The morning of the deadline had come, but Alva still hadn't slept. At the workbench in the abandoned workshop, Liese continued writing something. The quill scratched across the paper, its sound small and crisp in the silent space. The pale blue light of a magic lamp—an auxiliary tool that emitted light without incantation—traced the outline of her silver hair. The star-shaped birthmark on her left cheek was clearly visible in that glow. Alva leaned his back against the wall, staring up at the dark ceiling. Since last night—when Helmut Sonder had appeared in the plaza and asked for Alva's participation in collaborative research on the primordial language, when Alva had calmly but firmly refused—the two of them had barely spoken. He felt no regret about refusing. There was no way he could cooperate with a method that treated villagers as tools. But the words Helmut had left behind still clung to his mind. "Take until morning to think it over. You have plenty of time." Plenty of time, huh. (What changes when dawn comes?) Without an answer, the air outside began to shift. Alva sensed it, and Liese looked up at almost the same moment. The presence of an incantation—but with a fundamentally different density than before. Spreading like a low wave from multiple directions at the village's outer edges. Whether it was the microparticles of greyghost—the silver-gray ore produced only in the greyghost region and used as a catalyst for alchemical incantations—reacting in the air, there was a pressure that made the skin prickle. "It's not a routine update," Liese said, closing her notebook. All emotion had drained from her voice. "The density is different. The structure is different. This is—" She trailed off and stood up. Alva moved at the same time. The two of them ran toward the door. In that instant. A dull thud echoed through the abandoned workshop. Alva had smashed his forehead against the door frame. "..." For a moment, the world went into slow motion. A dull ache spread across his forehead and eyes. Alva froze in place for about three seconds. Liese turned back. Her eyes caught Alva, his forehead pressed against the door frame, still moving with the momentum of his initial sprint. "...Now," Just one word. In a businesslike tone. "Come," Alva followed silently, hand pressed to his forehead. --- When they reached the plaza, Alva stopped. Three villagers, apparently out to draw water in the early morning, had collapsed on the stone pavement. One lay on their side still clutching a water bucket, water spreading across the stones. The second sat with their back against a wall, breathing shallow. The third was— A child. A small girl, not even seven years old. The black pattern of ashblight—a curse inscribed through alchemical incantation that turned skin gray and dulled sensation—was rapidly crawling up the girl's neck and jaw. It had nearly reached her eyes. Liese stopped moving. Alva looked at her profile. He had always thought she was controlled. Even when she showed emotion, it was calculated. But this Liese was different. Her intelligent, mismatched water-colored eyes were fixed on the girl's face. The ring on her delicate finger, inscribed with alchemical runes, trembled slightly. At that moment, a chicken walked casually across the middle of the plaza. That chicken—the same one that had been loitering in the back alleys yesterday, one of that oblivious orange-beaked flock, appeared without any hesitation in this tense scene and positioned itself between Liese and Alva. Then it clucked matter-of-factly. Liese, her expression twisted with anger, slowly lowered her gaze. Her eyes met the chicken's. The chicken didn't move an inch. Alva reached out to gently push the chicken aside—but it hopped half a step to the side and returned to its original position. (What is this thing doing here?) Liese looked away from the chicken and turned her gaze back to the girl. In her pupils, something uncontrollable was surfacing. "This is an experiment," Her voice was low. Not the sharp bite of her usual sarcasm, but something wrung from deep within. "If it were a threat, there would be a warning. A demand. But Father updated without saying anything. Whether the villagers suffer or not is—a variable. Alva, you're a variable. He's observing how you'll move," Alva listened in silence. "I know Father's logic is precise. I know his goal is to create a world where lies are impossible. I've known for a long time how distorted the form that realization is taking," Her voice trembled slightly. "Because I know—I can't forgive it. Because I know, my hatred can't run straight. That's the most—" Her words cut off. Alva realized that Liese's right hand had, at some point, come to rest on the girl's head. Trembling with anger, unconsciously. Not so much holding her as—protecting her. With a sense like the mirror of words, Alva read the structure of Liese's unspoken words. The core part she hadn't voiced—trust betrayed, its inversion. She had wanted to believe in her father, to understand him, and because of that, her hatred had taken this twisted form. That was the root of Liese's resolve. (This person has been carrying that alone all this time.) Something in Alva quietly settled into place. To listen to the full extent of the curse. --- In the center of the village—the plaza with the half-ruined assembly hall—Alva stood alone. The morning air was thin, and the greyghost microparticles, carrying moisture, hung white and hazy. The mornings in Greyghost were always like this. The entire village lay submerged in ambiguous light where you couldn't tell where the sun was. He sharpened his consciousness. 《Mirror of Words (Wortspiegei)》—Alva's unique skill that replicated an opponent's incantation and reversed its essential meaning—began probing the distant wavelengths. Immediately, he sensed an anomaly. 【Warning: Composite structure incantation detected】 【Information density exceeding three times normal processing limits】 (...This isn't a simple incantation.) The alchemical incantations he'd listened to before had a single structure, rewriting one concept. But this was different. Multiple alchemical incantations reinforced each other, woven together as a multi-layered structure covering the entire village. When he tried to grasp one layer, another layer would overwrite its meaning and erase the footing for reversal. The mockery from the examination hall echoed back—"This reaction, never heard of it. No need to verify. Fail." It echoed back—Liese's words. "You were only tested in a world where the concept was wrong." It echoed back—the first failure in the abandoned workshop, and that moment when only one line of the villager's pattern had faded. Alva made all of that his footing in this moment. He grasped the edge of the structure— 【Processing load: 87%】 —He grasped it. But another layer overwrites it. 【Processing load: 94%】 (Just a little more—just a little deeper—) 【Processing load: 98%—99%—】 【Limit exceeded】 The reversal backflowed. The density of the curse pressed back directly into Alva's spirit core—the organ within his body that supplied magical power. An impact piercing his entire body. The stone pavement beneath his feet receded. No voice came out. His vision went white. Thud—a sound. It took a moment to realize it was the sound of his own collapse. "Alva!" The sound of footsteps rushing from behind. Liese caught up but couldn't bear his full weight, and they both fell to their knees. Even in his fading consciousness, he could feel how thin her arms were as they supported his back. At that moment—Flap flap flap flap! The chicken that had been nearby, startled by the impact of Alva's collapse, flapped its wings dramatically. The sound of wings and its protesting cries cut right through the tense, life-or-death scene. With villagers collapsed and Alva losing consciousness in the midst of despair, the chicken was squawking at full volume. In the last fragment of his fading consciousness, Alva saw Liese's face. In her mismatched water-colored eyes—there was pure fear. Not calculation, not strategy, but the fear of losing another person. Something that had always been hidden beneath her controlled expression. Recognizing that expression, Alva's consciousness went dark. --- In a dream, he was in the examination hall. "Mirror of Words—evaluation impossible. Outside scoring criteria. Fail." Mockery. Murmuring. Someone's voice laughing, "What is that skill?" It dissolved into the ceiling of the abandoned workshop this morning. The white-blown vision slowly regained color. The first thing he perceived was—a chicken's face peering down at his nose. A vacant orange beak. Small round eyes. They didn't blink. (...Why is it here?) The chicken had wandered into the abandoned workshop. When Alva opened his eyes slightly and met the chicken's gaze, it fell silent for about a second, then let out a single cluck. It wasn't conveying anything, wasn't confirming anything, just existing. That out-of-place creature's simple animal presence brought a strange certainty back to Alva's consciousness. (I'm alive. So is this thing.) When he tried to sit up, he noticed bandages wrapped around both his hands. Whether from the backflow to his spirit core, the incantation marks on the backs of his hands throbbed with a dull heat beneath the bandages. A small sound came from the direction of the workbench. Liese was adjusting medicinal compounds, half-asleep. Her silver hair had come loose, one side hanging down over her shoulder. Her delicate fingers tilted a vial almost unconsciously. Her eyes closed, then opened. Closed, then opened. Alva watched her profile for a while. (Was she here the whole time I was unconscious?) The sensation lingered from just before consciousness returned—the touch of a hand colder than his own body temperature. The residual feeling of thin fingers that had touched his temple. They weren't touching now. But—the certainty that had been there remained, still lingering within Alva. Something in his chest warmed. Before he could recognize what it was, Alva cut off his thoughts. "Liese," Gently, but audibly. Liese's eyes opened. The medicine vial tilted—and was steadied just in time. Her eyes found Alva. There was a moment of silence. "You're alive," Her usual sarcastic tone. But her voice was slightly hoarse. "I have one question," Alva said. The sensation of his father's old book was reviving in the depths of his consciousness. The feel of pages with singed edges. One passage—"A mirror doesn't shatter because the image is too strong. It shatters because there is only one way to reflect." Until now, he had used the mirror of words as a single reversal. Listen to one incantation, reverse it once. That was all he'd thought about. But what if the way to reflect wasn't limited to once— "Does the curse have a core?" Liese looked up. Her eyes narrowed. The eyes of someone who understood the meaning of the question. It took less than a second. She opened her mouth to answer—when the residual echo of the night's alchemical incantation flowed in from outside the workshop. Whether Helmut was beginning the next update, or something else. But tonight was different. Not just the outline—he could sense a faint pull from the very center of the structure. Still out of reach. But for the first time, he could vaguely see where he needed to go. The spirit core throbbed with heat beneath the bandages, evidence of being used to the limit. But to Alva, it felt not like breaking, but like being carved out. The chicken clucked once more. Liese, ignoring it, began to give her answer.