Chapter 97: Lokralen (3)

Chapter 97: Lokralen (3)

"Aaahhhhhhhh—! Aaahhhhhhhh—! Aaahhhhhhhh—! Aaahhhhhhhh—! Aaahhhhhhhh—! Aaahhhhhhhh—!”

“... W-what the hell’s wrong with hah?” Rogerio shuddered, rubbing her arms as if she got a goosebump.

“She’s been locked in time,” I replied, inspecting the woman’s face beneath her hood.

Her face was frozen in a scream, eyes wide with terror, letting out an unbroken wail. The rhythm of her cries, the faint twitch of her pupils, and the creases in her skin all repeated in a constant loop. Her name tag read 963—a year before Lokralen was abolished.

"Aaahhhhhhhh—! Aaahhhhhhhh—! Aaahhhhhhhh—!”

"Rogerio, can you silence this wailing?"

“Ah, ‘course.” Rogerio quickly wrapped her in a Silence spell. The sound stopped, but her horrifying expression and statue-like stance stayed the same. “To keep this goin’ long, I’m gonna need a mana stone. Anyone got one?”

Kreto reached into his inner pocket, handed over a crystal orb, and asked, "Will this be sufficient?"

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Rogerio replied, securing the Silence spell with the crystal orb as a medium and infusing it with a bit more of her mana. “That oughta do it. But, Deculein, ya said not to touch her. Why’s that?”

"There’s a significant risk of being locked in time as well. She’s radiating an aura of severe contagion," I explained.

At my words, tension spread across everyone’s faces.

Lokralen cleared his throat and addressed the mages in the room, saying, "I apologize, everyone. Due to this unfortunate incident, the conference will be temporarily suspended. Please return to the hotel—"

“No,” I interrupted him.

Simultaneously, I dispatched my Wood Steel shuriken to the first-floor exit with orders to prevent anyone from leaving.

“Sorry? What do you mean, no?” Lokralen asked, his brow furrowing.

I calmly stepped forward and declared, “No one in this building will be permitted to leave.”

“Professor Deculein, despite your authority, I am the president of this conference. So—”

“There is a host among us.”

“A host?”

I scanned the faces of the attendees, recognizing several prominent figures, and commanded, “Everyone, remove your hoods and reveal your faces.”

The reaction was swift and intense. Lower-ranking members, like Relin, promptly removed their hoods, while those from prominent families or older individuals bristled at the implication.

“Professor Deculein, what is the meaning of this nonsense—”

“Deculein, don’t you recognize me? I am Gaelon, Gaelon!”

“Even if there is a host among us, it certainly isn’t me! I don’t even know what a host is!”

“... It doesn’t matter who you are,” I said, feeling the strain on my mana as I addressed the crowd. There were many to hear, but I spoke with unwavering conviction. “The host is among you, and I will find out who it is.”

Just then...

“Aaah!”

A scream erupted from the first floor, prompting us to descend immediately.

“Oh my gawd...” Rogerio muttered, flinching in shock.

There was no need for us to go all the way down.

“Aaah—!”

On the stairs between the first and second floors, a figure was trapped in an endless climb. Step by step, they ascended—Aaah—only to restart from the bottom—Aaah—.

“This... looks wicked serious.”

“Aaah—! Aaah—!”

The name tag matched the previous victim’s, reading the year 963.

Rogerio turned to me, visibly shaken, and asked, “This is wicked freaky, Deculein. How does somethin’ like this even happen?”

“I don’t know. However...” I said, glancing at the others trailing behind us—Lokralen, Allen, Epherene, Kreto, Delpen, Relin, Bizetan, Gaelon, Essensil, and others. “Rogerio, seal the entrance. Ensure that no one leaves.”

“Gotcha.”

“No, Professor! What if we all end up like that, locked in time? I am the president of this conference—”

Rogerio swiftly restrained Lokralen’s protests. Once on the first floor, he sealed all the doors leading outside with Ductility.

***

Twelve hours had passed in Lokralen. Epherene reached the dining hall tucked away in a corner of the first floor. Fortunately, there were ample ingredients, enough to stave off any concern about starvation.

Epherene turned to Allen, who had followed her, and said, “Assistant Professor Allen, you must be hungry.”

"No~ I can manage," Allen replied, shaking his head, though Epherene’s stomach continued to growl.

"Come now, don’t pretend. Let’s cook together."

"Do you know how?"

"Of course," Epherene said, then began cooking with magic.

Chop-chop-chop—

Swish-swish-swish—

With a single motion, the ingredients floated into the air, slicing themselves and roasting over a magical flame.

"Assistant Professor, could you bring the plates?"

"Oh, certainly!" Allen replied, impressed, as he quickly brought the plates at Epherene's request.

In thirty minutes, their meal was prepared. They headed to the Round Table Conference Room on the third floor, where Deculein, Rogerio, and the other professors were engaged in deep discussion.

"We’ve brought some food. Please feel free to eat while you continue your discussion," Epherene offered.

“Sigh... How could this happen? What’s going on?”

Lokralen hurried inside, taking a moment to steady his breath. The hidden room was a small study, roughly 320 square feet in size.

“Phew...” Lokralen muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow. He walked over to a chair and sat down, opening his diary.

Lokralen. From the moment I set foot here, I knew. This is my true home, my eternal resting place...

This was where Lokralen, the president of the Lokralen Academic Conference, continued his diary. However, because Lokralen was a place where timelines tangled and grew increasingly chaotic the further one descended, some entries in the diary were penned by a future version of Lokralen.

As the president of Lokralen, there's no way an event like this could happen without my knowing! Lokralen thought.

“I must have written something about it—‘locked in time,’ and about Deculein...” Lokralen muttered to himself as he frantically flipped through the pages of his diary.

The paper sliced his fingers, and cold sweat dripped from his brow. After a frantic search, he finally discovered a new entry that hadn’t existed before.

The one responsible for the Locked in Time incident that Deculein mentioned has been uncovered. Cursed witch...

The writing was erratic and chaotic, unmistakably penned by his future self. As Lokralen absorbed the message, his face paled.

"This can’t be happening. How is this possible...?"

I must inform Deculein immediately!

He slammed the diary shut and bolted up the stairs, sweat streaming down his face as he raced toward the lobby.

“Professor Deculein! Professor Deculein!”

The only person on the first floor, blocked off by Rogerio’s magic, was the receptionist. But the man was asleep.

How could he be sleeping at a time like this?!

Lokralen hurried over and shouted, “Wake up! This is no time to be sleeping!”

“Ah! No, sir! No!” the receptionist stammered, startled as he met Lokralen’s gaze in surprise.

"Where is Professor Deculein at this moment?!"

"Oh, Professor Deculein should be in the Round Table Conference Room on the third floor... or at least, he was there three hours ago."

"The third floor?!" Lokralen exclaimed, his voice tinged with alarm.

“Ah! No, sir!”

“What? So he isn’t there?”

“No!”

“Then where is the Professor—”

"Oh, Professor Deculein should be in the Round Table Conference Room on the third floor... or at least, he was there three hours ago."

“... What?” Lokralen said, his voice tinged with unease as a chill ran down his spine.

The receptionist continued, “Ah! No, sir! No! Oh, Professor Deculein should be in the Round Table Conference Room on the third floor...”

Gulp—

Lokralen’s throat tightened as he cautiously stepped back. He felt it deep within—the man had been frozen in time right before his eyes. This could only mean that the host...

“Or at least, he was there three hours ago."

... was nearby. Lokralen’s legs weakened, and he stumbled, his gaze darting frantically around the dim lobby.

“Ah! No, sir! No! Oh, Professor Deculein should be in the Round Table Conference Room on the third floor...”

The receptionist, locked in time, kept repeating the same phrase. The first-floor lobby, shrouded in darkness, offered no sign of escape.

“God damn it!”

“Or at least, he was there three hours ago."

Lokralen whirled around and dashed toward the emergency exit, sprinting up the stairs.

“Ah! No, sir! No! Oh, Professor Deculein should be in the Round Table Conference Room on the third floor—”

He tuned out the repetitive echoes as he ascended, moving swiftly from the first floor to the second, and then to the third.

“Huff... Professor Dec...!”

As he swung open the door to the third floor, a sudden memory jolted through his mind, “I must inform Deculein immediately!”

The last sentence in his diary, the one he had skimmed over without hesitation. But the handwriting... it wasn’t his.

“Ah...”

As someone blocked his path at the third-floor door, Lokralen had a sudden realization. It felt like his life was flashing before his eyes.

“Hello, Lokralen.”

Confronted by the woman who had completely seen through him, Lokralen could only mutter in disbelief, "... How did you know?"

... And so it repeated. Pulled away from the present, Lokralen found himself once more opening the door to the third floor, reliving the moment again in the past.

“Huff... Professor Dec...!”

And once more, he found himself standing before her, whispering in disbelief, "... How did you know?"

When his final words faded, he was pulled back into the past, once again opening the door to the third floor.

“Huff... Professor Dec...!”

The figure he had seen was already gone, but his expression, memories, and the moment stayed locked in place, hauntingly clear.

"... How did you know?"

Lokralen was now locked in time.