The sludge scattered like torn clouds, scoured again and again by Crimson’s mana; under the crushing weight of Chapter Three’s vast power, the mire receded.

Nearby, eyes cut sideways like knife-flashes. When did Crimson grow this strong? It felt like she’d swapped souls, yet her manner was still hers.

Crimson smashed the Mud King with the force of decay felling deadwood. But the hive-thick muck iced every heart. Even Chapter Three, stronger than any warden—couldn’t it erase this Mud King?

Crimson caught the sorrow pooling behind her. She spoke, voice steady, like a lantern in wind.

“I come from reality. You’re projections of my memory… You know it. I don’t belong here. Green’s healing doesn’t work on me. In reality, my mana’s gone; there’s nothing left to restore me—unless I unseal again.”

She paused, gaze sinking toward the center’s underbelly. The Mud King fed from a source below, devouring the proud city from inside out, like rot in a tree’s heart.

This city should have kept flourishing like spring markets. Because of the Mud King, it died overnight; all resistance was paper against flood.

“I know its source. Almost no one can crack it. But Chapter Three might be worth a try.”

Yellow saw what was off. Crimson’s face looked flushed with life, but she’d said her mana was nearly gone. Her life was a fading ember—maybe a last flare.

Green, healer’s hands gentle as rain, had touched Crimson. Whatever she’d suffered, meridians and muscles were scored with countless scars. With old wounds layered on, Crimson truly was near the end.

Unless a miracle rose like dawn.

Crimson shook her head. She told them to take care, words like warm tea on a cold night, then hovered above the city’s heart.

She spread her arms, ready to seek the first answer in this dreamscape, like fishing the moon from a lake.

District One’s ruin was a thorn lodged in her heart. She watched sludge swallow the world like a black tide; most innocents died in the calamity. Only the Extraordinary survived.

“Extraordinary”—the sweet name before the government, used for her kind. Crimson preferred it to “Magic Maiden.”

Who decided to make it a Magic Maiden tale and change all the names? Still, the intent wasn’t bad. Magic Maidens were born to guard that fragile ideal of love and justice.

Either Extraordinary or Magic Maiden, they held power beyond common folk. They should have borne the duty of protection.

She didn’t.

Helpless before mighty Monsters. Even as Chapter Three, she felt the Mud King’s pressure like mountains on her chest. Its strength wasn’t weaker than the heart buried in the Abyss.

She had been naive. She’d thought Chapter Three could guard the realm. But many Monsters of Chapter Three’s tier stalked it; each one’s appearance demanded a Chapter Three’s sacrifice—and birthed another.

Monsters devour all like locusts. With only one life, they knelt in rain, furious and helpless, as four Chapter Threes spent their lifetime mana to seal the Mud King… the worst kind of solution.

Back then she was Cantata Two. After the Mud King fused, its pressure stole her breath; even Chapter Threes were bound by it.

The Black Dragon wheeled in the sky. Its dark wings beat heat into the air; its throat-fire skimmed the wind, making the world feverish. Black flame fell, turning all nearby into ash.

Later, she was Chapter Three—alone in catastrophe, matching four Chapter Threes without falling behind. Order and another Magic Maiden rushed in; together, they killed it.

Now, in this virtual land, she would spend the last of her life and authority. Let’s see what lies at the end inside the Mud King’s box.

“…Unseal.”

As the word left her lips, mad whispers poured in like a flood. The world shuddered hard; space cracked like ice. The dream shattered, revealing a horizon of black.

She hadn’t expected the whispers to be this dreadful. Their mere arrival broke the scene. With the unseal open, the whispers would take her apart sooner or later.

Everything began to collapse. A few blocks around Crimson still held, like islands in a sinking sea. Yellow, Green, and Blue gathered at her side, faces puzzled, as if sensing nothing.

They were probably thinking: Crimson was heading alone for the center. Why did she pull them in, when there was no visible danger?

Crimson gave a layered smile, then turned toward the darkness. It wasn’t empty. A giant metal Monster crouched in the center, brass-slit eyes calmly sizing her up.

It spread its arms, somehow setting them beside her. In each palm, eyes had grown—different sizes, different metals, watching like cold moons.

Milky light spilled from those eyes. From it, Spirit Threads unfurled, not touching Crimson—only circling her like pale vines.

The whispers had wrecked the dream they made. They were repairing with all they had, but ruin ran faster than mending. Crimson woke like a blade drawn from a sheath.

Scars latticed the Monster’s arms. Crimson held her unsealed stance. Her wounds knit under unsealed mana like frost melting under sun.

“So that’s how it is.”

She had pieced it together.

She was trapped in a dream, but her actions echoed into reality. Striking the Mud King here meant her real body moved the same.

Originally, after her Magic Spell, blood and mana would drain away, and her real body would die. But she unsealed again, borrowed outside mana to mend—bringing unknown whispers with it.

This space was built on Crimson’s spirit. Now her spirit was wrong, fraying like silk in wind. She stood on the cliff-edge of collapse.

She lifted her arm. A Wand condensed in her palm, mana pooling on its tip like storm light. She needed a swift kill. If the whispers drove her mad, what came after would be beyond knowing.

Seeing her move, Yellow set a hand on her shoulder, warm as sun on stone.

“Though I don’t know what Crimson saw, and I can’t parse future or memory or projection… she’s facing something strong, right?”

Yellow scratched her cheek, sheepish but determined.

“Maybe our mana’s useless, but I still want to try. We won’t lose!”

Green laid a hand on Crimson’s right shoulder. Verdant mana flowed into her like spring water, but unraveled the moment it touched.

Green stuttered, nervous, yet her gentle voice was a balm.

“Y-you got this, Crimson! I don’t… don’t know how to help, but do your best!”

Blue was last. She drew back her gaze, looked at them both, and pressed her unease flat like smoothing creases.

“I absolutely don’t want to help you.”

She set her hands on Green and Yellow’s shoulders. Pure mana rose, clean as snowmelt.

“Hey now, don’t be so stubborn at a time like this!”

Yellow called her out. The cool Blue flushed; heat steamed off her like a kettle. She wanted to bury her face in their shirts.

“St-stop talking…”

Green smiled softly. Yellow teased. Blue fought back, but words slipped like rain off stone.

Crimson laughed, bright as chimes. Their effort was useless, but they were her true friends, her lifelong ones. With them, her life hadn’t been empty.

The three, woven of spirit, turned into pure particles of three colors. With the Spirit Threads, they drifted into Crimson’s mind, pressed the maddening whispers down. Her clarity returned like dawn.

In that instant, Crimson tightened her grip on the Wand. The trio’s phantoms rose behind her. Mana in the air flushed into four colors, gathering on the Wand like a storm.

“This is our strongest, final strike—life, faith, courage, love, and peace, all condensed! It’ll pierce mountains, oceans, stars, and the cosmos…”

The three stepped in, hands over hers, raising the Wand high. Four colors blazed to their peak, lighting the space like daybreak.

“Multi-Element Saturation Cannon!”

“go dash!”

Four-colored mana swallowed the metal Monster at once. Even as it died, it couldn’t understand how the welcoming scene it had woven from Spirit Threads broke free, walked out of memory, and became Crimson’s strength.

She was a spent bowstring, one breath left; one more hit should have ended her.

It didn’t understand.

After the baptism of the four-color Magic Cannon, the metal Monster—Golem—died. With it, the memory space scattered like petals, along with the four figures behind her.

“Crimson, goodbye. Don’t frown—smile more.”

“Come visit us when you can! Bring some drinks!”

“I won’t miss you at all!”

The aqueous bloom shattered. Crimson’s tight brows eased like clouds breaking.

“Shame I won’t see the final answer.”

The last bit of ground underfoot broke like thin ice. Everything returned to nothing. Only the Abyss, pierced by the Magic Cannon, remained, its rim still flickering four colors.