Why Lie? I

The plan, in fact, wasn't that complicated. All that was required from Silora was to observe and wait for an opportunity. But simplicity doesn't necessarily mean ease. To begin with, Silora didn’t listen to the assassin’s words, who tried to sugarcoat the idea of her death, and acted on the first detail of the plan at hand.

Silora charged the spellbook with almost all of her mana reserves. She didn’t have much use for it given her inability to cast any spells outside of soul and mind magic—of which she knew no offensive spells, except for mind like fire, which didn’t work as she’d hoped. The small amount of mana she left was for the silver dagger, as it was an important part of the overall plan.

Silora was surprised that the spellbook could receive mana like an artifact. She remembered trying to do something similar the day she opened the box, but back then, she didn’t know the specific pattern for directing the mana. Now, the consciousness resembling her mother filled that gap in her knowledge.

The decorative patterns on the book's cover glowed with a translucent gray color, contrasting with its red binding. And that was it—no magical spectacle emerged from the book. Silora had learned that from the consciousness’s words before. The remaining part of the plan was “the food”—as the consciousness called it. Silora was skeptical about this, but her life was at stake.

Silora believed in the plan, not because it was good by any standard, but because she was out of options. So, under the watchful eyes of the assassin, Silora threw the glowing book onto the grotesque and disturbingly strange pile of corpses. Of course, the “food” was the corpses and what remained of their broken, false souls.

What happened next was simply indescribable. Even Silora herself didn’t have the heart to look, so she hid while the assassin faced the consequences.

[We’ll speak again... once I’m finished.] The consciousness, similar to Silora’s mother, sent through their mental link in a broken voice. [I told you - I was - - - ] And the connection between them was cut.

What followed the sudden disconnection was the sound of sharp, terrifying cracking and splintering wood. Silora hadn’t yet processed the abrupt disconnection before she was forced to dodge the flying splinters of wood in all directions. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the assassin receiving the same treatment, his body smashed against the inner mast of the enclosed room.

Silora didn’t have time to deal with the loneliness that accompanied the disconnection before she found herself in the midst of a battle between the assassin, who had risen without any sign of injury, and… the other thing...

A decayed, bloody mass of flesh formed from the pile of corpses stacked upon each other, with torn and fragile bodies merging into a distorted, unclear shape. The rotting flesh clung together like wax melting under scorching heat, and their limbs twisted in unnatural positions as if condemning their very existence. Eyes, wide open, covered every inch of the fleshy mass, glowing with a smoky, dead white light, shrouding its form in a veil of fog, making it impossible to discern its shape from a distance. Quiet, incomprehensible whispers emanated from the many wide-open mouths scattered across the shifting mass.

This was what Silora was looking at, and the thing looked back at her, with only God knows how many eyes. Silora's body instinctively recoiled at the sight, unable to breathe steadily. She wanted to run or break eye contact—or rather, eyes contact—but something inside her forced her to stand rigid. Her gaze locked with the white glow of those dead eyes, and she felt that they weren’t just looking at her, but that they were exposing every hidden fear and buried weakness within her. Silora’s body trembled to its core, her thoughts torn between wanting to flee and hide, and a strange urge to surrender to her despair and guilt. After all, she was the one who killed all these people—even though the assassin would have killed them eventually.

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To Silora’s fortune, if it could be called that, the focus of all those white eyes shifted to the fireballs that the assassin hurled toward the ever-shifting mass of flesh, which made no effort to dodge.

Head lowered, Silora cautiously backed away from the two, pushing aside any wooden debris in her path. If the wood caught fire, it would provide the assassin with an unlimited source of flames. Silora glanced at the small black bottles on the assassin’s belt. He had broken one of them to release the contained flame inside, and unfortunately, there was no way for her to get rid of them.

The fireballs collided with the massive body of the fleshy mass. The force of the flame did nothing to dispel the white fog surrounding it, but the smell of roasted flesh announced the damage that had occurred.

What Silora feared happened—the wood caught fire, and the flames started spreading rapidly. Silora could have dispelled the spell, but the flames were remnants of the spell itself, a raw, primitive material, only controlled. So, without using a spell like oxygen suppression, there was little she could do except try to extinguish it before it spread further.

Silora darted lightly around the massive mast in the center of the room, avoiding the assassin's gaze. Her hand instinctively reached for her neck where her cloak would have been, to check the state of the prints, but it wasn’t there. "Damn it, I threw it away; there was a matter state print on it."

For a moment, Silora thought of retrieving it, but she pushed the idea aside—she had a role to play. So instead, she removed her blouse, leaving only her light shirt, and started smothering the flames with the fabric.

Unfortunately, her actions did not go unnoticed. The assassin, in turn, sent a hidden fireball behind her back. Silora, oblivious to the danger behind her, continued trying to extinguish the flames. By the time she noticed, it was already too late.

At the moment the assassin sent the fireball, the mass of flesh lifted what was supposed to be a leg and slammed it down with force on the deck. The strength behind the strike sent shockwaves in all directions, distorting the shape of the room entirely.

Silora, who had been watching the fireball in her attempt to dodge, was affected by the tremor and thrown to the side. But not far enough to avoid the mass of flame that struck her right hand, rendering it unusable.

Ignoring the pain and the smell of her seared flesh, Silora darted away without further thought—this was not a battle she could engage in or make any significant impact with her frail body.

The assassin didn’t seem willing to let her go, however, as he followed her while screaming madly. "You see, you’re not as invulnerable as you think. What if you had an incentive, or even more than one? I’m still superior, still capable of completing my task..."

The assassin halted in his tracks, a vile expression staining his pale face. He couldn’t ignore the blurry mass of flesh, especially now that it had finally moved. The mass approached the giant mast of the ship and somehow merged with it, standing in its midst. The mass began shifting inside itself.

The assassin seemed to notice something Silora hadn’t, as he abandoned his chase and rained down countless fireballs of various sizes on the flesh mass.

Before the fireballs could strike the moving mass, a cracking sound pierced through the din of the enclosed room. Silora noticed the large fissure forming in the ceiling near the mast. Another crack sounded, this time from the floor. The fireballs struck the flesh mass, and the room started collapsing, with fissures forming at an alarming rate across every surface.

Silora leaped, dodging a large crack that nearly swallowed her, but found herself facing another one. She continued dodging while trying to understand what the flesh mass, supposedly controlled by the consciousness similar to her mother’s—as she had concluded with some doubts—was doing.

She didn’t get her answer. The room collapsed in on itself, and Silora fell downward. The last thing she saw was her black, bloodied right hand, the massive mast holding the sails crashing down, the remains of the shield's barrier violently shattering, and finally, the black water rushing in from all directions.

"Where is the open sky? Were we… beneath the ocean?"