Nothing could have prepared Medrauta and Viviane for what awaited them at the top of the Spire.

Though there was no ceiling above the vast floor of the Spire’s zenith, a globe of darkness around the structure cast an eternal night upon its surface, rejecting the warm rays of sunlight cast by the noonday sun. Silver lanterns floated in the air, illuminating the area with pale blue flames that cast an eerie glow on the black stones beneath.

A chill ran down Viviane’s spine as she progressed through the dimly lit darkness with her knight, the two of them proceeding cautiously. Despite their enhanced vision, neither Viviane or Medrauta could see further than a few feet in front of themselves, and the ghostly flames of the hovering torches gave off an unsettling feeling despite being the sole source of light.

The torches were placed in a strange linear fashion that made it seem as though they were intended to show any visitors the way forward, but Medrauta doubted this section of the Spire entertained guests regularly, if at all. Even so, the severe lack of vision left her with no choice but to follow the trail of torches, her suspicion only beginning to grow as the torches slowly burned brighter and brighter.

“O-Oof!” Viviane winced as she slammed into Medrauta’s back. She had kept her head down during most of the journey, clinging onto Medrauta’s hand and trusting her knight to lead the way.

With Medrauta abruptly stopping in her tracks, Viviane had looked up, intending to ask her knight what was wrong. But there was no need.

The moment she raised her head, her question had been answered immediately.

Viviane clapped a hand to her mouth, suppressing the urge to vomit. She clenched her jaw tightly, averting her eyes at the horrifying sight before her. While she had seen her fair share of horrors and violence during the campaign in the former Revelo duchy, never had she seen such a blatant disregard for life.

What stood before the pair could only be described as gruesome. A woman’s body lay crucified on a cross of black stone, her limbs twisted and mutilated to resemble a sword. Silver blood dripped from countless wounds, pooling at the base of the cross. Her dark blue hair that was once resplendent and beautiful now hung ragged from her head, strands falling out with every breath she took.

“It can’t be...” Medrauta’s eyes widened in shock and horror as she stared at the crucified figure, unable to believe what she was seeing. “Lady Merlynne...?”

Part of Medrauta wished it was just a mistake. After all, she hadn’t seen the woman in years. But as much as she wanted to simply pretend that it was someone who looked similar, she knew that couldn’t possibly be true. Though it now felt more like a dull blade compared to the razor-sharp sword Medrauta remembered, the aura around the blue-haired woman was undeniable.

In response to her voice, the woman stirred. She raised her head with great effort, looking at the pair with silver eyes that were dull and lifeless like overused blades left unsharpened. Her cracked lips parted slightly, producing a rasp that managed to form barely understood words.

“...Medrauta and the Child of Eventide... You’ve come at last.”

Viviane shuddered as she heard the woman’s voice, forcing herself to gaze at the disfigured form on the cross once more. Upon closer inspection, she found that she recognized the woman. Dark blue hair, silver eyes, and the dulled yet unmistakably bladelike aura. Viviane recognized it all. “It’s you... You’re Emrys...!”

Medrauta frowned at the name. The true identity of the mysterious “Emrys” was a conclusion she had tentatively drawn after regaining all of her memories, but hearing it confirmed felt strange. Had they met in any other situation, Medrauta would’ve asked what exactly Merlynne had told Viviane in the Lake, but she knew there were far more pressing problems at the moment.

“...What the hell did Amelia do to you?” Medrauta’s eyes searched the cross for any way to remove Merlynne safely, but came up with nothing.

The blue-haired woman’s twisted and broken arms were impaled by long black lances, piercing through her palms and shoulders to ensure that she couldn’t move even an inch. Her feet had been torn apart and crushed before being joined together by a set of those same lances, forcing them into a pointed shape that resembled the tip of a grotesque blade.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Medrauta had never seen the woman bleed before, but the puddle of congealed silver blood beneath the cross meant that Merlynne likely wasn’t human. Based on how Merlynne was capable of remaining conscious and even speaking despite the abysmal state of her body, Medrauta figured that the woman either couldn’t feel pain or had an incredible tolerance for it surpassing even that of a knight’s.

For a moment, she considered simply tearing out all the lances and hoping it would just work out, but she quickly discarded the idea. It was far too risky and idiotic in nature, especially when she had absolutely no idea what was going on.

“...There is no time.” Merlynne said, rejecting Medrauta’s aid before she could even offer it. “You must reach... the princess. Stop... the ritual...”

Medrauta bit her lip. She didn’t particularly want to leave Merlynne behind in this state, but she could see the desperation in the woman’s silver eyes. “...Where?”

“Beyond... this edifice... A circle... Of lanterns... There, you’ll find them...”

As Medrauta was about to nod and promise to stop the ritual, the flames of the floating lanterns around them suddenly intensified as if in response to Merlynne’s words. Their once dim light now became shining blue beacons that illuminated the entirety of the Spire’s peak.

The abrupt change in brightness had subjected Medrauta and Viviane to a painful flash. They found themselves blinded for a second, but when their vision cleared, they saw a large black throne enshrined upon an enormous dais not too far from their current position. A circle of lanterns hovered above it, and seated upon the throne was none other than Amelia herself.

Though she carried lofty titles as the ruler of the Spire and the catalyst of all the havoc plaguing the empire, nothing had really changed about her appearance or the aura that she gave off. In fact, she seemed almost friendly if not for the sinister gaze in her crimson eyes and the way she was treating the girl beneath her feet.

Amelia flashed Medrauta and Viviane a mischievous smirk as she adjusted her position on the throne, causing her heeled boots to dig painfully into the back of the pink-haired girl she was using as a footrest. Black threads of umbral energy bound the girl’s hands and feet, a single loop wrapped around her lips that forbade her from even screaming in pain.

Despite her position, the girl’s eyes were still filled with indignant rage, a look that made her more than recognizable as she turned her attention to Medrauta and Viviane. It was none other than Princess Gwenhwyfar. Upon seeing the pair, she struggled against her bindings desperately like a worm in its death throes, but this only caused Amelia to step harder and drive her heels deeper.

“Oh, please.” Amelia spoke with an almost playful tone. “You insult me, Merlynne. I would never make my guests go to the trouble of finding their host. Welcome to my humble home, Medrauta. Viviane. How did you find the accommodations?”

“Release the princess now.” Medrauta said, advancing toward the throne with her sword drawn. It was clear that Amelia wanted to speak for a little longer, and perhaps even gloat, but the silver-haired knight had no intention of humoring her.

“Oh, don’t worry. I fully intend to. After I’m done with her, that is.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Amelia shook her head in mock displeasure, rising from her throne as Medrauta approached. She made a brief gesture, forming a pitch-black sword in her hand and placing it against the neck of the bound princess. “Patience was never your strong suit, Medrauta. Why don’t we talk awhile?”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“No? I heard you regained your memories. That you’ve managed to properly inherit your mother’s Oath. An impressive feat, if I do say so myself. Speaking of memories, what do you think of my work on Merlynne? Quite fitting, don’t you think?”

“You’re a sick fuck, Amelia.”

Amelia pouted. “What a shame. I thought you’d find it an adequate punishment for someone who forcibly sealed your memories away. Now you can see her original form!”

“...Her original form?” Medrauta frowned. She certainly didn’t want to help Amelia indulge in her insanity, but with the princess’ life on the line, there was little choice.

“That’s right!” Amelia grinned. “You didn’t know? Merlynne is old. She used to be a sword, you know? It was Aluvsha who granted her life so she could finish Soleil’s job. It’s kind of twisted if you think about it... She would’ve remained a sword if only your mother had accompanied Soleil. She never would’ve suffered the pain she’s going through right now.”

“What the hell do you know about my mother?” Medrauta growled.

“I know she killed mine.”

Medrauta’s eyes widened at the sudden revelation. She should’ve realized this much sooner after regaining her memories, but for some reason, it hadn’t occurred to her until now. The only one who could’ve given birth to a witch of Amelia’s age was...

“...That’s right.” Amelia smirked. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Amelia, daughter of Morgause.”