level_act18side_07_end

Down!

In your dreams!

Fancy that, you can still struggle...

I'm not holding this one back, Dame Strollo!

You—read me?!

Who knew you could bite off more than you could chew?

Unripe. You're just relying on the Voice of Mundane... Your control of Arts is still in its infancy—

Hrragh!!

Huff, *pant*, *pant*...

D—Did that get her...?

Heh, I never thought you'd be one to best me, Graf Urtica.

So you admit defeat?

Hmph. A loss is a loss. What, does not admitting it make it my victory instead?

You... Why are you unperturbed?

Because... how exactly can you lay a finger on me?

I'm the Lehnsfrau of this city. It's night, you broke into a concert hall I administrate, and you attempted to tear down legitimate renovations ratified by my own person.

You even injured me as I did my best to stop you—

Graf Urtica, Rhodes Islander, and you, Czerny. You should be the worried ones, isn't that right?

As despicable as ever, Gertrude.

Despicable? Is that how you treat your patron, your back of over a decade?

Czerny, I allowed you to use this concert hall.

You're no more than a mere Infected. Your position? I gave you that too.

Your cherished Afterglow could only limp its way to the present day on MY benevolence.

Don't forget that.

How dare—!

All of you, kindly leave.

I wouldn't be so sure.

Graf Urtica—this title carries with it disgrace, all throughout Leithanien.

But it also means that wherever I go, the Empresses' informants are sure to be.

And what if they are? I told you, you're only making vain attempts to destroy my music hall.

Even if Their Majesties' agents were to show themselves, they would arrest you by all rights, not me.

Biegler! Biegler!

You have to have witnessed this all now, right?

Do you still intend to fold your arms and watch?!

I saw the grand Graf Urtica fall to breaking and entering a concert hall, in the dead of night, with a gang. Aside from that, I saw nothing.

Did you not hear her plot?!

Do you mean Gräfin Strollo's plot, or the Graf Urtica's plot jointly schemed with her?

Why you...

I did in fact hear.

However, even if I recorded your entire dialogue just now, that doesn't prove a thing.

Evidence, Graf. Everything needs carefully selected evidence. What proves Gräfin Strollo intended to act against the Empresses?

Proof. You come to me at this moment and raise the matter of proof...

Right. The Voice of Mundane!

We discovered there was research into the Voice of Mundane in the sewers!

What?

Heh.

Seems you're not off the ball after all, Graf Urtica.

What research? I know nothing about this.

Feigning stupidity at this point's passé, Gräfin Strollo.

You may not be directly linked to the notes and plans in that sewer laboratory, but we have our ways.

With our leads there, it'll be a walk in the park to find your other little bases.

You are presently suspected of launching research into the Voice of Mundane forbidden under Their Majesties' decree. I want you to come with me.

Wait, because she was researching the Voice and nothing else?!

Let me reiterate to you again, Graf Urtica, and the rest of you.

As long as you have no clear evidence, proof your 'foul product' is going to blow up like you say it does—

Every accusation you throw at her turns into slander, nothing else.

Let me take a look at those Voice of Mundane research files! I can give you exhaustive evidence!

Very sorry, but that's classified Leithanian information. I can't hand it over to a foreign organization.

You're just wishing it out of existence!

There's a lot in these lands that doesn't go the way you want it, Fräulein.

But...!

Let it go, Hibiscus.

He's made his point very clear. Our discoveries aren't enough to convict Gräfin Strollo.

And he only showed himself because he found other evidence to do so.

I should even be thanking you for deigning to show up in the wake of my hissy fit. Isn't that right, Biegler, my dear spy?

I'll be honest, if I had to compare you and Gräfin Strollo as nobles, I'd say you win out in my books, Graf Urtica.

And you, Herr Czerny.

Hm?

We have Gräfin Strollo contained now. Even if whatever your friends are worried about is real, either way, the concert's safe.

Of course, I still recommend you cancel it. Safest for settling this.

I thought the concert tomorrow had already been forbidden.

Whether you hold it remains up to you.

Okay, Gräfin Strollo, I believe your loyalty to the Empresses. I'd just like to take you for... breakfast. You wouldn't refuse my invitation, would you?

Hah. Breakfast in these early hours? Very well.

Graf Urtica, you will regret betraying me.

I'll regret many a thing, but that is the one matter I never will.

Well, we've just let them go.

Gertrude...

You still had a word waiting for her?

If profanity counts for a word.

Kreide still hasn't woken.

Leave him with me, I'll set off straight away and bring him to the Rhodes Island landship.

You're taking him away?

I am. He'll only get the proper treatment at Rhodes Island.

I won't allow it.

Why?

Even if you can pacify his condition, what will you do about the Voice of Mundane?

I don't doubt your medical prowess, but is that something you can truly solve?

I can't promise.

But we've got no other choice now.

Don't tell me you still hope Gertrude'll help you get rid of it through ensemble?

I can only hope.

You're—

How long will it take from Vyseheim to your landship, I ask you?

You won't say. Because you know Kreide isn't likely to make it there.

But even if what Gertrude says is true, are you really going to sacrifice yourself to do this?

As long as I can do it, why shouldn't I?

Hibiscus stares, blank, for a spell.

The look in his eyes now, compared to when she first met this young man—the difference is like black and white.

He's serious, she thinks.

Fine.

Even if I help you to the best of my ability, we know too little about the Voice of Mundane, and what we do know was all told to us by the Countess. We're sifting through fact and fiction...

Looks like I made it.

Sir, you...

If you need more info about the Voice of Mundane, I have this project plan right here.

Sir, did you...?

You pulled the same thing as Biegler...

I did.

You probably imagined, but Kreide's a fin who slipped through the program's net back in the day.

How could the Empresses let such a wildcard wander freely, you know?

But you've been roaming together for more than a decade!

And that's why no one ever suspected it.

But didn't Biegler say it was classified—

Which is why I filched it from where he kept it.

If I can save Kreide, then the hell does it matter if anyone's shown this damned plan?! And it's a long-overdue damning if you ask me!

*cough* *cough*, *cough* *cough*.

C—Calm down, you're still very weak...

Let me see the plan papers, Hibiscus. You take this old fellow somewhere to rest.

I will.

Sir... does Kreide—does he know?

I never told him, but he's very smart. I'm sure he has a vague guess.

This is too cruel to him.

Cruel.

Heh.

Fräulein, do you know how I became an Infected?

No.

Surely you've heard how in the age before the Empresses' rule, Leithanien had explored classical Originium Arts to heights hardly surpassable.

Yes.

So do you know the price Leithanien paid, to reach those heights?

Countless human sacrifices, among which were huge numbers of Infected.

Yes. Infected.

During that period, some Kurfürsten were even handing over Infected to a regular quota, and they treated this as a custom.

But Infected are people too. It's not like they'd let their lives be thrown away.

So, can you guess what happened in the end?

You don't mean...?!

It looks like you have.

Just slash your arm with Originium, and now you qualify as an Infected too.

That's how mine came about.

Melody... it's melody. The Voices of the Mundane are the melodies the Witch King left behind!

I can't believe this...

No, this is the only way it makes sense!

He wasn't just Leithanien's mightiest Caster. The Witch King was also Leithanien's most feared musician.

His mastery of music was at the epitome. Some even said his insight into music was of the same grade as his Originium Arts research.

But rhythm, tonality, texture... he threw those raw elements that make up the beauty of music to the hounds. Every piece of his left in this world is filled with murder and devastation.

His opuses have long been forbidden pieces in Leithanien. If the Voice of Mundane is a string of melodies left by the Witch King—

Then the Voice is without a doubt a remnant opus of his, and you are its very extents.

We are not his opus!

You shouldn't deceive yourself. Moreover, if this is the case...

You have a solution?

I need you to perform the ensemble that repelled those Originium slugs again.

When you did that, you grasped the Voices inside yourselves, didn't you?

Ensemble? Right now?

Do you comprehend the situation we're in here?

I do, and I know it better than you do!

But—!

Let's hear Herr Czerny out, Ebenholz.

Kreide, are you alright? Did you come here alone?

Andante brought me over.

But you can't double the Voice of Mundane's melody again like you did before. It did something wrong to you last time...

I don't want to leave any regrets.

Alright... Herr Czerny, what did you think of?

If the Voice can be said to be a string of melodies, then whether those remnants who used you for their experiment, or Gertrude...

Their aim has to be to conduct the Originium Arts contained within that melody, or should I say, the melody that flows within this Originium Arts.

Which is to say, their exploration of the Voice is entirely to unearth the supposed secrets within.

In plain words, they're trying to make the Voice more 'clear,' more 'beautiful.'

Thus, there is one thing I can very definitively tell you—

There is no method that can 'transfer' the Voice anywhere in these plans.

I'm not surprised anymore.

But that's not because doing so would be too difficult. Precisely the opposite. It's because, in their eyes, it would be a waste of what they have.

Because every melody the Witch King left behind is different. Each comes from its own period, and contains its own completely separate emotions and ideas.

What sense can there be in putting two entirely different songs together?

Just as when you performed together, the further you pursue it, the more disastrous the effects become.

Even the Originium slugs fled because they felt your performance to be far too ear-bleeding.

I presume they've done similar transfer experiments before, and realized how bad the results were... then.

They did.

However, even if two pieces are diametrically opposed, a sufficient lead-in can still be enough to accomplish the transition.

Therefore, I want you to perform my Morgen und Abend.

Upon which, I want you to dig your own selves out from within the piece, just as you did that evening.

I have to feel the melody the Voice of Mundane left within you, and then, I will write you a new song.

Wait. No matter what, you need something to hold the Voice so you can transfer it.

And the experiment results said all attempts to implant two Voices in one person failed.

I'll be the vessel, is that what you mean?

Don't trust that little determination you have to be enough for self-sacrifice, boy.

I will try with all my might, through performance, to drag the Voices from the both of you.

If I cannot, I will personally serve as this receptacle, if I am able to.

Why would you go so far for us?

If I remember correctly, my Morgen und Abend was your turning point in learning flute.

And so what?

So it's likely you heard of how I came to write it. That Gertrude woman had to turn it into a blasted 'selling point' for me, though I never wanted for anyone else to know.

You lost your dearest, closest friend, and you wrote the piece in your grief.

'Grief.'

That description was far off the mark.

You should be using the term 'indignation.'

That was the first time I came to find that life would not unfold how I imagined it, and the first time I knew what music meant to me—

My rebellion against a fixed fate.

Turning ordinary civilians into Infected... That's too cruel...

I have no idea how many times I cursed the Witch King in those days, but perhaps someone heard my tirades.

However, before they could send me to the laboratories, Their Majesties had overthrown the Witch King. I was saved.

And that's why I swore to dedicate the rest of my life to Their Majesties' cause.

And so you became a spy?

Correct.

I can't tell you what I did when I was an agent, and you don't need to know.

All you need to know is that I was the agent who found the Witch King's Remains that had been researching the Voice of Mundane.

By the time we found them, they had already experimented on Kreide and failed. It's why his body is the way it is now.

You didn't plan to save him, right?

How'd you know?

From what I know, when the Twin Empresses ascended to the throne, they issued an edict that forbade all Witch King era research, and the Voice of Mundane research obviously fell into that category.

But if the Voice of Mundane is really that amazing, I can't imagine that not a single person has turned his attention to it in the twenty years since the Witch King was overthrown.

What's more... 'The Witch King left his mark within.' 'The Witch King weaved his power into the melody.' The Witch King himself is the core of these ideas.

Deep down, their pursuit of the Voice of Mundane might actually be nothing more than worshipping the Witch King himself.

And given the way that Mr. Biegler does things, I'd say a spy's principles lie with serving the Twin Empresses.

In other words, to spies like you, the Voice of Mundane doesn't further the Twin Empresses' interests in any way.

Junge Frau, until I saw how reckless you were, I took you for a fool.

And now, it seems you just didn't know how to put your wits to use.

Uhh.

You're goddamned right. Here, I brought the research plan along. There's no point in hiding any of this anymore.

The Voice of Mundane is unique. It's undoubtedly the Witch King's lingering echoes in the world, and there is definitely some power hidden within.

But the Witch King's fervent followers truly believed that the Witch King left behind his avatar within it.

The power the Voice of Mundane holds is too unique. It will never see widespread use.

At the very least, the current court casters see research on the Voice of Mundane as a futile and pointless pursuit.

And that's why the handling of Ebenholz and Kreide became a problem.

Was Ebenholz chosen because he was considered safer?

Yes, we had to announce the plan's failure, and Ebenholz was naturally the best choice as there was nothing wrong with his body.

On the contrary, as there were already problems with Kreide's body... he had no choice... Death awaited him.

But he finally got away from the Witch King's Remains! And yet he had to die... That's too cruel!

Perhaps, in your eyes, our methods are inhumane.

But once you've witnessed countless tragedies, especially ones caused by those who are not inhumane, you'll come to realize that—

You can't let your feelings get in the way of everything.

You probably think Biegler is a pretty heartless man, don't you.

Yeah, I do think so.

But what you don't know is he's lived in the Afterglow and spent time with its residents day after day for more than a dozen years. His feelings for this place is no less genuine than anyone else.

There's no one who wants to skin Gertrude alive more than him, but he can't.

Do you think you're the angriest person to ever talk to him?

Mr. Biegler... he...

Besides, Kreide's condition endangers those around him, too. He has no way to get too close to anyone, and his past destined him to never live the life of a normal man.

He truly didn't have a choice.

But you let your feelings get in the way with him. You offered him a choice other than death.

Is that really a choice? He had to wander the world with an old man who's half dead. He learned how to play the cello, and yet he rarely had a chance to even touch one.

He can't make friends. He can't even get too close with anyone. Can you really call that a proper life?

But he lived.

Perhaps.

Having seen how he trembled back then, I can still feel a sharp pain in my arms, even now.

The Witch King... The Witch King.

I, Kreide, those who got infected inadvertently, and those who were forcefully infected...

The wounds that the Witch King left on Leithanien have yet to heal, but now there are those who thirst for his return, and there are even nobles who are sheltering his remnants and facilitating their research.

Oh, how I dread...

I dread I won't live to see the day they all meet justice.

*Cough*, *cough* *cough*...

You will live.

No need to comfort me, Junge Frau.

I've lived with him for all these years. It's a miracle that I'm still alive today.

He is like a real grandson to me.

I brought him here because I was actually thinking of introducing him to Biegler and setting him up with a job as an agent.

That way, I would at least get to die knowing he's in good hands.

But now... It doesn't really to me so much anymore.

I always thought... it was my fate to give my life to Their Majesties as an agent, but it seems... that's not really all there is, heh...

Sir...

Crash.

A tremendous noise comes from inside.

Go, let this old grandpa sit here a little longer. Go help them.

If you don't feel well, be sure to call my name!

The Voice of Mundane did not have a name, at first.

The melody was abandoned by the Witch King, after all.

It was a melody improvised by him on the spur of the moment and transcribed by his court musicians.

If the Witch King's complete pieces are howls from a deep abyss, then these fragments are indeed still melodies of the mortal realm.

And thus, these fragments were named the Voice of Mundane.

Be that as it may, the Witch King's power is still immensely terrifying.

Ebenholz, I may have asked you to show your purist form in music, but now—

I want you to think back to your life the past two dozen-or-so years. Let your resentfulness pour out.

Music is a portraiture of your life. It's the steps you take, the eyes you peer into the world with!

Don't let your emotions cloud you, but don't betray your emotions either! Explore, vent, and drag your melody out from the deepest parts of your soul!

I... I found it...

Right, that's it! That's exactly what I want!

That's the melody that was carved into your brain... It's the melody of destruction, and it is a ravaging one.

And you, Kreide, I need the opposite from you. I need you to constrain yourself.

You are too unreserved. You encompass everything that you've experienced. Do you know that your kindness is your greatest weakness?

Are you reconciling? Why are you reconciling? Why should you reconcile? Who has the right to ask you to reconcile?

Everyone thinks you deserve better. The idea has crossed your mind too, hasn't it?!

I...

You still aren't willing to change the way you think, huh?

Fine. Fine.

This is enough.

I can feel your melody too—

A void. A void that swallows everything whole.

Hngh...

Urgh...

Bear with it!

The energies of two wildly different Originium Arts begin to entangle with one another inside the room as anguished expressions start to appear on the two young men's faces.

Czerny knows it is time for him to join in.

Keep playing. Do not fret. If you feel something's wrong with your body, stop immediately.

But If you do feel something's off, and you're not the one to blame——

Then leave it to me.

Czerny sits in front of the piano, takes a deep breath, and starts playing as well.

However, when he attempts to sort out the two totally different surges of energy, he realizes just how much he overestimated his abilities.

The melody is strong, full of anger, terrifying, solemn, bloody—

Above all, it's a melody that fully immerses its listeners.

One moment, he's suddenly filled with hatred toward the Witch King. The next second, he has a heartfelt admiration for him.

One moment, he feels as though he is a newborn child, but he immediately feels the passage of time and its effects on his body. The very next second, he is as old as the hills.

He forces himself to keep his appearance intact with what little sanity he has left, but he feels as though he is walking in a boundless desert. The sandstorm is too powerful, and he cannot open his eyes.

He tries his best to shake the sand off. Then, he sees a towering wall that reaches even the sky. There is nothing on the wall. No pain, no anger, and no death.

It's a simple, unadorned wall.

At that very moment, he finally realizes. That is a wall he will never be able to overcome.

His mind is instantly filled with fear.

Gah!

Czerny coughs violently, sending blood gushing out of his mouth.

His cough is so intense that he tries to get up for a drink of water, only for him to stagger and knock down the music stand next to him.

Hey, are you alright?!

Herr Czerny!

I heard something just now! What happened?

A trifle, nothing more.

Now I see it. It's not that no one has ever attempted to do what I did. It's just that people who tried are all dead.

Ha, haha...

Hahahahahaha!

You're laughing?!

Mr. Czerny, You're bleeding out of your mouth... Let me wipe that for you.

How did you two feel just now?

When we drew out the Voice of Mundane, it felt very much like I was getting torn apart.

But after you joined in, it did feel like a lot of the pressure faded.

At the very least, this proves that my idea is workable.

But you're already...

I coughed up some blood, that's all. I know my own body better than anyone.

Let's continue.

Czerny sits back on his bench.

He closes his eyes and begins to ponder a question.

Who is Czerny?

He answers himself: Czerny is a coward.

He once hid underneath the wings of his dear friend and teacher, thinking that he could live his whole life through music.

Yet the death of his dear friend, the torments of Oripathy, and poverty all worked together to make him realize that he is but an ordinary man.

You will die.

I've lived this long because Gertrude still thinks I have value, and so she paid for my medication and kept me alive for a few years longer than most other Infected.

But if I can't finish this piece today, I might as well be dead.

If you don't want me to die a meaningless death, pick up your flute.

He answers: Czerny is a man who sees music as everything.

Before he was famous, the people of the Afterglow showed nothing but grief and sorrow whenever he went outside. They had no appreciation for the beauty of music because they didn't know whether they would live to see the next day.

To make ends meet, he had no choice but to accept Gertrude's suggestion and become a spectacle for the nobles in the music halls left behind by the Witch King, like some kind of rare animal.

Life was way too complicated, and he wanted to go back inside his house.

At all those times, it was always music that kept him from running.

He has more than music, but it is with music that he expresses everything about him.

Kreide, your performance is too weak.

But...

Don't worry about me. You don't have that right!

This is about your survival, not mine. Do not ever think it is a virtue to sacrifice yourself!

Your sacrifice is also a burden!

Scream, vent, and fight for the reward that should've been yours!

I... understand.

Finally, he answers: Czerny is a man who resists fate.

Is music how he resists his fate, then?

No! Music is his struggle, his howl, and his song.

He is struggling for his friend who passed away before fulfilling her musical ideals.

He is howling for those who cannot speak.

He is singing for those who was born into suffering yet still have joy within their hearts.

In that case, is he performing in someone else's stead?

No! He knows how his friend was unwilling to die, he walked the streets where those who cannot speak gather, and he brought music to those who are trying to seek joy despite their sufferings.

Once again, he stands in front of that high wall—the Witch King. He knows he can never overcome this wall.

But, this time, he instead reminisces about the joy of discussing music with his dear friend, he remembers the love and respect he receives from the Afterglow's residents, and he remembers the morning sun he sees at the beginning of each day.

And that is why he says—

Right now, I am my own opponent.

*cough*, ourgh.

Mr. Czerny, you're coughing up blood again!

(He's not listening to me at all...)

Let's go get some rest, Ebenholz.

But––

We don't need to be here anymore.

What we need to do is rest up and wait for Herr Czerny to finish his new piece.

Hibiscus, take care of him.

At the very least, I won't let him collapse before me. Now go.

Czerny's enemy is not the Witch King.

Even though the Witch King's offenses were heinously profuse, even though he disdains that monarch, he is still forced to concede that music itself stands unrelated to good or evil.

His opponent is himself, at this very moment.

He no longer tries to scale the wall so despairingly high.

He begins to perform.

Beneath his feet appears a platform. It brings him up in unbroken ascent, up through the clouds.

Though still no end to the wall can be seen, he no longer cares.

Even though he can feel the turbulent power dash about his body, and he cannot hold back further coughs of blood.

Hibiscus, to one side, is even given the illusion—

She can almost see Czerny's life flying by in accelerando, but at the same time, the score he writes rages:

Take it, take it all! Take everything of him!

Today marks the day of Czerny's death!

But Czerny's music will never die!

And day breaks.

*cough* *cough*, *cough*, *cough*...

It's... com... plete...

That's such a relief! You're—

The musician strains to lift himself, but his upper body crashes against the piano, and he leaves a discordant coda in the shining dawn.