Chapter 67 : Walpurgis Night (67)

Just as Hans was about to ask the doll what on earth was happening, what exactly had occurred.

Whoooooosh.

Everyone heard the wind ringing out through Heimvig.

“Ah…”

Alje’s face, who had been naive enough not to know the meaning of the words Walpurgis Night, also turned pale.

Anyone bearing mystery—or even anyone alive, whether they carried mystery or not—could not help but sense the calamity unfolding at this very moment.

The window rattled and shook.

Whoooooosh.

Whoooooosh.

The sobbing wind continued without pause.

The sudden sweeping wind that had just moments ago been absent seeped through every street and alley like a newspaper boy shouting out an extra edition of disaster.

The calm before the storm.

It was late to even think of such a phrase in one’s mind—after all, the Labyrinth was a sealed space.

Even the projected sky was just an illusion; there was no concept of weather inside this labyrinth.

But now, looking outside the window.

“Clouds…?”

A mystery incomprehensible to humans.

No, even to witches, it was an impossible great phenomenon unless one sacrificed their own life.

This was surely not the [miracle] she had truly wished to achieve.

The moisture throughout the city rose noticeably.

It was not something newly created, but rather the scattered elements responding to the wailing and calling.

Covering the projected sky, filling all of Heimvig with thick black clouds.

It was the only thing a pitiful mother could do for her son.

Though she could never let him fly the blue sky like the color of her own feathers.

She did it so that at least the cloudy sky of a gloomy day might reflect in those stone-like petrified eyes one last time.

[Hans…]

A majestic and grand mystery spread across the area, and even the doll’s voice faltered and broke irregularly.

Johannes.

The cut-off middle part sounded like it was calling Hans’s true name.

[Stay······hidden······until······the······end······of······the······situation.]

Hans understood the crackling message without difficulty.

He was also a hunter and had faced similar situations before.

Still, some things no matter how many times experienced, one could never get used to.

The doll’s head drooped heavily as it tried to stammer more garbled words.

Its once sharp focus blurred again, and its once lively limbs went limp.

“Mister? What on earth is this? That the witch died…?”

“I told you last time not to kill a witch.”

Hans looked outside the window once more.

The projected sky was completely obscured by dark clouds, and the scenery beyond the city was pitch black.

Though phosphorescent stone streetlights glowed here and there, their light was like that of fireflies against the vastness of Heimvig.

Even that faint light soon flickered and was extinguished.

“This is the reason.”

Shshshshshsh.

Rain began to fall.

The outside sound, which should never have been heard, was not welcome at all.

Each raindrop pattering against the rooftop soaked Hans’s heart—not with a gentle sentiment, but with a dreadful heaviness.

Who would worry about abnormal weather in a city built beneath a ceiling?

Of course, the houses here were not built with strong winds or heavy rain in mind.

There was a water supply system, but what about flooding?

Still, the witch’s house where Hans and Alje lived might not collapse, but many buildings across the city would be swept away by the floodwaters or blown away by the wind.

A horrific ruin.

“Ah… I remember now.”

“Hm?”

“A witch’s mystery is inherited later in life. So if a witch cannot voluntarily pass on her mystery to another and is instead murdered, the remnants of that power go out of control and cause a disaster…”

“You learned that during your saint days?”

Hans hadn’t known even that.

Though he knew that when witches died disasters happened, he hadn’t heard the full details before.

“Yeah. But this doesn’t make sense… Even if a great witch dies, a disaster of this scale shouldn’t happen. What on earth…”

Fortunately, he could answer the question that followed.

“Because this is Heimvig.”

“Huh?”

“A city built by witches, managed by witches, ruled by witches.”

From the start, being within the Labyrinth, this place was bound to be far more susceptible to the effects of [Mystery].

And contrary to what everyone believed, Blauer Vogel was not murdered.

She committed suicide.

Her [Mystery] did not spill meaninglessly or leak aimlessly.

In her final moment, it scattered violently according to her unshaken will,seeking vengeance on everything she loathed.

The great witch who toyed with her.

And before that—the noble house that imprisoned her here, the unyielding Labyrinth no effort could escape, the bloodline and mystery of witches that turned her son into a monster.

On all of it.

What about the innocent others who would suffer as collateral damage?

Blauer Vogel was a witch too—why would she care about something so worthless?

Fweeeeehhhhh—!

The downpour was so violent even the glow of the cobblestone streetlamps was swallowed up.

A wailing wind, like a woman sobbing, swept through the area.

It was pure luck that the two of them were inside the house.

Outside, buildings, trees, and people were all being blown about like toys in a tantrum-throwing child’s grip.

Even the house they were in seemed to tremble slightly.

Alje, rarely wearing such a stern and serious expression, nodded slowly.

“I see. If the city’s become this much of a mess, then—”

“That’s not it, Alje.”

“Eh?”

“The real disaster hasn’t even started yet.”

Even in the midst of the storm, there were forms that did not sway in the slightest.

Shadows with no depth stretched across the dim streets.

While everything else was swept away, those crept through the streets without the faintest disturbance.

Five long necks extended outward, snatching airborne prey and swallowing them whole.

No, not tentacles—each one was a head.

Upon the already fortress-like scales, turquoise armor had layered itself like plating.

“…A Familiar.”

Hans muttered in a hoarse voice.

That was the true calamity—something far beyond this storm.

At least rain only pours; it doesn’t roam around to relentlessly hunt down humans.

Messenger-types like Ojojo may cause some trouble, but ultimately aren’t so dangerous.

But when a war-trained, heavily armored Familiar is unleashed.

A Five-Headed Dragon…With each majestic pull of its great belly, an entire street of neat and tidy Schindel Strasse was “erased.”

The orderly gray bricks, the painstakingly built homes, the people inside pretending to live out luxury.

All crushed, shattered, and devoured without discrimination.

And that disaster was now heading toward the house where the two of them stood.

Not out of any particular malice.

It was mere coincidence.

Unluck.

Hans could only stare blankly as death approached right in front of his eyes.

The witch’s house had held up well against the wind and rain, but it would never withstand the charge of a Five-Headed Dragon.

And going outside?

They’d be swept away instantly by the berserk winds.

In the distance, the storm roared.

Up close, five prongs of destruction advanced.

“…”

But before Hans could resign himself to death.

Alje, following his gaze, bit her lip.

And then, the girl—who so deeply cherished her “Mister”—shoved him aside roughly, storming forward.

She flung open the window he had been staring through.

Through the opening, rain poured in like bullets.

Whatever Hans tried to shout—What are you doing!?—was drowned out by the howling winds.

The girl’s eyes shimmered like the twilight sky.

And then—The Five-Headed Dragon, which had been moving leisurely yet swiftly by human standards, suddenly halted.

[…]

The downpour soaked her.

She couldn’t see even a step ahead.

Raindrops stung her eyes.

And yet— Alje did not blink, did not avert her gaze.

With eyes wide open, she faced that terrifying, awe-inspiring form head-on.

The Five-Headed Dragon, previously busy devouring prey from all around, began turning its heads—One by one.

Its loosely bent necks stiffened upright.

And at last, all five heads snapped together, aiming in the same direction.

At a house smaller than its body.

At a man smaller than that house.

And at a girl—smaller still than that man.

Alje.

Still young, still inexperienced—but in sheer presence alone, she was no less than any other great monster.

A colossal beast roared.

Pouring all of her [Mystery] into it— A cry far too vast and magnificent to belong to a saint, and far too solemn and sacred to be that of a monster— it echoed across the entirety of Heimvig.

“🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺”

For a moment, the storm stopped.