The body of the Spore Puppet magic girl convulsed violently one last time.
“Clang.”
The Magic Longsword, which had been pointed straight at Faluhel, finally lost its remaining strength three inches from her forehead and fell to the ground.
Her tall figure swayed, and a trace of clarity seemed to return to her eyes, free from the previous cloudiness and numbness.
Then, she collapsed straight toward Faluhel.
Faluhel did not dodge.
She reached out, firmly supporting the body of her senior as she was about to fall, letting her rest softly in her arms.
The face that once shone with resolute light was now only cold and pale.
Seeing this face, now parasitized by mycelium at such close range, Faluhel suddenly remembered that she had seen this senior before.
—
In an instant, memories pulled her back to many years ago, to the solemn and majestic Great Hall of the Pasca Military Academy.
At that time, Faluhel was not yet a Divine Chosen, just a rising civilian student.
Although she ranked among the top in both magic theory and practical training, the inferiority born from her civilian background was like a thin layer of ice, always encasing her heart.
She habitually kept her distance from the noble classmates who laughed and chatted around her, like a cedar growing in the corner.
That day was the day the previous Divine Chosen, Madam Janet, came to the academy to deliver the Annual Speech.
The entire Great Hall was filled to capacity, with excitement and reverence lingering in the air.
Faluhel, as the best Student Representative of her year, was assigned to go on stage after Madam Janet’s speech to give the Commencement Speech.
This should have been a great honor, but to her, it felt more like a public trial.
She hid at the corner of the corridor leading from backstage to the Side Hall.
There was a tall Floor-to-ceiling Window there, where sunlight was mostly blocked by thick Crimson Velvet Curtains, casting a dim but safe shadow.
Faluhel gripped a sheet of manuscript paper tightly in her hand.
It was the Draft Speech, written by the Principal himself, every word praising the Church and extolling the Divine Chosen—perfectly crafted like a work of art, but with not a single word truly belonging to herself.
Fine sweat seeped into her palm, soaking the thin paper.
Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest, almost breaking through her ribs.
She recited the words on the paper over and over in her mind, yet those ornate phrases felt like strange flying insects, buzzing in her head, impossible to grasp.
At that moment, a gentle voice came from behind her.
“Are you nervous?”
Startled, Faluhel turned around and saw a face with a kind smile.
It was a magic girl in standard Combat Leather Armor, with neat golden short hair and bright, clear eyes.
She was one of Madam Janet’s guards, standing tall and upright like a pine on one side of the stage during the speech.
It was her.
This senior.
Faluhel instinctively tried to hide the paper behind her back, but was stopped by the other’s gaze.
The senior’s eyes fell on the manuscript, and her smile deepened.
“That’s a Draft Speech, right? I did this once too—I was so nervous I almost swallowed the paper.”
A light-hearted joke eased Faluhel’s tense nerves a little.
She nodded awkwardly and whispered, “I…I’m afraid I’ll mess up.”
The senior didn’t tease further, but stepped closer to stand beside her in front of the window.
She looked at the light from the direction of the hall and spoke softly.
“Speeches written by teachers are always safe and steady. But what Madam Janet truly wants to hear probably isn’t those pretty, safe words.”
Faluhel looked up in confusion.
The senior turned her face, looking seriously into her eyes.
In those pupils, Faluhel saw her own restless and uneasy reflection.
“What she wants to hear,” the senior’s voice was clear and firm, “is the truest voice and strongest resolve of the next generation of magic girls.”
“Faluhel, I’ve heard your name—you’re the outstanding one of this class. So, forget the manuscript.”
She reached out and gently tapped Faluhel’s chest.
“Speak from here. Say what you want to say—what you truly believe. In your eyes, there is a power stronger than any words on that paper.”
After finishing, she winked at Faluhel, showed a bright smile, then turned and returned to the hall.
Faluhel stood frozen in place.
She looked down at the paper, now slightly crumpled and blurred from sweat.
She took a deep breath.
Then, slowly and solemnly, she folded the paper once, then again, and placed it into her pocket.
That day, in her Commencement Speech, she cast aside all prepared words and, in the simplest and most sincere language, spoke of her true reason for becoming a magic girl—not for honor, nor for the Church, but to protect the ordinary people behind her, so they could live in peace.
Her voice wasn’t loud, even trembled slightly, but it echoed through the entire Great Hall.
After the speech, the hall was so silent that even a pin drop could be heard.
Some clergy and nobles began to whisper to each other.
Faluhel clutched her clothes nervously, unsure if she’d said something forbidden.
Until Madam Janet’s applause broke the silence.
The previous Divine Chosen, Madam Janet, born of nobility, with fiery red hair and confident eyes, was always radiant.
She clapped and gave a simple comment.
“This speech surpasses a hundred hymns of praise I’ve heard.”
Then, thunderous applause filled the hall.
Only then did Faluhel dare to look up, seeing Zhao Yingyue—then also a student—excitedly waving at her, and even Nilo, the noble senior who’d never spoken to her before, sent an approving look.
And the senior who had encouraged her stood among the crowd, smiling and giving her a thumbs up.
—
The tide of memories receded.
Cold and putrid air once again filled her senses.
Faluhel’s gaze fell upon the corpse before her.
Those eyes, once bright and clear, now only empty holes eroded by mycelium.
That face, once marked by a bright smile, now covered in strange blue-black patterns.
“…Good night, senior.”
Faluhel whispered.
She reached out, her movements especially gentle.
Chill flowed from her palm, as soft as silk, wrapping the lifeless body.
Moisture in the air condensed swiftly, weaving into a crystal-clear Ice Coffin, eternally preserving her senior’s final, confused expression.
She stood up in silence, hoisting the Ice Coffin carrying a hero’s remains onto her back.
With the strongest protector gone, the remaining Spore Puppets could no longer pose a threat.
The Silent Ice Field expanded once more, freezing them all in turn.
[Shadowfang Breaker] and Zhao Yingyue efficiently cleared away the last obstacles.
The entire process was swift and solemn, like a silent funeral.
At the deepest point of the cave, the massive, grotesque main body of the Mycelium Mother appeared before them.
Sensing the fall of its nest, it sprayed spores and slime in a frenzy, making the entire cave tremble with rage.
But Faluhel gave it no chance.
On the way to the cave’s depths, she had already restored her mana with the Recovery Potion handed to her by [Shadowfang Breaker].
She exhaled lightly, extending one hand—
This thing had taken her senior’s life, and…her dignity.
A blizzard colder than the Silent Ice Field erupted from her body, a chill absolute enough to freeze the soul.
The Mycelium Mother seemed to sense the fatal threat, its huge body squirming violently.
Pustules on its surface burst, spraying thick green Spore Clouds to block the oncoming cold.
Yet it was all futile.
As soon as the green Spore Cloud touched the freezing air, it solidified into countless tiny green ice crystals, falling to the ground with crisp crackles.
The frenzied mycelium, touched by the icy wind, had its surface slime frozen instantly.
The surging cold surged like a living tide, layer by layer covering the Mycelium Mother’s enormous form.
When Faluhel slowly lowered her hand, the living monster once dominating the cave was completely transformed into a colossal ice sculpture.
Cobalt blue ice sealed it from the inside out, and from the frozen surface protruded countless mycelium spikes, trapped in mid-attack—ferocious, but powerless.
Absolute silence engulfed everything.
“Yingyue.”
Faluhel called softly.
Zhao Yingyue was already prepared.
She leapt into the air, her spear blazing red, fusing with her form into a streak of scarlet meteor crashing through the giant ice sculpture.
With a crisp blast, cracks formed inside the sculpture, then it shattered, collapsing into billions of glittering ice shards that rained down in the glow of magic.
The once-repulsive flesh was completely destroyed by the cold, not a single spore escaping.
—
When the first ray of sunlight from outside the cave pierced her eyes, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
Eileen stood at the cave entrance with a team of magic girls, waiting anxiously.
Seeing Faluhel emerge, she immediately rushed over, her eyes first catching the dried blood on Faluhel’s chest.
“Your Highness! You’re hurt!”
Eileen’s voice was filled with urgent concern and guilt.
However, before she could finish, her gaze passed over Faluhel’s shoulder and landed on the gleaming Ice Coffin.
The concern on her face was instantly replaced by shock.
Her pupils shrank, her lips parted, but she couldn’t say a word.
“Tha…that is…”
Faluhel did not answer.
She simply walked tiredly to the two little fairies who had been trembling in the distance.
She knelt down and gently placed the now-dim Prophecy Stone before them.
Her voice was hoarse but unmistakably clear.
“…It’s over. This place has been purified.”