The group of demons huddled together a few paces away from Margarita, their simple minds baffled by the sudden change in their prey.
Their murky yellow eyes stared at her fingertips, the cluster of pink light instilling both fear and desire. These two emotions warred within their low-intelligence brains; they clawed at the ground, a series of gurgles rolling from their throats. The commotion gradually died down as they shoved one another, retreating.
Margarita stood on the steps before the church entrance, looking down at her hands while her mind raced through its memories.
She thought of the magic book in her basement where she had copied simple induction circles. She thought of the dust-covered handbooks on minor tricks on the library shelves. She had memorized them, transcribed them, and secretly practiced the hand gestures while cooking, but she had never actually used a single one. Lacking mana, no amount of practice mattered.
Now, however, mana was the one thing she had in abundance.
A demon finally lost control of its instincts and lunged.
“Quiet,” Margarita said, raising a finger. She was thinking.
A pale pink barrier of light unfurled before her, forming a thin layer. The demon slammed headfirst into it with a dull thud, its entire body plastered against the surface. Its sharp claws scratched frantically, but the barrier didn't even show a scratch.
The collection of books in a small village like this naturally only contained minor tricks… Mage Hand, Shield, Magic Missile…
She stared at the ugly face behind the barrier and suddenly wanted to try something.
“Bang.” She made the gesture of firing a gun.
The Shield shattered with a sharp crack, the entire barrier exploding forward into countless sharp-edged fragments. The demon caught the full brunt of it; the shards tore through its body like a gale, and by the time the fragments dissipated, only a heap of shredded meat remained on the ground.
The remaining demons retreated a step in unison.
Margarita blinked at the remains.
She let out a soft, “Oh.”
In that moment, the roles of hunter and prey had completely reversed.
She raised her right hand, and a translucent pink hand of light manifested beside her. Its fingers splayed wide as it grabbed a sharpened wooden stake that had yet to be driven into the well, lifting it and hurling it into the huddle of demons. With a dull squelch, the stake pierced through scales and tore through flesh, pinning the demon’s body to the stone wall behind it. The creature gave a few twitches on the wall and went still.
The hand of mana retracted and grabbed a second stake.
Margarita held her ground at the church entrance. With one hand, she maintained a new shield to block demons circling from the side; with the other, she controlled the Mage Hand to swing the stakes—smashing, sweeping, stabbing, and lunging. Simultaneously, she fired Missiles, bombardment after bombardment raining down on the densest clusters of demons. In her books, Arcane Missiles were described as precise, delicate little things that flew silently to deliver a quiet death. The missiles she threw were each the size of a fist, trailing long tails of light and exploding into small mushroom clouds upon impact.
She had no idea how much mana a single missile should consume. The book said “an appropriate amount,” but how was she supposed to know what that was? Since the mana in her body felt inexhaustible, she just poured in as much as possible, throwing them only when they were glowing and white-hot.
After all, explosions are art.
The instincts of the low-tier creatures finally overcame their desire for the Star-Spun Stone. The remaining seven or eight turned tail, crawling toward the edge of the clearing on all fours even faster than they had arrived.
“Entangle,” Margarita said.
She formed a spell gesture with both hands simultaneously. She had seen this one in the books and practiced it in secret countless times; the hand form was etched into her mind more clearly than her own birthday. Pink starlight surged from her palms, instantly coating the entire ground beneath the demons. The claws they stepped with were stuck; the more they struggled, the tighter the adhesion. All seven or eight demons were pinned in place, arching their backs and shrieking desperately, unable to escape.
Margarita walked down the steps, standing in the clearing covered in pink starlight, her white hair fluttering in the night wind. She looked down at her fingers; a tiny pink nebula condensed on her fingertip, rotating silently and growing brighter by the second.
Something seemed to occur to her, and she suddenly smiled.
“Line up nicely,” she said to the demons stuck to the ground. “Big sister is going to give you all a shield.”
The magic books stated clearly that pure mana discharge was the most basic form of attack. She had never tried it before. She only knew that missiles could be used like rockets and that a shattered shield could be thrown like blades. She didn't know what a pure, formless discharge of mana would do.
She aimed her palm at the huddle of demons.
The nebula at her fingertip condensed into an intense glare. A pillar of light, almost white, erupted from her palm, as thick as the two pillars at the church entrance, carrying a wave of heat and a sharp howl. The light enveloped the trapped demons; they didn't even have time to scream before they dissolved like melting snow.
The pillar of light extinguished.
Margarita lowered her hand, the pink glow in her palm slowly fading.
She stood in the clearing. Everything around her was silent, save for a few faint shouts from the direction of the distant woods. The shadow of the church tower stretched long behind her, and the moon revealed half its face from behind the rift, casting cold white light over the charred marks and remains scattered across the ground.
Her legs buckled, and she fell to her knees.
“Ah…” So it was just a temporary power-up, she thought.
The sensation of the mana receding came without warning. Starting from her extremities, the excess mana in her body was completely reclaimed. An unstoppable wave of drowsiness washed over her.
Maybe I’ll just sleep here for a while? Thinking this, her body pitched forward. But instead of the ground, she was met with a warm embrace. The scent was familiar; every time she jumped down from a tree, it was to hand a waterskin to the owner of this embrace.
Why are you here? she wanted to ask, but she was simply too exhausted. She allowed her consciousness to sink into the depths.
…
“Mar… Margarita, don’t sleep! Wake up!” Joshua shook the person in his arms. Margarita’s brow furrowed tighter and tighter until she finally exerted a great deal of effort to press her index finger against Joshua’s lips.
“Quiet.”
Her voice was faint, thin as a thread, but the disdain in her tone was palpable. Her hand immediately fell back, hitting his knee, and her head slumped against his chest, becoming still once more.
Joshua froze. The cold sensation of her fingertip remained on his lips. Looking down at her disheveled state curled in his arms, he suddenly let out a laugh.
“Captain, look at her.” Joshua gestured with his head toward Renard, who was rushing over.
Renard stepped forward and reached out to check Margarita’s pulse. “She’s fine. Just exhausted. Take her to rest.”
Then he scanned the surroundings, pursing his lips. “Which master was passing through?”
Joshua started, pulling Margarita slightly closer. “…I don’t know.”
“If you don't know, then it could only have been some master passing through.” Renard reached out and ruffled Joshua’s hair. “I didn't see any pink pillar of light. The demons were eliminated by a traveling Great Mage. Keep that in mind.”
Joshua looked up sharply at Renard. The hunter captain said nothing more, merely fashioning a temporary stretcher out of two wooden poles and a coat. Joshua’s hands shook the entire time he placed Margarita onto it, terrified that too much movement would hurt her. Her head tilted to the side, her white hair hanging over the edge of the stretcher, swaying gently as the two of them carried her away.
Joshua walked in the back, staring at her hanging hand. Her knuckles were covered in tiny burn marks, and her fingernails were packed with black ash.
A temporary medical tent had been set up in a clearing at the edge of the woods. Canvas was held up by several wooden stakes, and the ground inside was covered with straw and old blankets. Several relatives of the hunters were busy inside, bandaging the wounded and offering water. Joshua settled Margarita in the innermost spot against a pile of hay, taking off his own coat to cover her. The coat was far too large for her, covering half her body and leaving only her pale little face and the white hair scattered across the straw visible.
“Margarita.” He sat cross-legged on the ground nearby, watching her peaceful sleeping face. “I will catch up to you soon. I won’t leave you alone ever again.”
…
Margarita stood in a space of pure white.
What’s going on? Am I finally dead?
A translucent blue panel popped up in front of her, the words “Skill Upgrade” written in the center.
“What’s this?” She reached out to poke it, but her finger passed right through.
“Stop poking it,” a voice called from behind her.
Margarita turned around. A girl who looked exactly like her was sitting cross-legged in mid-air. Her white hair was spread behind her, her blue eyes were crinkled, and her lips held that familiar gentle smile she knew all too well.
“Are you… me?”
“I am the Star-Spun Stone.” The girl opposite her used her own face to make a look of disdain. “Don’t use my face to make that expression.”
“Isn't this my face?”
“It’s mine now.”
Margarita was silent for two seconds. “So you’re the system.”
“Bingo.” The Star-Spun Stone hopped down from the air, clapping as she approached Margarita. “Congratulations on triggering the hidden plot. I came out to see if you were still alive.”
“Where is this?”
“Inside your consciousness.” The Star-Spun Stone walked a circle around her. “What you see now is the game interface, because I need to communicate with you in a way you can understand.”
Margarita stared at her. “How do you know about the game?”
“I know everything.” The Star-Spun Stone stopped in front of her. “I know your name is Margarita, I know what your name was in your past life, I know you cleared ‘Sword Dance of the Star-Spun Fates’ multiple times, and I even know you haven't deleted your browser history.”
Can you delete it for me?
“Don't give me that look.” The Star-Spun Stone waved her hand. “I said I’m the system. Is it strange for a system to know player data?”
“You said player…”
“Yes, player.” The Star-Spun Stone tilted her head. “The game you played before wasn't just something made up. The producer of that game, the Hero of the last cycle, took real combat data and turned it into a game, hoping to find a way to win. He didn't find it, so the game became a Relic and was spread around.”
Margarita felt her mind struggling to keep up. “You mean… the game I played is based on things that actually happened?”
“They’ve happened countless times.” The Star-Spun Stone reached out, and a screen unfurled before them. It was covered in a dense web of lines, hundreds of them all interwoven, eventually converging into a massive, slowly rotating vortex.
“The Demon King resurrects every sixty years. Every time he resurrects, the Hero System activates, choosing someone to be the Hero to subjugate the Demon King. If they succeed, the Demon King resurrects again sixty years later, a new Hero appears, and a new cycle begins.”
“How many times has it been?”
“…I’ve lost count.”
Margarita looked at her. “What about the previous Heroes?”
“They all died,” the Star-Spun Stone said, her tone flat. “Not a single one could truly kill the Demon King. Because Heroes grow old, while the Demon King has the protection of the cycle. As long as he can resurrect sixty years later, he is essentially immortal.”
“Then how did you get here?”
“I am the Hero System. My purpose for existing is to find someone who can end the cycle. But after all these years, no one has succeeded. To end the cycle, one needs a companion who has merged with the Star-Spun Stone. The other heroines didn’t know what the Star-Spun Stone was, which is why all those options in the game were just question marks.”
“I thought the game just wasn’t finished.” Margarita remembered the posts on the forums cursing the development team; she had cursed them herself.
“By the way, there’s something I need to tell you.” The Star-Spun Stone’s tone became a bit more serious. “I was the one who sealed your memories for the first fourteen years after you were reincarnated.”
Margarita was stunned. “What?”
“When you first crossed over, you were too small and didn't understand anything, but your soul carried all the memories of your past life. If you had shown signs of ‘knowing the future’ as a child and accidentally dug out the Star-Spun Stone, the demons would have detected its location prematurely. So I sealed your memories of the first fourteen years, letting you grow up like a normal child. It wasn't until you turned fourteen that I slowly unsealed them, letting you ‘remember’ the game.”
Margarita stood in the white void, her mind churning with vague, newly unsealed images. Her childhood in Percy Village, climbing trees and catching bugs with Joshua, playing by the stream—it was all perfectly ordinary. She realized now that she really had been a little girl named Margarita during those years.
“So you let me be a normal person for fourteen years.”
“I let you be a normal child for fourteen years,” the Star-Spun Stone corrected. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have lived to see today.”
Margarita didn’t speak. She thought of the sunsets in Percy Village, the days spent swinging her legs on tree branches, and the memories she thought belonged to the ‘original owner’ of this body—they were actually hers. She really had grown up in this world; she had simply forgotten.
“Actually, you don't even have to choose.” The Star-Spun Stone suddenly reached out and tapped her forehead. “You’re just a side character; there’s no need to carry the whole world on your shoulders.”
The white space before Margarita began to blur.
“Oh, one more thing.” The voice of the Star-Spun Stone drifted from afar. “If you want to use the stone’s power, you don't have to wait until you're nearly dead. Just point the gun at your temple and pull the trigger again. The impact is meant to stimulate the Star-Spun Stone; it won't actually kill you.”
Margarita’s eyes were closed, her mouth twitching.
“Why does it still have to be the temple?”
“I think it looks cooler.”
“Do I have to cosplay Makoto Yuki?! You jerk!”
But no one heard her. The white void had completely dissipated, and her consciousness sank into a deeper darkness. Her fingers curled unconsciously, clutching the corner of Joshua’s clothes, as her breathing slowly leveled out.
Rate on N.U.
