Great Teacher in a Defense Game

#53 Circus – 3

Lacrimosa was an orphan of Magnusrah.

She grew up alone in the slums.

Begging, scouring gutters, sometimes surviving by taking what belonged to others.

It was a harsh life.

Especially for a child.

Yet, even Lacrimosa wasn’t an orphan from the very beginning.

Like anyone else, she had parents.

Not very good ones.

Closer to the dregs of humanity, rather.

So much so that even after Lacrimosa harmed them herself, she never once felt remorse.

And yet, they reappeared before her eyes.

Even in the same state as when they died.

Lacrimosa faltered, ever so slightly, upon seeing them.

Before she knew it, her lips were trembling minutely.

“…Why – why are you…”

-Lacrimosa. Lacrimosa.

That instant.

The people in the audience stirred.

The people chanted in unison.

-Lacrimosa. Lacrimosa.

-Her parents, they are. Mother and Father, they are.

-Father, a gambler. Mother, addicted to the poppy.

-The child, a murderer. Or is it, a parricide?

-Both are true. Both are the correct answer.

-A spectacle, it is. A spectacle, it is.

The people sang in a throng.

They were all dressed as clowns before she knew it.

-Greedy, she is, they say.

-Vain, she is, they say.

-Everything around her displeased her.

-Even her parents, she saw only as blemishes.

-But that is the truth, I tell you.

-The father, back bent low, scrabbles for coins.

-He comes home and unleashes violence.

-The mother spreads her legs for any and all.

-She opens her embrace to outsiders without a thought.

-Yet, the family receives none.

-The children, simply abandoned.

-Horrible. Simply horrible.

-A spectacle. A true spectacle.

The song stretched on, a long, drawn-out wail.

Mismatched rhythms, rhymes without rules.

Garbled, incoherent lyrics.

Every last note grated on her ears.

Everything around Lacrimosa clawed at her nerves.

“…”

-A truly dreadful family.

-Lacrimosa, you almost pity her.

-But blood will have its say.

-The seed cannot escape.

-She is no innocent herself, you know.

Suddenly, the song cut off.

One by one, the people rose from their seats.

They crossed the divide of the auditorium in unison.

Twisted movements.

Strange, unsettling rhythm.

They danced toward Lacrimosa in grotesque poses.

-How many have you deceived?

-How many have you killed?

“…”

-How many approached you with good intentions?

– How long has it been since you finished it with betrayal?

– How did you even end up in the orphanage in the first place?

– Where did the friends you used to spend time with go?

– Why is not even one of them to be seen?

– Are you even the one who was supposed to go to the orphanage?

– Does the Mother Superior know your true nature?

– Is Lacrimas truly your name?

– Why did it take Enoch so long to find you?

– Does Enoch know your true nature?

The song had already ceased.

Instead, a torrent of questions rained down.

“…”

Lacrimas did not reply.

Instead, her gaze shifted.

People approaching.

She quietly observed them.

Then, she tilted her head slightly.

A 45-degree angle.

Her face turned askew.

She raised a finger to her lips.

Shhh.

A signal for silence.

– She’s angry. She’s angry.

– She’s sulking. She’s sulking.

The gesture was of little use.

People giggled at Lacrimas’ reaction.

Following, her parents moved.

Laboriously dragging their scarred bodies, they slowly approached her.

– Lacrimas… Lacrimas…

“…”

-Lacrimna…

Her parents called her name.

Before she knew it, their faces were right before her.

Their expressions shifted, little by little.

Vacant eyes twisted.

Lips trembled, a tremor.

A mask of impassivity, now contorted.

In an instant, emotions bubbled, seethed.

Rage.

Resentment.

Despair.

And then.

-Lacrimna. Lacrimna!!!

“……”

-How could you. How could you do this to us-

*Shwick!*

A sword drawn, sung from its sheath.

The voice, cut short, mid-utterance.

Their heads tumbled, found the earth.

Silence descended, heavy and complete.

-Thud.

-Roll…roll…

Lacrimna quietly nudged the fallen heads with her foot.

Heads, now separated from their bodies, vanished into the inky blackness.

Again, she brought a finger to her lips.

“Shhh.”

-……

“Be still. I’m trying to think.”

Lacrimna whispered, low.

This time, the response was different.

Laughter vanished, whispers hushed.

All mouths fell silent.

A stillness.

Only her voice, quiet, echoing.

“…Magic. Magic. Magic.”

-……

“Ah, so that’s it.”

@

Lacrimosa’s spirit was serene.

She paid not even mind to the surrounding din.

Not to the dirge of things un-human.

Nor the laments of her dead parents.

Merely useless noise.

Her consciousness dwelt elsewhere.

Upon the phenomenon at hand, itself.

Why was this happening?

If this was magic, what, precisely, was its structure?

Lacrimosa thought only of this.

The dead’s futile grief.

Not worth lending an ear.

-Monster. Monster.

-Madwoman. She’s a madwoman.

And in that instant.

Again, the chorus began.

The theme of the lyrics, unchanged from before.

Denouncing her.

Each phrase grating upon the nerves.

Lacrimosa tilted her head, inquiring,

“I’m a monster, you say. Why?”

-Do you even need to ask?

“–He killed his parents. He killed his friend.”

“–He stole his friend’s chance to enter the orphanage.”

“–Even his name is a lie.”

“–And yet, he feels nothing.”

“–No human could do such a thing.”

The words were flung like stones, accusatory and sharp.

Lacrimosa blinked.

Then, her eyes narrowed, a look of utter pity settling on her face.

“You speak strange words.”

“–What?”

“A person *can* do such things.”

“–What? What?”

“Don’t make such a fuss. It’s only a few dead people, after all.”

“–???”

“–Did he just say what I think he said?”

“–Am I mad? Are *we* mad?”

The faces in clown makeup contorted in unison, a wave of shock rippling through them.

Faces of stunned disbelief.

Faces that refused to accept.

Lacrimosa let the pointless clamor wash over her.

Despite the uproar, she remained untouched.

In truth, she couldn’t care less what they thought.

Because.

She had never believed she was wrong in the first place.

Killing his friend?

It was unavoidable.

The monsters had come.

The food situation had worsened.

People were losing their minds.

Hunger turns a person into a beast so easily.

Quarrels over rations were common enough.

That day too, it was so.

It was chance.

Bad luck.

If Lacrimosa hadn’t killed him, that friend would have killed Lacrimosa.

That was all.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Changing her name?

That, rather, was fortune’s kiss.

Her parents were trash.

Their infamy was widely scattered.

Child of a junkie. Child of a whore.

Lacrimosa, because of them, was at a loss simply by existing.

And then.

The orphanage reached out to save the children.

Under the guidance of the Mother Superior, children of the slums joined, one by one.

Yet, there were children who couldn’t.

Children with a bad reputation, or those of poor conduct.

Lacrimosa understood then.

Ah, I won’t be able to enter there.

The stain her parents left behind.

That filthy blood would taint even Lacrimosa.

So, she changed her name.

Cobbling together the names of dead children, she fashioned a new one.

There was nothing to worry about. It was, rather, perfect.

She could make a fresh start at the orphanage, as she was.

Lacrimosa felt no regret.

Nor did she think herself wrong.

And yet. These things here speak as if she committed some terrible sin.

Those who are not human, acting like humans.

It truly was a laughable affair.

“So what? What’s the problem, really?”

Lacrimosa said with a listless air.

The others fell silent.

She shrugged, adding,

“If I hadn’t killed, I would’ve died. That’s all there is to it.”

-…

“Just that, a mere story.”

Lacrimosa shook her head as she spoke.

She felt any further questioning was pointless.

‘Such a waste of time.’

She had no need for this pointless banter.

What mattered was escape.

To shatter this phenomenon, to leave this place.

Lacrimosa calmly organized her thoughts.

She recalled what she had learned at the Academy.

All magic, in the end, originates from the user’s mindscape.

She did not know the precise nature of the magic she was experiencing.

But one thing was certain.

All magic has a core.

That core is always the user.

And the core never moves.

Lacrimosa naturally turned her gaze.

To the being who had remained silently quiet until then.

Black robe, silk hat.

A bizarre mask that seemed to smile and weep at once.

He quietly watched Lacrimosa.

As she had inwardly expected, he was the master of this magic.

“You are not human, are you?”

“……”

“You think you can threaten me with such paltry things?”

Lacrimosa raised her blade.

The edge stretched long, aimed at the clown.

What she had been agonizing over was whether to attack or not.

One wrong move, and she could be turned against.

But amidst the clamor of the crowd, it struck her.

This was no attack magic.

Not meant to harm another.

Merely to overwhelm the opponent, to shatter their mind.

However, it held no sway over Lacrimosa.

The things that manifested here, they were invariably ineffectual.

In that instant, her dilemma dissolved.

Her gaze, leveled with the blade, turned glacial.

“Let’s end this now. Release me, quickly.”

-……

“This is your final warning. Now.”

Lacrimosa glared at the clown, her sword unwavering.

Yet he remained silent.

His demeanor suggested neither intimidation nor threat held any purchase.

“……”

“…Fine. You leave me no choice.”

Lacrimosa narrowed her eyes.

Slowly, step by measured step, she approached.

If persuasion proved futile, then so be it.

She would simply cleave him asunder.

In that instant.

“Do you possess not a single qualm about your own actions?”

The clown spoke for the first time.

Lacrimosa’s feet halted mid-stride.

A grotesque voice.

A voice distorted.

Like hundreds whispering at once, a choir of murmurs coalescing into a single sound.

The clown, though undeniably male, possessed a voice that held a hint of the feminine within its tones.

Lacrimna flinched for a heartbeat.

But quickly regained her composure.

Eyes narrowing, she gave a measured nod.

“I don’t regret much, no.”

Then, the clown slowly bowed low.

Fingers sketching something indecipherable upon the ground.

Lacrimna watched the clown’s movements with unwavering focus.

Grip tightening on her sword, she heightened her guard.

And then.

The clown spoke once more.

“Indeed. Will you say the same before *this* person?”

At that instant.

-Thud.

From the space where her parents had appeared, a new figure stepped forth.

Lacrimna swung her gaze around, quick as a whip.

Hurrying to identify the source of the disturbance.

And, her eyes widened.

“……”

“…Teacher?”

Standing there was none other than Enoch.

He regarded Lacrimna with an expression of placid calm.

The same demeanor as always.

The same atmosphere he always carried.

“Lacrimna.”

“……”

“I’ve heard all about your background. However-“

He opened his mouth to speak, his voice a low murmur.

That instant.

-Tat!

Lacrimosa kicked off the earth.

Closing the distance in a heartbeat.

She charged forward, slashing a diagonal line with her blade.

-Shkkrt!

“Gck!”

His body severed aslant.

Enoch collapsed to the ground.

A crimson stain bloomed, painting the ground in an instant.

“This is a fake.”

She stamped on the fallen man.

Just like when she swung the sword. And even this moment, as she trampled him.

Every last bit of it lacked the right feel.

The real Enoch wouldn’t be like this.

A mage’s sense—no, Lacrimosa’s experience and memory, told her he was a fake.

And just as she suspected.

The fallen Enoch suddenly vanished.

Melting away somewhere like a shadow, in a fleeting moment.

“Just as I thought.”

“…”

“When teacher calls for me, it’s with a warmth greater than this, you see.”

“…”

“Seems you’re rather clueless.”

Lacrimosa stated, matter-of-factly.

The clown remained silently.

Appearing somewhat dumbfounded.

The people in the background whispered amongst themselves.

-Crazy b*tch.

-She’s a crazy b*tch.

“Enough.”

The clown spoke again.

He had, in that instant, straightened his back.

His eyes glinted from behind the mask.

He regarded Lacrimosa, speaking with utter calm.

“Indeed. Outwardly, there’s nothing amiss.”

“As you see.”

“Then, perhaps, something like this?”

*Click!* The clown snapped his fingers once more.

And then, the world shifted.

-Rumble

“…An earthquake?”

Without warning, the tremor struck.

Lacrimosa hastily regained her balance.

The quake was centered on the clown.

And then.

Something immense pushed up from the earth, raising its head.

-Woooah!!!

“…That thing.”

“It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it?”

Lacrimosa stared blankly at the giant before her, looking upwards.

Its form was unnervingly familiar.

A white, metallic body.

A behemoth forged of steel.

A three-headed dragon.

The very summon that Enoch used to command.

That white mechanical serpent Enoch sometimes called an Ender Dragon.

-Woooah!!!

“…How did *you*… how can you-“

“Focus.”

The jester extended a finger.

He added, as if delivering a sentence,

“From this moment on, carelessness means death.”

Lacrimas caught her breath without thinking.

She hastily raised her sword and adjusted her stance.

Even amidst this, her mind was a tangle.

The jester’s actions just moments before,

the posture of pointing a finger…

It unnervingly mirrored Enoch.