The Freed Slaves Are Obsessed

"Yawn... Time sure is dragging today."

At the lord’s castle in Praxu, Mikey stretched her arms and yawned widely.

Her drowsiness seemed to infect the air, as Torres, standing beside her, yawned as well.

"Yeah, feels like time’s moving slower than usual. We’d normally be done by now."

"Why don't you tell me a fun story to pass the time?"

"Are you asking me to play the fool?"

"Come on, that's not it. I just want to hear some of your great stories, given how much longer you've been at this than me."

With practiced ease, Mikey deflected the conversation, and Torres, easily flattered, quickly fell into the trap.

"Well, I have been here for ten years now. Seen just about everything."

"Exactly! So, tell me something interesting!"

"Hmm, what to tell... Oh, you know about the time a witch came to Praxu, right?"

"Of course! They say it was chaos back then. Wait, don’t tell me, did you catch the witch?"

Torres shook his head.

"Not the witch, no. But I caught her father. The bastard hid her after fathering a witch. Toughest guy to break, too. Didn't even flinch during torture."

"Hiding a witch? He must have been out of his mind."

Torres sighed, clearly tired even just thinking about it.

"He was probably bewitched. No other explanation for protecting a witch. But don’t worry. I made sure he couldn't protect her anymore—finished him off myself. When they hanged him, I sliced his guts... wait, what’s with that face?"

Torres stopped mid-sentence. Mikey’s face had gone pale, her eyes wide as if she'd seen something she shouldn’t have—like someone staring at death itself.

"S-Sir... behind you...."

"Huh? Behind me?"

With a slow turn, Torres looked back, and there, floating in the air, was a reaper, a massive scythe in hand, surrounded by dark blue mist.

Torres blinked, staring in disbelief.

"Am I dreaming...?"

He rubbed his eyes, but no matter how hard he tried, the reaper didn’t disappear. It was then that the reality of the situation sank in.

"W-What the hell!"

He reached for his sword, but the reaper was faster. Its scythe cut through Torres before he could draw his blade.

Slash!

"Urk—!"

Blood sprayed in an arc as Torres’ upper and lower halves slid apart like sliced cheese. From his lifeless body, a white soul floated out, circling the reaper.

"H-Hiiiii!"

Mikey screamed, collapsing to the floor, drenched in Torres' blood.

Reapers, by nature, are bringers of death.

The deathly aura they exude instills a primal fear in living beings. Mikey trembled uncontrollably, her body betraying her as a puddle formed beneath her, the sound of trickling echoing in the hallway.

"P-Please... spare me...."

Barely able to form words, Mikey begged, covering her face with her arms, waiting for the end. But the reaper only glanced at her briefly before passing through her and continuing down the hall.

Still trembling, Mikey turned to watch it go, and soon after, the sound of screams echoed through the castle.

This place had become hell.

"This must be a dream. Yes, it has to be a dream. I’ll wake up and see the familiar ceiling of my barracks...."

Mikey gave up thinking altogether, slumping to the floor.

"Hold the line! Hold it!"

In the cathedral of Agartha, another branch of Praxu, chaos reigned.

A reaper was relentlessly attacking the protective barrier that had been set up.

"I can’t hold it much longer!"

A sweating cleric shouted as he struggled to maintain the barrier.

This wasn’t a normal reaper.

It was fueled by an intense hatred and overwhelming magical power.

And the reaper’s attacks were filled with such malicious intent that it felt as if someone inside the barrier had murdered its family.

Boom!

The reaper’s scythe slammed into the barrier, cracking it.

Seven priests worked together to try and repair the damage, but it was no use. From the moment the first crack appeared, the barrier was beyond saving.

The barrier began to crumble, pieces falling away.

It was only a matter of time.

The reaper raised its scythe high, aiming to bring it down with enough force to split the moon in half.

This attack couldn’t be stopped.

Everyone knew it.

"It’s going to break!"

The scythe carved through the air.

Crack!

The barrier shattered like glass, the priests within it sent flying by the force of the blow.

With the barrier gone, the cathedral was now the reaper’s stage.

The reaper floated above the heads of the people inside, its gaze searching for someone.

And then, its glowing eyes fixed on two individuals. In an instant, the reaper moved, its scythe slicing through a holy knight’s armor, cutting him down.

"Ugh."

The reaper turned its head, its cold gaze locking onto a priest. The priest recoiled in terror before turning to run, but the reaper glided silently after him.

"Why me?! There are so many people here!"

The priest, clearly no stranger to running, ducked and weaved, narrowly avoiding the reaper’s strikes by a hair’s breadth.

But luck was useless in the face of death. The reaper swung its scythe wide.

A crescent-shaped wave of energy flew from the blade. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

"W-Wait a moment!"

The priest turned, reaching out in a futile attempt to stop it.

Shlick.

The soft sound of flesh being sliced filled the air as the priest’s body was cleanly bisected, his face splitting in two.

As the bodies of the two clergymen fell, their souls rose, drifting toward the reaper.

"It’s taking their souls! Stop it, by any means necessary!"

Knights swung their swords and priests unleashed their blessings, but all were effortlessly countered by the reaper’s scythe.

"Everything’s ready!"

One priest, having gathered all his divine power, began casting a holy spell.

But just as he was about to finish, the reaper vanished, sucked into a point in space.

Was it hiding?

Waiting for the right moment to strike?

The survivors remained on high alert, watching their surroundings. It wasn’t until dawn began to break that they realized the reaper had truly disappeared.

For a moment, they thought they might have been bewitched by a nightmare, but the bodies strewn across the cathedral proved otherwise.

That night, the reaper claimed twelve lives, their souls lost.

As the sun rose, the reaper’s proxy—no, the proxy of a proxy—returned, having completed the revenge.

The reaper’s scythe was soaked in blood, and twelve souls floated around it.

They were the souls of those directly responsible for the suffering of Mirabel’s parents. Now that the reaper had claimed them, there would be no peace for these souls. They would be trapped in a cycle of torment until they wore away.

Is it over?

Mirabel looked up at the sky. Her side profile, bathed in the light of dawn, seemed somehow at peace. She looked much better than before.

Mirabel had grown again today.

The grimoire that had turned to ash reappeared at her call, recognizing her as its master since the moment she read from it.

Turning my father into a reaper was shocking, but I suppose it means he wanted to stay with me.

The proxy of a reaper.

The Witch of Judgment.

And now the Grimoire of Souls.

These three elements had come together to form a new magic. Without anyone teaching her, Mirabel had reached a level where she could create magic on her own.

There was nothing more for her to learn.

Neither in terms of her powers nor her mind.

"Mirabel, it’s time to go. Once people start waking up, things will get noisy."

"......."

Lost in her thoughts, Mirabel didn’t respond, her gaze still fixed on the sky. In the meantime, people began emerging from their homes to start the day. An older woman met Karamie’s gaze and then noticed the skull he held in his hand.

"U-Uh? That..."

"Good morning, ma’am."

"Oh, um, good morning. But that skull in your hand...?"

"Don’t worry about it. I’m just returning it to where it belongs."

Unfortunately, the shock was too great for Karamie to brush it off easily. The woman’s eyes bulged in disbelief, as if she were seeing something she shouldn’t have.

"T-Thief! Someone’s stealing the witch’s skull!"

"Stealing? This isn’t yours, you know. Even I, a slave trader, have more conscience than that."

Karamie knew that saying the right thing didn’t always make the situation better. If it did, he wouldn’t have been called a reaper in the first place.

Scooping up the still-dazed Mirabel, Karamie took off running. Thankfully, no guards pursued them. After all, who would bother chasing thieves after the chaos of the night?

Seizing the moment of weakness in security, they dashed out of the city gates, escaping Praxu.

It was a wretched city. Karamie had no plans of ever returning.

Now, the only destination left was the final stop of their story—the hidden true ending of this tale, not far from Praxu.

There were three endings to Mirabel’s story.

The first one is healing. This option can always be achieved as long as her mental state is taken care of.

The second is revenge. After mastering the Grimoire of Souls, she confronts Harold’s spirit in Praxu, learns the truth, and takes vengeance on those responsible for her father’s suffering.

And finally, the third route is reunion.

The keyword for this ending is “reunion.” It involves meeting someone thought to be lost forever.

It’s time to go meet Mirabel’s mother.