Great Teacher in a Defense Game

#52 Circus – 2

Lakrina stared blankly at the sign.

A Midnight Circus.

The sign proclaimed, scrawled in letters both bizarre and unsettling.

‘Not your everyday circus, I wager.’

Lakrina’s hand tightened on the hilt of her sword.

It didn’t take a fool to understand.

The situation now unfolding before her was anything but ordinary.

The ghastly illustrations on the sign, the sudden separation from her teacher…

This was no time for laxity.

Even Enoch, her teacher, had emphasized as much.

Never let your guard down.

Never forget yourself, he’d said.

What that truly meant, however…

She hadn’t yet deciphered.

But one thing remained certain.

Now was the time to heed her teacher’s words and draw her blade.

‘…Teacher had said it, hadn’t he? This is all according to plan.’

It stung slightly that he hadn’t provided more explanation.

But, for now, she would trust the judgment he’d made.

No doubt he had his reasons, she surmised.

-Shhhing

Lakrina quietly unsheathed her sword.

The pristine white blade slid from its scabbard like a whisper.

Then, her senses heightened, she moved forward.

Her destination: the place advertised on the sign.

The site where this Midnight Circus was to unfold.

‘I’ve learned that every magic has a source. This place will be no different. Perhaps I should try and find Teacher first.’

Enoch was already separated from her.

Yet, the odds were high he too was somewhere here.

Both swept up in some peculiar phenomenon.

If Enoch were nearby, he too would likely have gravitated toward the circus.

No point in simply remaining still, nothing would change.

Now was the time for movement, come what may.

More than anything, she longed to return to Master’s embrace as quickly as possible.

*‘Perhaps he’ll praise me if I arrive early?’*

Lacrimosa imagined receiving praise from Enoch.

A rather pleasant imagining, that.

The woman with the sword smiled faintly as she walked toward the circus.

A decidedly bizarre spectacle, from afar.

@

Lacrimosa walked along the darkened path.

She couldn’t discern where she should go.

She simply moved her feet, driven by instinct.

The surroundings were uncanny.

An ambiguous space, neither city nor forest, it seemed.

A thick, whitish fog hung heavy in the air.

There was no sound.

Or, more accurately, it was *too* quiet.

The wind, the insects, even the sound of her own footsteps were faint.

It was then.

A vague light appeared in the distance ahead.

Red and yellow illuminations flickered faintly.

Lacrimosa naturally moved her feet in that direction.

As she drew closer, the scenery began to reveal itself.

A colossal tent.

Stalls lined up in a row.

Colorful light bulbs hung here and there.

From somewhere, the faint sound of music drifted.

A circus.

And not just any circus, but one seemingly plucked from the pages of a fairy tale.

‘…Unexpectedly ordinary. I thought it would be more grotesque than this.’

Lacrimă quietly observed the spectacle.

At first glance, it appeared perfectly normal.

A lively atmosphere, a grand entrance, flamboyant stage decorations.

Children, clutching teddy bears, frolicked about.

People with balloons clustered together, laughing.

But.

Something was amiss.

At first, she couldn’t place it.

One could easily dismiss it as just a circus.

However, upon closer inspection, something felt twisted.

The people holding balloons.

Their mouths, which had been laughing only a moment ago, were stretched wide, as if torn.

The stage decorations.

Within the vibrant colours, blotches of crimson spread like stains.

The aroma drifting from the food stalls.

Mingling with the sweet scent of sugar, a strange, fishy odour permeated the air.

The banners fluttering atop the tent.

Upon closer examination, their patterns depicted figures of people with torn limbs.

‘…What is this?’

Lacrimă recoiled.

Something was wrong.

It appeared normal, but something was wrong.

A bizarre sense of incongruity permeated the scene before her.

“…It’s strange.”

The words escaped her lips involuntarily.

At that moment.

A sign erected at the circus entrance snagged her eye.

[Midnight Circus]

Bent lettering.

Curves that threatened to scream any moment.

Lacrimosa swallowed.

Somehow, stepping inside felt…forbidden.

‘…But, I can’t just stand here.’

She steeled herself, quietly.

She’d been prepared from the moment she’d drawn her blade, regardless.

Nothing before her could be truly sound, not anymore.

Not the adults, not the children, not even the food.

Not even the enormous circus itself.

It all felt…meaningless.

All of it, a fabrication.

An illusion, spawned by some bizarre phenomenon.

Lacrimosa determined that it was nothing more.

No. She chose to believe it.

Because only then would her resolve hold firm when she swung her sword.

-Shhhink

Silently, she gripped her blade.

She moved her feet toward the celebration.

People brushed past.

Without hesitation, she swung.

-Thwack!

-Thump!

“…A fake, then.”

Lacrimosa scrutinized the fallen figure.

The sensation of the cut was peculiar.

The feeling of parting flesh was…vague.

Even the scent of blood was strangely muted.

Her senses stirred, quietly awakened.

The witch’s sixth sense whispered warnings.

Everything before her, an illusion.

Not real.

‘A relief, really. No need for needless thought.’

– *Shk-shk!*

Lacrimas swung her blade, stepping forward.

Those passing by fell, one by one.

Yet, their expressions remained unchanged.

Even as their bodies were severed, they grinned, still.

A truly unpleasant sight.

Lacrimas, without realizing it, furrowed her brow.

‘Disgusting.’

– *Shk-shk!*

‘What’s so amusing about being an illusion?’

-Lacrimas. Lacrimas.

“!”

That instant.

Someone called her name.

The source? None other than the corpses.

People fallen, limbs severed.

-Lacrimas. Lacrimas.

-Lacrimas. Lacrimas.

One by one, the corpses opened their mouths.

Men, women, young children, the old.

Gender, age, irrelevant.

They grinned still, their mouths torn all the way to their ears.

Bearing eerie smiles, they endlessly called Lacrimas’ name.

-Orphan of Magnusra. Betrayer of friends.

-Parricide. Assassin of the slums.

-The Sorcerer’s Apprentice. The Academy’s Mimic.

-Welcome, welcome.

-You are welcome, you are welcome.

The corpses sang.

A chorus of the dead resounded.

Each word grotesque and unnerving.

Especially so, it seemed, to Lacrimosa.

“…”

Lacrimosa quietly gazed down at the corpses.

A different air clung to her than usual.

Not the warm gaze she reserved for Enoch.

Nor the dimwitted facade she displayed before others.

No expression, no emotion.

Not a single feeling lingered on her face now.

The Ice Mage.

The Absolute Zero Swordswoman.

Lacrimosa’s true self.

Her hidden essence, revealed at last.

“…Magic, it is a peculiar thing indeed.”

– *Shling*

A sword slid slowly free.

“I never spoke of it, not even in passing. How do they know all these things?”

– *Thwack!*

Again, she swung the blade.

Heads fell in rapid succession.

Yet the song did not cease.

From the severed heads, from the fragmented tongues, from the torn mouths.

From all of them.

The humming song echoed anew.

-Lacrimosa. Lacrimosa.

“She’s an actress, they say. Always playing a part.”

“She must act this way to be cherished. She must act thus to be loved.”

“Smooth your face. Force a smile.”

“Or will you not receive applause? Or will you not be loved?”

“Observe the gaze of the Master. He holds expectations for you, always.”

“Move as he desires. He will brook no small error.”

“He is watching. He is expecting.”

“Do not lose your pretty face. Do not forget, do not fo—”

*Crush!*

The continuing chorus ceased in an instant.

Silence returned to the surroundings.

They did not silence themselves.

They did not choose to cease their song.

Merely, they could no longer move their lips.

“…Now it’s a little quieter.”

Lacrimosa lowered her sword.

Azure frost clung to its blade.

Upon her shoulders rested a coat, adorned with ice.

And, all around, ice reigned.

The things she had cleaved.

The severed flesh.

All of it was now imprisoned within thick columns of ice.

Her magic, Cryokinesis.

No, an original magic, forged by her own hand.

“Don’t go looking for a fight.”

Lacrimosa flicked her sword.

As the blade arced through the air, lingering chill scattered like blood.

“This is the true me. The most ideal version of me, as the Master desires.”

-!, !!

“This is no performance. There is no falsehood here.”

Lachryma spoke as if throwing a dart.

The frozen corpses remained silent.

The dead are, by their nature, creatures of silence.

Now, it seems, things have returned to normal.

‘Just wasted my time.’

Lachryma resumed her walk.

Ignoring the frozen corpses, she entered the circus tent at the end of the long path.

@

Lachryma stepped inside the tent.

She stopped a moment later.

‘…What is this?’

Lachryma tilted her head.

The interior was utterly empty.

Quite literally nothing.

No audience, no performers, no stage.

Only a vast space and silence enveloped her.

‘So gaudy outside, and yet the inside is like this?’

Lachryma looked around.

She sought even the smallest clue.

But there was nothing.

All that met her gaze were empty chairs and the desolate space.

Nothing more.

It was quiet.

Eerily so.

A little… frighteningly so.

At that moment.

-Thud

“!”

A chilling presence brushed against her back.

Lachryma spun around instantly.

“……”

Unbeknownst, someone was stood there.

It was the clown, directly so.

A clown stood, cloaked in black robes and a silk hat.

“……”

“…Who are you, then?”

Lacrimosa asked, quietly.

No reply did she receive.

He merely gazed down at Lacrimosa in silence.

Judging by physique alone, perhaps a man?

First, his height was considerable.

Nearly a match for Enoch’s own, at that.

Upon his face, a mask was affixed.

A curious mask it was.

It seemed to smile.

Yet, simultaneously, it appeared to weep.

Though the lips were stretched in a near-tearing grin, the eyes cried with a desolate despair.

Lacrimosa drew her tension taut.

Her grip tightened on the sword in her hand.

Neither warmth, nor breath, nor even a sense of presence.

And yet, he stood there plainly.

This was no human thing.

The magus’s intuition declared as much.

It was then.

-Ting.

The silent clown snapped his fingers.

In that instant, the lights extinguished.

A fleeting darkness.

Lacrimosa swiftly widened the distance between them.

Presently, a single shaft of light illuminated above her head.

– *Tick*

“……!”

She scanned her surroundings, instinct taking hold.

The audience seats were full, suddenly teeming.

People who hadn’t been there a moment ago.

Not one or two, but dozens, hundreds.

All of them were the bizarre figures she’d encountered at the entrance.

They were smiling.

A smile too wide, too stretched, a monstrous distortion.

They made no sound.

Only stared, those grinning faces fixed on Lacrimosa alone.

– *Shhh*

Then, a beam of light, stretched long and far.

Like a runway, bathed in illumination.

This light extended in the opposite direction from the entrance Lacrimosa had used.

– *Thud thud*

From that direction, two figures emerged.

A woman and a man.

A middle-aged couple, their entire bodies marred by scars.

“……”

Lacrimosa held her breath, unbidden.

She couldn’t help it.

“…How.”

Standing there.

Were none other than her parents.

Her ‘dead’ parents.

The people Lacrimosa herself had ‘killed’.