The 27th Rio — At the End of the Death-Return Labyrinth, Whose Dream Do You See? - For whom do you advance?

He slumped against the crumbling wall, knees giving out. The wound pulsed. Blood seeped from his right flank, trickling through his fingers onto the stone floor. Cold. His own blood. His vision blurred. The remnants of the corpse-ghoul horde, swallowed by light, dissolved into the ruin's air with a faint glow. Beyond that—where Shion had vanished—only shattered stone and ghoul carcasses lay piled. No trace of her presence. Rio slammed his fist against the stone floor. Once. Twice. Skin split on his knuckles. Blood welled up. He felt no pain. He couldn't say a word. To her—who had confessed she wasn't human. To her—who had admitted her existence was born from the loss of all the Rios. He hadn't managed a single reply. "...Shion." His hoarse voice was swallowed by the darkness. Then— A pale blue light seeped through the wall. Words. *For whom do you advance.* The characters pulsed deep and slow, illuminating Rio. A question carved by the First Generation—or one posed by the labyrinth itself. Rio stared at the words. For whom— He still had no answer. But. He pressed his hands down and forced his body up. Trembling knees bore his weight. The wound pulled taut, searing pain shooting through him. Still. Rio stood. To leave her behind—to abandon the memories of his predecessors—would render every death and resurrection meaningless. He had no choice but to go. He stumbled through the narrow passage leading to the Fourth Stratum. One hand pressed against his wound. The other traced the wall. The air changed. Cold. Heavy. Stagnant. The ceiling soared high, dissolving into darkness beyond sight. Footsteps echoed unnaturally. The stone walls glowed with a faint, pale blue light. The Mirror Hall. The moment he stepped inside— His vision warped. An illusion of left and right reversing. The boundary between floor and wall blurred. For an instant, he lost all sense of where he was walking. Rio stopped. Closed his eyes. Opened them. Standing before him— The same face. The same scars. The same short-sword stance. His past self. The engraved memories of passing through this hall dozens, hundreds of times resonated with the spatial inversion, rising as afterimages. The afterimage fought a corpse-ghoul. The same sword strokes. The same speed. The same trajectory—severing the core. Rio caught his breath. Traces of himself—with memories he didn't possess. Not a written legacy of journals, but a physical legacy carved into space. His predecessors had truly existed. Here, they had fought, died, resurrected, and fought again. That weight struck him directly in the chest. He walked. Passed by the afterimage. For a split second, he felt the afterimage look at him. The same green eyes. The same deep stillness. As he reached the center of the hall— The afterimage vanished. The air froze. Rio drew his short sword. His hand trembled. Just holding the stance, his fingers lacked strength. The grip creaked. Footsteps from the depths of darkness. No. They matched his own. It appeared. A corpse-ghoul. But—different from the others. Its build matched Rio's. Its stance matched Rio's. Its rhythm of movement perfectly mimicked Rio's. The labyrinth had learned. It had devoured even the engraved memories, birthing an enemy most like himself. Fused with the Mirror Hall's properties, it manifested in the worst possible form. The ghoul stepped in. The same step as Rio. The same sword stroke. CLANG—!! Sparks scattered. The air split. Rio blocked. The impact pierced through his right side. His wound screamed. His knees buckled. The ghoul swung down a second blade. Rio rolled to evade. He tumbled across the stone floor, back slamming against the wall. His breathing shattered. The ghoul turned. Its pale blue core gleamed, mocking. Rio pressed a hand to the wall and stood. *(This thing is me.)* The accumulation of my past selves. Every trace of the death-returns. *(But—)* He re-gripped his short sword. The trembling in his fingers stopped. *(I'm different now.)* He was chasing Shion. Moving forward to save her. That will alone was the sole difference between his past self and his present self. The ghoul stepped in again. Rio—did not step in. Instead, he leaped right. The ghoul's mimicry pattern had predicted a leftward dodge. He broke that assumption. The ghoul's claws tore through empty air. One instant. An opening. Rio stepped in. From a different angle. At a different speed. With a different will. His short sword pierced the ghoul's head—its pale blue core. SHUNK—!! The ghoul shrieked. Pale blue fluid gushed out, splattering against the wall. Particles of light danced. The ghoul's massive body collapsed. Rio dropped to one knee. His wound burned like fire. His vision flickered white. Still, he seared the sight before him into his mind. He had defeated it. His past self. The afterimages on the walls flickered faintly and vanished. The engraved memories of his predecessors quietly receded. Silence reclaimed the hall. Rio stood. He walked. Deeper. Where the Mirror Hall ended—there was a gate. A colossal stone gate. Countless pale blue characters were carved into its surface, pulsing in steady rhythm. The gate itself seemed to breathe. The Gate of Truth. The entrance to the Fifth Stratum. And—before that gate, she lay collapsed. Pale golden hair. Blue-gray eyes. Shion. Her body was translucent. The stone wall behind her was visible through her outline. Her silhouette wavered. The light that composed the remnants of her memories was slowly dismantling her. "Shion—" He rushed to her. Dropped to his knees. Lifted her body into his arms. Startlingly light. She had already lost nearly all her mass. Shion's blue-gray eyes looked up at Rio. "...Rio-san." Her voice, too, was faint. "...You came." "Of course I did." His words trembled. He couldn't hold back the surge of emotion. "There's no way I could leave you behind." Shion's eyes glowed a deep, vivid blue. The blue of happiness. "...I wanted to tell you properly, Rio-san." "Enough." "No. Please listen." Her hand touched his arm. He could barely feel the sensation of her touch. "I am the remnants of the memories of all the Rios. But—even so, the reason I am me... is you, Rio-san." Tears traced down her cheeks. Transparent, glowing droplets turned to particles and vanished before they could fall. "If I had never met you, I would have been nothing but fragments of memory. Because you were there, I became Shion. That alone... makes me—" Her words cut off. Rio held her tight. As if to confirm the existence in his arms. As if to hold back the fading light, even for a moment longer. "...Come with me." He stood. His wound tore open. Blood spilled. As if he cared. Still carrying Shion, he raised his hand toward the Gate of Truth. Pale blue light enveloped them both. The world—peeled away. The axes of space distorted. The sensation of time vanished. Up, down, left, right—all lost meaning. Only a silver-white light stretched into eternity. The Silver Void. Silence. Nothing. No floor. No walls. No ceiling. An endless expanse of white. Rio stood in that space, Shion still in his arms. The silver world pulsed. A heartbeat-like vibration traveled through the air— And he appeared. The First Generation Rio. The same face. The same silver hair. The same deep green eyes—but. His outline blurred, crumbling away in fragments. A hollow cavity gaped in the center of his chest, from which countless pale blue threads extended, tangling throughout the entire space. His eyes were already crushed, pale blue light leaking continuously from between closed lids. Traces of tears had crystallized white, carved in countless streaks down his cheeks. Eight hundred years of solitude. Eight hundred years of regret. Eight hundred years of madness. The First Generation slowly opened his mouth. "...So you've finally come. The twenty-seventh me." His voice traveled through the walls, resonating directly inside the skull. A whisper, yet it echoed through the entire space. Rio, still holding Shion, fixed his gaze on the First Generation. "You're the First Generation." "Yes. I am you. You are me." The First Generation's voice came in double. A high, pleading tone and a low, clinging tone sounding simultaneously. "Listen, twenty-seventh. Eight hundred years ago, my magical research ran rampant and caused the Calamita collapse. I dragged those I loved into the labyrinth and let them die. As atonement, I made my own soul the core of a perpetual engine." Rio listened in silence. "To bring about my own end, I created the successive Rios. But—not a single one could reach the Gate of Truth. Each time, memories were devoured, and they resurrected. This loop continues forever." The First Generation's voice split. "End it, twenty-seventh! Set me—free!" "Not yet. Don't end it yet. I don't know—how to end." Two voices echoed at once. Caught between sanity and madness, the First Generation's personality had fractured. Rio bit his lip. "...What is the substance of your regret?" The First Generation's voice stopped. "You said you let those you loved die. But—what exactly is the object of your atonement? You've never once stated it clearly." The First Generation's outline wavered violently. The pale blue threads pulsed. The entire space groaned. "...That is—" "Was the Calamita collapse caused by your research alone? Or—was there something else?" Silence. A long, long silence— Then the First Generation began to speak, voice trembling, haltingly. "...I was pursuing life-manipulation techniques through magical research. Technology to resurrect the dead—. But opposing forces misused that technology and caused the magical furnace to run wild. The result—was Calamita." "So it wasn't your sin alone." "Even so! If I had never created that technology—. I created this labyrinth to punish myself. I created the successive Rios to end myself. But—" His voice distorted. "I didn't know how to end. The right way to end. No one taught me. So—I unconsciously prevented the labyrinth from being solved. Prevented you all from reaching this place." Rio exhaled a deep breath. A loop born from guilt had, before he knew it, been replaced by the fear of not knowing how to end—that fear itself becoming the purpose. The loop's true purpose was never atonement. It was perpetual motion to avert his eyes from the powerlessness and terror of not knowing how to end. The First Generation's face contorted. Caught between madness and sanity, the crystallized tears carved themselves deeper into his cheeks. "Twenty-seventh. Choose. Fuse with the core and become the eternal overseer—or destroy the core and annihilate everything along with the labyrinth. One or the other." Rio fell silent. In his arms, Shion stirred faintly. Her fading body seemed about to vanish at any moment. Rio raised his head. "I refuse both." The First Generation's eyelids flew open. The pale blue light flickered violently. "What—?" "I choose a third path." Rio's voice did not tremble. "I will release the core." "Are you insane?! That would—" "The memories of all the sealed predecessors—and your regret—will be released outside the labyrinth. By consuming the very fuel of the cycle, the engine will stop." The First Generation's voice halted. "This isn't strategy intel or journal records. It's a reverse-engineering of the labyrinth's structure—derived from the death-return experience I've accumulated within this labyrinth." The pale blue threads trembled. "...Such a thing—" "It can be done. You didn't know how to end. But I—I have the will to end it." Silence. And then— The First Generation's fractured voices stopped simultaneously for the first time. Sanity and madness alike fell silent. "...I see." The First Generation's face began to slowly crumble. His outline peeled away in fra

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Episode 6

Name: The 27th Rio — At the End of the Death-Return Labyrinth, Whose Dream Do You See?
Author: Novelia

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