The 8th Platoon Leader pushed through the piles of earth and sent wind flowing beneath. The wind that entered like that did not return. It gave weight to the 6th Battalion Commander’s words that there was indeed space below.
Of course, that space wouldn’t have remained intact after the collapse. But if it wasn’t fully blocked and was still connected somewhere, the phenomenon of the wind not returning made sense.
Even so, there was no trace of people—no movement, no presence at all.
The 8th Platoon Leader slipped through the gaps under the earth, squeezing her body from one space into another. The others did the same. They were digging through the lifted piles of soil one by one, searching for survivors.
Delua had said the radius of earth she could lift was limited, but the amount of soil and rock currently suspended in the air was enormous.
There she was, arms pressed against the ground, enduring at the very center of the magic circle. The process had already been repeated several times. Darkness had fallen, and still, there was no progress.
Her breath was short. Sweat dripped heavily, gathering at her chin. Delua wiped the sticky trail from her philtrum to the corner of her mouth with her sleeve. The navy cloth came away darkly stained—not with sweat but thick blood. As she stared at it blankly, red drops fell onto the back of her hand.
Delua let out a hollow laugh.
“Ah, Commander, where are you! Why isn’t that bastard Meterion coming back!”
Her irritated voice rang through the air, making the 3rd Battalion members nearby flinch.
While the Commander was missing, Meterion Clinder, commander of the 3rd Battalion, had only sent a handful of men to cooperate in the search, saying, “The Commander won’t die from something like that,” while the main force pressed ahead.
Meanwhile, Flynn was checking the readings on about a hundred mana detectors installed nearby, one by one. Sweat poured like rain, but he had no time to notice.
He was among the most anxious and desperate, throwing himself into the search so fully that it pained those watching. Yet, to his frustration, not a single detector showed a proper reaction.
“...Strange.”
He muttered to himself, frowning.
Excluding Kenis Weber, the other three missing were all mana users at battalion commander level or above. However he considered it, it was bizarre that their mana could not be sensed at all.
Flynn had heard Delua’s account of “a certain space where mana is suppressed and monsters’ energy disappears.” But even if that were true, he hadn’t imagined there would be no response whatsoever, even after scattering detectors over such a vast area.
Occasionally, when one went off, it turned out to be a search member’s mana, not anyone buried underground. In the end, Flynn concluded there must truly be something blocking their mana.
‘If not... then worst case, they’re already...’
The unpleasant thought made him tug at his hair. He forced himself to focus. They were among the strongest in the empire. Even if the collapse was unimaginable in scale, if it was them, they had to still be alive somewhere.
“Ugh... Flynn Levernil, think. What would the Commander do?”
Flynn sank down in the middle of the wasteland, ruffling his hair, head bowed low.
Earth manipulators were struggling too—the depth was beyond their reach, and the soil was mixed with rocks and monster corpses, making it impossible to distinguish humans.
What’s more, careless shifting could trigger another landslide. That was why Delua’s command was crucial. And why she had called the 8th Platoon Leader—not just for wind control, but because someone who could sense the wind itself was needed even when mana failed.
If there truly was a boundary blocking mana beyond a certain depth, then perhaps they could find the missing not through mana, but through other traits.
According to Delua, underground mana use wasn’t completely cut off, only reduced by half.
Flynn’s thoughts led him to pull out an artifact—a heat detector. If it was Leonardo Blaine, any magic he used would produce heat. By detecting hot spots, perhaps he could be found.
But that hope shattered the moment Flynn switched it on.
“Ah.”
This was the Elder Millie Peninsula. In this volcanic zone, already blazing with geothermal heat, the detector lit instantly. There was no way to pinpoint anyone with it.
As futility closed in, Flynn thought of the opposite case.
‘Cold.’
He leapt up, took the detector, and crawled under the lifted earth Delua held aloft. He pressed the device here and there.
If the light went out, that could mean the Commander was there.
He prayed earnestly now for the light to vanish on this detector, which had always betrayed him before—back in Frost, when he had prayed instead for it to glow.
But despite his desperate hope, even after long searching, the light never went out.
****
“Huh...?”
When fatigue weighed on everyone, Flynn suddenly doubted his eyes.
Two hours after tossing aside the mana detector and relying solely on the heat detector, its light went out for the first time.
He inhaled sharply and shook the device. Moving beyond a certain radius, the light returned. Coming back to this point, it went out again.
Near him, the 8th Platoon Leader stood with her palm pressed to a pile of earth, her expression focused. He hadn’t noticed when she arrived, but now he knew instinctively she had come here for the same reason as him.
“Platoon Leader, do you sense something?”
At his question, she raised her head.
“This area—the flow is strange.”
Hearing that, conviction filled Flynn’s eyes. He thrust the darkened detector toward her.
“The heat detector, which was on constantly, only goes out here.”
She flinched at the sight, then stepped back a few paces, equally convinced, and said,
“Get behind me and put up a barrier. I’m going to dig.”
At once, Flynn moved behind her, raising a barrier to shield them both. The 8th Platoon Leader stretched out her arm toward the spot. Air began to spiral from her fingertips, and a grayish-white magic circle flared to life.
“Air Blast.”
Shock waves pounded the ground. Explosive cracks resounded as rocks and soil flew, drawing the eyes of the searchers.
At the sudden roar, Delua—standing atop a mound—strained to see below. She couldn’t afford to break her concentration, or those beneath °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° might be buried. Instead, she shouted with all her strength.
“What! What’s happening down there!”
Ignoring her voice, the 8th Platoon Leader continued hammering diagonal blasts into the ground. With repeated strikes on the same point, the earth opened up, gouging a vast pit deep enough to hold six or seven people.
But when the hole reached a certain depth, her blasts stopped hitting, slipping past as if missing their mark. She halted, then leapt straight into the pit. Flynn followed.
Delua had cleared earth down roughly thirty meters from the surface. The 8th Platoon Leader and Flynn dug another ten meters below that. When they landed in the lowest depths, the soil that had been damp and warm carried a sudden, chilling cold.
The 8th Platoon Leader lowered herself again, feeling for the air’s flow.
And then, strange vibrations throbbed from beneath the ground.
