that Isabel had questions about this.

Those keen observers by her side had realized it long ago.

Even if she herself had looked away, there was no way she wouldn’t have noticed.

Simply, it was a question she couldn’t bring herself to ask, so she had kept pushing it back.

And today, she finally cast that question at me.

My lips remained sealed.

As I said before, Isabel and I, our relationship is incredibly complex.

So many emotions have accumulated, to the point where the thread of our connection is not easily seen.

Certainly, I had played *Flame Butterfly* countless times.

But even I couldn’t predict how answering here would transform the relationship between Isabel and me.

Beyond this point lay a world unknown.

A world entirely unfamiliar to me.

“It wasn’t for you. It was for me.”

Having heard my answer, Isabel looked up at me.

“…Really?”

“……”

She asked of me to speak only truth, nothing but truth.

And what I uttered to her then was certainly no falsehood.

Yet, neither could I claim it was devoid of all lies.

For surely, it was also meant to serve her.

“I, you see, have watched you more closely than you imagine.”

Isabel, who would often gaze at me with a quiet intensity.

Her gaze was at times so persistent as to be almost frightening.

“And with each passing moment, doubt gnawed at me. Why would someone like you speak those words that day, and what reason could you have for acting so towards me, a person you had no connection to?”

Isabel, mired in her own contemplations.

A contemplation that surely offered no easy resolution.

I am Hanon Areida.

She had never been touched by Hanon in any way.

However.

“That power you possess to alter your appearance at will.”

Twice, she had witnessed me freely shift my form.

Once as Vikaman, once as Hania.

“Seeing that power, I have continued to wonder. Perhaps, you are not Hanon at all.”

Furthermore, she had actually encountered the true Hanon.

Stories I know nothing of, that the real Hanon must have told her.

It was only natural that questions arose within her from those encounters.

“I have most definitely met you before.”

Isabel’s hand, before I knew it, had gripped my collar tightly.

Her two pupils, like twin suns, trembled fiercely.

That gaze, even I could not look away from its intensity.

“Just who are you?”

A yearning voice escaped from Isabel.

“Who are you to revive me, to raise me up again?”

The doubt she had harbored ever since that second year.

It was the moment he cast that question at me, head-on.