CHAPTER 2
Night of the Witch Hunt, Part II
1
The Nebulis palace.
A fortress constructed by the Founder Nebulis and other astral mages persecuted in Imperial territory. Comprised of the three spires—the Star, Moon, and Solar—and the Queen’s Palace, the castle had four distinct towers known to the Empire. At this moment, an Imperial unit was hatching a plan to invade the Queen’s Palace.
“Whoa there! That was close…”
Six inches in front of the Imperial soldiers, the floating glass corridor called the Moon Diadem was caving in, smashing to pieces as they entered the corridor.
“Oof. Construction hazard. If I didn’t back away fast enough, I would’ve been plunging headfirst to the ground. We’re practically up as high as a skyscraper here. That was super-scary.”
“Gah! …Mei!”
At least one person had been too late. The commanding officer of the unit grasped the edge of the shattering floor and screamed. Any attempts to scramble back up might have made the floor give way further and send the officer hurtling to the ground.
“P-please help me!”
“Now what’ll I do with you, Commanderino? Didn’t I tell you to get out of the way?” a wild female soldier responded to him with an exasperated smile. The Saint Disciple of the third seat. The Incessant Tempest, Mei.
Though she was small, the arms peeking from her tank top were tough as steel, her long hair in disarray, skin tanned, and glimpses of her long canines peeking from her lips. The gleam in her eyes gave her the look of a large feline predator.
“Sheesh. You sure are helpless.”
She grabbed the back of the commanding officer’s neck and threw him high into the sky behind her with one hand, tossing the soldier, who was well over two hundred pounds, like he was an empty water bottle.
Thump. He crashed into the corridor.
“Th-thank you ver—”
“You think that saved your life?” a voice called out, ahead of the Imperial troops from the shattering midair corridor. A girl touched down from the glass ceiling into the passageway. “You’ll meet your end here, Imperial soldiers. Because I will eliminate you.”
A black-haired girl, almost childish. Her dress was sparkly, and her monotone cadence made her seem doll-like.
Kissing Zoa Nebulis IX. That was how she had introduced herself when they first crossed paths. She opened her arms, which was the harbinger of thousands of miniscule needles appearing all over her body.
“I will erase you. Disappear from my presence.”
The purple thorns materialized out of thin air, almost looking like a sea urchin’s. They rained down on Mei, humming ominously as they approached her.
“Oh, yikes.” Mei leaped, a ferocious smile on her face, and touched the ceiling thirteen feet above her. The floor below was riddled with holes as Kissing’s spikes pierced through it.
Had the floor melted away? Or had it simply disappeared?
The Imperial unit held their breath as they watched the terrifying scene.
“Ha-ha. I get it now. So you can erase physical matter.”
The only voice that called out was Mei’s, incredibly jovial, as she clung onto the chandelier.
“Here I was, thinking you were the space-time interference variety, but it looks like you haven’t erased any space. So you interfere with matter with your planetary type of astral power. Isn’t that right?”
The needles that had blotted the floor out of existence began to track their prey once again. Mei observed them.
“I’ve heard witches with second-generation astral power from the planetary core have purple crests. Mind letting me get a look at yours?”
“Alas, I’m a young lady, and I have no intention of exposing any skin.”
“Ha. A young lady? That’s something coming from you—you almost sound human, when you’re a witch with blood on her hands. Is that your way of telling me you wanna become human, monster?”
“……”
“I’ll rip off that pretty little costume of yours.”
Kissing wore a resplendent royal garment, which was exclusively reserved for the descendants of the Founder. It was perfectly tailored to her dainty frame.
“I wanted a purebred sample to play with. I’m gonna tear that cute little dress apart until I get a peek at that astral crest of yours, wherever it is.”
“Sounds like a grand time,” Kissing replied.
Even as Mei showered the girl with impressive threats, the charming black-haired witch listened, acting like she was comforted by Mei’s words.
“Imperial soldiers seem to be just as savage as my uncle On has told me. That works perfectly for me. I won’t have to hold back. I can do unspeakable things to you—disappear, Imperial subject.”
Her needles combined, forming a whip like a barbed wire. Kissing gripped the lash of thorns and cracked it. As if the whip had a mind of its own, it snaked wildly through the air, coming after the Saint Disciple hanging off the chandelier overhead.
“Silly Imperial subject. I’ll have you disappear before you even reach the ground.”
Checkmate.
Mei’s only option was to kick off the chandelier into the open air, but even if she managed to dodge the crack of the whip, the weapon was made from a cluster of thorns. The whip would trail after her, and the spot where she stood would cease to exist.
“Is that what you think?” Faster than the thorns could prick her, Mei kicked the chandelier as a foothold and launched herself at the witch. “I’ll baptize you…in glass.”
“Huh?!”
Mei should have had one choice. Observing the entire fight, Kissing and Mei’s Imperial soldiers had been convinced of that.
They never would have imagined that this would happen—that she would have kicked the chandelier, which weighed several hundred pounds, spraying glass bullets down on Kissing.
The astral power activated its automatic defense. The thorns, which should have been going after Mei, switch direction in an instant, meeting the shower of glass bullets and erasing every single one of them.
“You used my astral power’s defense mechanism against me?!”
“What? Oh, you’ve lived a sheltered life for someone with such strong powers. If you don’t know strategy, you’re hardly a witch. You sure you’re not just a doll?”
The Saint Disciple took her time getting back down to the floor, graceful as a cat. She was nearly silent until she landed, and fragments of glass crunched underfoot.
Mei snapped her fingers. “Or maybe you’ll be the one riddled with holes, little miss… Fire.”
Gunshots echoed in the corridor. The four Imperial soldiers on standby behind Mei were carrying their automatic TH87 rifles—anti-witch equipment that could shoot six hundred bullets per minute.
Four guns firing forty bullets per second. They could even blast away the anti–astral power riot shields of the astral corps.
“Have you forgotten that I’m a descendant of the Founder?”
All the rounds disappeared into empty air right before they came into contact with Kissing. Hundreds of bullets had been fired at her, which would have pulverized any human, but they vanished like magic.
“…Impossible! But there were so many!”
Ping. The noise signaled they were out of ammo. After using up a magazine, one of the Imperial soldiers froze, fear on his face. Everyone assumed a purebred would be able to defend herself against a spray of bullets, but the Imperial soldier started to panic when he saw it happen in front of him—because Kissing’s Thorns had protected her.
Thorns weren’t meant to guard anyone against bullets, unlike wind barriers or surges.
To defend herself against forty high-speed bullets per second, she would have needed to snipe every single one. It was like firing hundreds of rounds to shoot down hundreds of enemy bullets. This level of precision wasn’t achievable without the most cutting-edge interception systems from the Empire.
“…Are you saying you shot all of them down?!”
“Of course, seeing that I’m of the Zoa.”
Purple astral light radiated from Kissing’s entire body. Thorns emerged from the light, soaring into the air.
“The Zoa have a method of controlling astral power that Imperial subjects have not encountered from fighting the Lou and the Hydra… Oh, I shouldn’t have said that. My uncle On told me not to say a word about that to anyone.”
The three bloodlines each had their own field of research. The Zoa were experimenting with berserking and controlling astral power. The Lou and Hydra hadn’t been successful in controlling their attacks. While Queen Mirabella and Alice possessed powers that could accidentally be directed toward their allies, Kissing could target only her enemies. She had defended herself from the bullets using that precision control.
“A slip of the tongue. There shouldn’t be any issues if I make all who know this secret disappear. In that case…”
Mei got down on one knee to the floor. “Ruined King Hurricane, engage,” declared the Saint Disciple of the third seat, the Incessant Tempest. The exposed skin on her shoulder tore open, splattering blood.
Kissing had done nothing. Mei had positioned herself as if she was carrying something, which then made her shoulder ooze with blood like sharp claws had dragged through her skin.
“Uh!” For the first time in her life, the purebred felt something cold tingling through her body. Something was wrong.
She could feel with her body that she’d never experienced this kind of threat during her rigorous training arranged by the House of Zoa.
“My thorns, tear that woman apar—”
“It’s too late.”
That was her death sentence.
The active-camouflage weapon that Mei shouldered returned to its original form and engaged. The once-invisible object transformed into a gigantic battering gun with a dull sheen. An electronic-control-type autocannon, Model 36—the Ruined King Hurricane. The weapon in the shape of a battleship could fire a thousand bullets per second, and there was no astral power that could defend against that, be it flames, wind, lightning, ice, water, or earth.
This weapon could annihilate any astral mage.
“Did I forget to tell you? My nickname’s the Incessant Tempest. I’ll teach you why I’m called that.” Mei grinned, flashing her sharp canines. Her body seemed to have the charm of a cat and the bloodlust of a lion. “Bye-bye, cute little witch.”
Kissing, the Witch of Thorns, heard the roar of the storm as it blew toward her.
Queen’s Palace. Midair garden.
The area was blasted by heat waves, carrying the scent of garden flowers, smoke, and cinders, which began to irritate the sinuses of the two people who occupied the space.
“Oops, I almost forgot. Could I ask you one question, lovely Saint Disciple?”
On Zoa Nebulis. Smartly dressed in a black suit, he was one of the few people allowed to give orders in place of the head of the Zoa, which was one of the three royal bloodlines. Because he hid the old scars on his face under a mask, he had taken on the alias of Lord Mask.
“I neglected to ask something very important. Would you mind telling me how you made your way into the Queen’s Palace?”
The door to the Queen’s Palace was closed. There were no other Imperial soldiers who had managed to explore beyond its doors. So how had this woman invaded the palace alone?
“Hmm. I would prefer not to reveal my trade secrets.” The tall, bespectacled Saint Disciple tilted her head, putting on an act. Then her tone relaxed. “I don’t dislike your bold questioning of the enemy.”
The Saint Disciple of the fifth seat, Risya. Known as the adviser to the Lord Yunmelngen, she had left the Imperial capital of her own volition to fight. That fact alone was enough to show that the Empire meant serious business.
“I’m not asking you to disclose your tricks, but why not give me something to work off of?”
“I’ll give you a hint, but that’s it. Your front door was closed.”
“Okay.” Lord Mask On put his hand to his chin as he hummed in a low voice. “In which case, I suppose I’ll—”
He winked out of sight. Only his voice was left behind as the masked man slipped into the night like he was melting into darkness.
“Grk.”
“—hear the rest from a Saint Disciple’s body.”
Risya heard him from behind.
He had teleported. The tip of Lord Mask’s knife plunged into Risya’s back—or it should have.
“What the—?”
“…Whoa. That was close. I thought you might try that.”
The tip of the knife cut through air. Lord Mask cried out in surprise as Risya—the Saint Disciple and adviser of the Lord—nimbly circled around him. She seemed to glide backward.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. I already know about your surprise attacks, unfortunately. Do you remember an Imperial soldier named Mismis by any chance?”
“Mismis?”
“At Mudor Canyon, you kicked a commander into the vortex. Remember? I guess it doesn’t matter if you remember.” Over her glasses, she stared down her foe. “I was classmates with her, you see, so I’ve heard plenty about you.”
“…Mismis. Oh, now I remember. You mean that petite woman. So that’s how you know. That makes sense. Well, my powers don’t amount to much, as you might be aware.” He tucked his clean knife away into his breast pocket. “Lady Risya, are you telling me that you’re the only one who was promoted to Saint Disciple from your cohort of commanders?”
“More or less.”
“It seems to me that the pecking order in the Imperial forces is a delicate one. I’m sure someone as talented as you must invite envy from your peers.”
“I’m used to it.” The Saint Disciple took off her black-rimmed glasses.
Lord Mask wasn’t just imagining that her eyes seemed even sharper now that she’d removed her thin frames.
“I mean, this is the fourth time I’ve been twenty-two.”
“…Hmm?”
“Oh, but that’s a secret between you and me. If anyone were to find out, the Lord would give me an earful.” She hooked her finger around a hinge of her glasses, skillfully swinging them around her finger as she grinned.
And it’s not like you can use that against me. Her eyes gleamed, provoking him.
“Imperial soldiers apply themselves day in and day out. We must train if we’re to face witches and sorcerers.”
“This is quite something. I thought you were a young lady, but you’re actually an old, seasoned veteran with a long history.”
“Oh no, I’m a young lady. Restarting life before I reach my thirties is just my way of doing things. I’m a blossoming young lady full of grace.” Risya waved her free hand and smiled. “The secret isn’t some miracle antiaging drug or plastic surgery. It’s much more painful and frightening. If you want to know more, you’re welcome to come to the Empire and find out for yourself.”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s a shame. Oh, I know. Based on the task given by the Eight Great Apostles—”
Fwoom. He felt the slightest sense that something was off. Hidden within the evening air that whipped around them, he heard a sound like someone was cutting through space.
“We were told to capture a purebred.”
A thread twinkled, thinner than a strand of hair. It had wrapped itself around the masked man’s neck. For the first time, the elegant man couldn’t hold back the surprise in his voice.
“What?!”
Then he teleported. Risya looked at Lord Mask, who warped just two yards ahead, and the thread of light that had failed to capture its target reeled back into her hands.
“Oh, too bad. I’m impressed you noticed.” She moved like a spider after missing her prey by a hair’s breadth. The Saint Disciple smiled bitterly. “Do you know about the carotid sinus reflex? It’s the tenderest spot of the human body.”
“……”
“Any man, no matter how great, will lose consciousness within five seconds if pressure is applied at the right point on his neck. And since it’s painless, it’s hard to respond to it before it’s too late. If I’d tugged on the thread around your neck just a little quicker, I would have made you drop to the floor. Blame me for being inexperienced.”
Lord Mask was silent. The sharpest member of the Zoa realized something about the Saint Disciple’s hands. As she continued to spin her glasses, astral light came out of her fingertips.
“Astral powers are so inconvenient. Even the thinnest of threads glow with astral energy, making them easy to detect at night. I wish it was the afternoon.”
“……”
“Well, think of this as payback. It’s much more civilized compared to how you went around my back—a young lady’s back, I might mention—and tried to pierce me with a knife.”
Astral energy was an inexplicable force that astral powers discharged. It was not something that humans could produce. Only mages with astral powers were blessed with its use.
So how could a Saint Disciple from the Empire use such a thing?
“Imperial servants really are irredeemable,” growled a low voice from behind the mask, stifled, but bone-chilling. “You might condemn us as witches and sorcerers, yet you use astral powers behind our backs. You’re the same as us—just in a Saint Disciple’s skin…”
“You’re directing your anger at the wrong person.”
“Hmm?”
“I won’t deny that we’ve been experimenting with how to bond astral powers with humans, but we never could have done it without help from the royal family.”
“…So you’re saying there are traitors among us.” The man in black rapped on the edge of his mask with his fingertip. “The Zoa have already come to that conclusion, but I welcome all information. Why don’t you tell me their names while you’re at it?”
“Oh, you’re so slow.” Risya put her glasses back on, looking at the Founder’s descendant past her thin lenses. Her mouth curved into a smirk. “Do you really need me to deliver some stodgy line—‘I’ll tell you if you win against me’—for you to get the hint?”
“Oh, forgive me.”
“That’s why you can’t escape.”
Risya In Empire. The Saint Disciple of the fifth seat spread her arms in front of the masked purebred. Star threads appeared from Risya’s fists and dispersed into the air, beginning to cover the garden like a spiderweb. This was astral power—fourth-generation Weave. It didn’t exist within the Nebulis Sovereignty because this astral power had appeared in a vortex in the Empire’s own domain.
“Don’t you want to know all my secrets? You don’t want to let me out of your sight, right? That’s why you could never leave this place.”
“That’s exactly what I want.”
Lord Mask On straightened himself and bowed with perfected grace.
It was like an evening masquerade. In attendance were a gentleman and lady who’d had a chance encounter—their exchange almost like an invitation for a dance.
“A beautiful young lady has called upon me. I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I was to decline.”
“I won’t say I’m not a fan of your theatrics. However…” The adviser of the Lord narrowed her eyes before twisting around in a fascinating manner and tucking her limbs in close to her body. “I think I might like your unadorned face better. Your true face behind the mask—a hideous, inhuman form. It seems like it would be fitting for a sorcerer.”
“Even I don’t remember what I look like under it.”
“I’ll make you show me—even if that means I rip the thing off your face.”
Their eyes were like the void as they spoke to each other.
The sorcerer and the Saint Disciple launched off the ground at the same time, as if they were about to dance.
2
Meanwhile…in the Moon Spire, which was connected to the Moon Diadem, the midair corridor leading to the Queen’s Palace…
Plink-plink…
Plink… Pebbles hit the floor, special crystals from the ceiling and remains that had made up the walls of the spires until a few seconds ago. These stones were hard enough that mid-grade impacts wouldn’t chip their exterior.
And yet, the walls had caved in like a sandcastle, leaving a gaping hole.
That was the work of the electronic-control-type autocannon, Model 36—the Ruined King Hurricane. A single individual-use weapon had dealt this destruction.
“Whew. That packed a punch.”
Mei tossed the gigantic autocannon onto the ground. Wielding the weapon on her shoulder had torn through her skin. She was bleeding. The recoil of the gun had forced her feet to dig into the floor.
What was noteworthy wasn’t the gun but Mei herself. The soldier had been carrying the weapon since she had invaded the palace, invisible because of active camouflage. It was designed to be lighter, but the cannon still weighed a substantial amount. It had originally been made for a warship. Mei had been walking around, jumping, and running, shouldering that weapon the entire time.
Just as the witches and sorcerers had their astral powers, she had been blessed with a gift: peculiar physical makeup.
“Ma’am, um…I believe we were trying to capture the purebred alive…”
“Oh, whoopsie. Got carried away.” Mei put on a forced smile.
A mountain of rubble had formed in the corridor, which was clouded with dust. It was difficult to see, even through the scope of a gun.
Anyone hit by a thousand bullets per second wouldn’t retain a humanlike form.
“I feel compelled to bully sheltered little girls. I mean, I was born surrounded by gunfire. I survived off muddy water and dug the rot from my festering wounds… The battlefield means life or death. But the purebreds have life different.”
By chance, they were born into their powers. That was the only reason they were guaranteed a sheltered life. They could waltz onto the battlefield if they felt like it and beat back Imperial soldiers like they were fleas.
The purebreds looked upon the Imperial soldiers with scorn, as if asking, Why are you so weak?
Had the Empire persecuted witches? No.
The witches were the ones looking down on the humans.
Mei and the soldiers under her command basically lived on the battlefield. They had seen the witches mock the weak humans. Naturally, the Nebulis Sovereignty itself never admitted to this.
Was the Sovereignty after a world that didn’t persecute astral mages?
That had to be a lie.
Out of everyone, the Founder’s descendants belittled humans the most, even as they extolled such virtues.
“That’s what really gets me up in a bunch. Don’t you agree, Commanderino?”
“Yes, ma’am. We’re only human in this fight.”
The Empire had its own idea of justice. The Imperial soldiers—simply human—would dedicate themselves to training before finally being tossed onto the battlefield.
And then…they would be kicked aside by the witches, who had been born strong. Rumors of inhuman Imperial weapons might make the rounds, but the soldiers were almost always the ones being hurt by the astral corps.
“Hence why Imperial soldiers use our brains, little miss. That goes for my weapon and our raid. I bet you don’t get it, though, seeing as how you’ve got rose-colored glasses on.”
Mei tutted at the pile of rubble. She glanced at her reports, then turned her back to them. She heard the debris clattering before it tumbled away and blasted into the air.
“……”
“Ma’am?”
“Oh, good. We were trying to take one of them alive, after all. I’m glad you’re safe.”
Mei looked ahead…craning her neck to see the pile of rubble that let out an earsplitting screech as it melted away like ice.
“No!”
“H-how could she be alive after taking those bullets?!”
“Quiet down, Commanderino. Keep back and watch. The astral corps will be gathering any minute because of that gunfire anyway.”
Either way, her reports wouldn’t be any use to her. If a shot from the Ruined King Hurricane hadn’t been enough to stop the purebred in her tracks, any sort of backup fire would hardly serve any purpose.
“Looks like the purebred wasn’t unharmed.”
“……Uh…ah……” The girl’s breath was ragged as she struggled to get out of a hole in the rubble.
Her tailored royal garb had been reduced to tatters. Her white skin, untouched by the sun, had been scraped by debris, leaving it bloody.
Her black hair, like silk, was white with dust.
And most importantly…her cute face was crumpled from fear and pain.
“Ow… Ouch… Is this…my blood…?”
It wasn’t that Kissing had never experienced defeat. Against the Imperial swordsman Iska, she’d sustained an unexpected loss. This Saint Disciple Mei, however, had something that he had not.
Anger. The wrath of thousands—tens of thousands of Imperial soldiers—toward the witches.
They didn’t want peace. Kissing hadn’t felt such animosity in her battle with Iska. She hadn’t sensed that he wanted all witches to be wiped out.
At this moment, she’d learned something new, the nature of war.
“…Uncle On, I think I understand now.” Her eyes glittered but not from a change in character.
Kissing’s eyes were literally glittering in front of the soldiers.
“Whoa. I see. I was wondering why I wasn’t seeing your astral crest even after your clothes were ruined. So your astral crest is in your eyes.”
Her astral crest glittered behind her eyes. When Kissing had made her entrance, she had covered them with a blindfold. Even the Empire had no information that astral crests could be in such a place. She had to be a rarity even among purebreds.
“Now that’s piqued my interest. I’d like you as a sample all the more.”
“……” Kissing suddenly stood up and touched the cut on her cheek. She looked down at the red droplets on her fingertips. “I’ve realized something. War isn’t a good thing, not in the slightest. Continuing this would be a waste of time. Particularly seeing as how it’s so painful.”
“Oh? Had a change of heart?” Mei quipped back.
“Yes. Let’s end this war.” The girl in her shredded dress spread her arms toward the sky that stretched behind her. Her eyes radiated murder. “By eliminating all the Imperial forces!”
The air whined.
In a few seconds, thorns materialized in the sky, blotting out the light. It was a march of thorns—the Whole of Destruction.
There were hundreds of thousands of them, enough to wipe out an airship and maybe even the Moon Spire. They circled overhead, instantly spreading over Mei and the soldiers.
“What?!”
“…Huh. Now that’s quite a look on your face.”
The girl was seething.
She had lost control. Nothing was keeping her from destroying the Moon Spire, nor did she fear death.
Kissing was a purebred. She’d taken on the form of one of the monsters that the Empire had never once been able to capture in history.
“Ma’am! We’re surrounded by her astral attack!”
“I have eyes. Get your butt into gear, Commanderino. You’ve gotta kill or be killed.”
“Do you think you can kill me? I won’t show you a shred of mercy,” warned Kissing.
All the thorns had spread out to create a barrier. Because of their number, Mei couldn’t wipe them out with a barrage from the Ruined King Hurricane.
The Saint Disciple, however, smiled ferociously.
“‘Mercy,’ you say? Still haven’t learned your lesson?”
“…?”
“Don’t get excited just ’cause you survived one hit.”
The Ruined King Hurricane was still on the ground as the Saint Disciple traced the surface of it with her fingertips.
“You want to hear me predict the future? The next time you hear gunfire will be the last.”
“Yes, the last for you, Imperial soldiers.” Kissing sounded confident as she made her thorns soar into the air.
Mei let another feral grin slip onto her face, certain of victory.
Who was bluffing? Neither of them. The Saint Disciple and the purebred were convinced of their win.
They both moved at the same time…Kissing producing all thorns possible to send Mei’s way, Mei aiming the Ruined King Hurricane with its bullets.
Neither had a chance to fire.
Dark-purple creatures that the Imperial soldiers had never seen before tore into the floor, taking the impact of Kissing’s thorns.
“…Huh?!”
“What?!”
The six-legged beasts didn’t dissolve into nothing even as they were engulfed in Kissing’s thorns. They didn’t belong to the Empire. The creatures bared their teeth at both Mei and Kissing before pouncing, mouths split open to their jaws and saliva glowing like astral power dribbled from them. Upon falling to the floor, the drool sizzled, corroding the ground.
Shiver. Mei’s sixth sense—saving her from the brink of death—picked up a threat she could not describe.
Was it a grudge? It reminded her of the very rare astral power of Curses, but she couldn’t tell if it was. The fact that the things could take Kissing’s thorns and remain unscathed was the strangest development of all.
“Kind of seems dangerous. Guess we all have to make a break for it!”
Mei leaped back. The four soldiers didn’t try to argue with her.
“Hey, little miss, this thing, it’s—”
“Don’t tell me it’s…Grandfather Growley’s astral power!” Kissing turned around, blood draining from her face.
The purebred deploying astral power out of anger faced the beasts.
“Wait, Grandfather, these Imperial soldiers are my—”
From out of nowhere came the ominous howl of the beasts.
3
The heads of the three royal families were the most dependable figures, as they served as figurehead of their bloodlines.
So what made them so reliable?
“To be the strongest astral mage. To be ingenious. To have walked many lives. The requirements are terribly clear.”
“And what does it mean to be a queen?”
“It’s not so different from the head of household. If you must press me to say something about her, I suppose favorability in the polls is another factor.” The elderly man in the wheelchair chuckled hoarsely.
The head of the Zoa, Growley. His face was afflicted by wrinkles and old age. Though he was a man over seventy, his voice was surprisingly full and his eyes gleamed fiercely.
“If a beautiful young girl with strong astral powers becomes queen, that’s enough to give the citizens hope.”
“Sounds like you’re dissatisfied. Are you mad that you’re a man who can never be queen?”
“Nonsense. We don’t have qualms with the abilities of our current queen. I’m impressed with how the war automatons—hopeless things thirty years ago—have turned so human.”
The Moon Spire in the Nebulis Sovereignty—a gigantic three-story space illuminated by a light fixture modeled after the full moon and with a multipurpose hall used for events.
On this evening, it had been visited by one of the Empire’s prided assassins.
“That’s right. She was similar to you: like the cold edge of a bloodthirsty sword and a barrier that prevented anyone from coming near her. A marionette for war.”
“Your queen? Similar to me? Ha! I’d rather you not lump me in with a witch. Even I pride myself as a human. We’re different from you.” The Imperial subject snorted. He was the Saint Disciple of the eighth seat, the Invisible Hand of God, Nameless.
His form seemed to wink in and out of sight, seeing that he was clothed from head to toe in a dark-gray coat. He could make himself disappear with active camouflage, a master at silent killing without guns.
“In the old days, I mean. A time when you were a newborn or not of this world.”
Creak, the old man turned his wheelchair slightly.
“Back when she was fourteen or fifteen. That had been her prime—when she was a silent, bloodthirsty killer. During those two years, she was the most powerful queen candidate in all history… Now, her fangs have dulled. Maybe as a consequence from departing the battlefield since becoming the queen or a mother.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“It’s time to change dynasties.” There was power in Growley’s words. “I’m grateful to the Imperial forces. The blame will lie on the queen who has invited chaos. In the coming conclave, the House of Lou will fall—leaving only the Sun and Moon.”
He pointed at the Saint Disciple bathed in light.
“So the Imperial forces have served their purpose. Perish.”
Shadows burst from the old man’s feet. Sprays of purple light flooded the hall before condensing and turning into baying six-legged hounds.
“Did you materialize astral energy?”
“These are avatars. You’re already guilty of a crime. That crime has become your punishment.”
The old man pulled out an iron rod that was embedded in his shoulder, an assassination weapon that resembled the tip of an ice pick. When they had encountered each other minutes ago, the old man had purposefully let Nameless throw the weapon and hit him.
“You became my enemy as soon as you attacked me. Can you escape from your own Vice?”
“Vice? I’m not planning to atone for anything.” Nameless swung one of his hands up. With an underthrow, he flung another iron rod. As soon as it touched the ceiling, sparks scattered above Growley’s head.
A small bomb buried in the rod had denotated. A panel in the ceiling came crashing down and crushed the avatars directly below.
“That does nothing.”
The creatures that had been pinned under the panel crawled out.
“Nothing physical will affect these avatars. Even Imperial missiles wouldn’t be able to defeat them. Isn’t your left arm proof of that?”
“Are they counteroffensive astral powers?” Nameless shielded his immobile left arm and leaped back.
That had come out of the conflict from two minutes before.
He’d attempted to punch an avatar with his left fist as it tried to attack him, but the thing had passed right through him and possessed his arm. It had turned into a curse—corroding away at his arm.
What was Vice?
Just what kind of astral power did this sorcerer have?
“The astral energy reacts to its enemies and evolves. Once it’s grown past a certain point, it takes on the form of a beast to attack. To evolve, it needs the enemy to hurt it… No, that can’t be the only condition. There are multiple things that can trigger its growth. So that’s what this Vice is?”
“I don’t intend to reveal my tricks. I will commend you for being on the right track, however.” Growley smiled like he was snarling. “How about I share one secret with you? These creatures grow indefinitely.”
“An objectionable astral power. Don’t you think it’s counterproductive that it can phase through matter?”
The silent killer kicked off the ground, touching the barrier at the very back of the hallway and ricocheting up, leaping wall to wall. Over the heads of the avatars chasing after him, Nameless raised his right hand.
He held a ceramic knife.
At full speed, Nameless could throw as fast as a gun. The first time, he had aimed for the old man’s shoulder to see what would happen. This time, he aimed for the man’s chest.
The avatars wouldn’t be affected by anything physical. In other words, the knife would pass right through them, doing nothing to stop their advance.
“Disappear, sorcerer, right along with your astral power.”
“With the blooming of flowers comes the wind and rain… Before things can go your way, something will get in your way, youngster.”
The knife stopped.
An arm from another avatar shot out from under the wheelchair, catching the blade that Nameless had thrown. It looked like a human hand.
“…What?!”
“You can’t affect them through physical interference. But they can interact with matter. Do you understand what that means, youngster?”
The Imperial Saint Disciple landed on his feet. “It’s as if you’re claiming you’re invincible.”
“That’s precisely what I am saying.”
The avatars couldn’t be beat. On top of them coming to attack in packs, they turned into an ultimate shield, protecting the old man from any type of physical assault. This was the astral power of Vice.
This counteroffensive power that Growley maintained could turn into something ridiculous once its conditions were met.
“So basically, you and your creatures can’t ever be hurt by your enemy’s attacks. Only you can attack your opponents.”
“Indeed.”
“Now that’s pretty absurd. Seems to me like there’d be some loophole.”
“There is none. Because of that, I’m invincible. Imperial bombs, poison gas, missiles—none of them can defeat me. The proof of that is these seventy years.”
“…………”
“To be crowned head of household isn’t just titular, you know.”
Growley controlled the Zoa.
None of the bombings of the past had come close to defeating this old man. That was the reason Lord Mask and Kissing idolized him.
“If only my legs could move. I would have turned the Imperial capital to ash fifty years ago.”
“We should be in awe of the younger generation. How can we know what they are planning to do?” recited the Imperial subject.
“…What?” The old man was surprised. He narrowed his eyes dubiously. It was an old idiom. Why would the youth of today know the words of a great man of the past?
Any form of past glory would be overwritten in the future. The maxim mocked the old man who boasted seventy years of battle experience. It was the opposite of Growley’s previous quote: “With the blooming of flowers comes wind and rain.”
“You say that would have happened if only your legs were mobile? You exaggerate your former glory. You’ve become old, sorcerer.”
Nameless’s left arm, cursed by the avatar, was still slack and unable to so much as twitch. The Saint Disciple of the eighth seat leaped off the ground once again, fast enough to leave an afterimage as he jumped to the side. By a paper-thin margin, he dodged the silent avatar pursuing him from behind.
“I admit your astral power is extraordinary. However…”
The sorcerer might have purported that the queen’s fangs had dulled, but he, too, was held captive by his old age.
“Your astral power might have remained the same. But hasn’t its wielder gotten old?”
“Ha!” Growley laughed. Marked with age spots, his face contorted, and his lips formed a bemused sneer. “I thought you were just an assassin, but it seems you’re more than that. I haven’t seen one like you in a while. Someone who can hold a decent conversation? Tell me your name.”
“I have no name to offer a monster. Haven’t I already told you that?”
“I’m asking you for your name again. That doesn’t happen often.”
“Has your hearing been affected?”
“How rude.” The elderly man did not hide his joyful tone. “But you cannot prevail over death simply through spirit.”
Behind Nameless, the avatars began to inflate. Vice would grow infinitely. The beasts—once hip level, the size of dogs—spouted three heads and grew tall enough that even the Saint Disciple had to crane his neck to look at them.
“Looks exactly like Cerberus. How big do these things get?”
“Until you exhaust your strength. The greatest record was…about as big as this Moon Spire, I suppose.”
The Cerberus had grown large enough to crush Nameless and seemed dreadfully agile. Congealed astral energy, it remained silent. However…
“Hmm…” Growley doubted his own eyes. They couldn’t catch him. The avatars that had continued to pursue Nameless couldn’t even catch up to a Saint Disciple—a single human.
Just in the same way that Growley was a threat to the Imperial forces, this man was unmistakably a danger to astral mages everywhere.
“If I crush you, then all my vices or whatever will disappear, right?”
Nameless had been approaching the old man with a readied fist. Under his feet, the floor bounced like a rubber ball.
“So they propagate?”
“They don’t just grow. Your vices will continue to breed.”
From under Growley’s wheelchair, new avatars crawled out in the shape of lions. They were even larger than the Cerberus. Nameless had lions to his front and the Cerberus to his back.
He couldn’t manage to escape.
If any part of his enemy touched Nameless, he would corrode from the curse. If it touched his head, that would spell instant defeat. As soon as he realized that, he acted quickly, spinning himself like a top. The acceleration raised his immobilized left arm—into the mouth of the lion that bared its teeth at him.
“You can have it.” He let them chew on his left arm.
Making the lion close its mouth, Nameless let his left arm tear off from the shoulder without a sound before the curse could spread across his body.
“…So you abandoned it!”
“It’s an artificial arm.”
He’d lost it in a battle to the death with a certain mage.
All Imperial soldiers risked their lives. Every Saint Disciple had wandered the boundary of life and death at least once. That was what it took to challenge a purebred.
And now…in exchange for losing his left artificial arm, Nameless stepped toward Growley’s throat.
“—Gh!”
The Saint Disciple’s fist tried to ram into Growley.
An avatar caught that punch. A giant in humanoid form crawled out from under the wheelchair like the walking dead.
“…What?”
“A second crime. You’ve become a second-time offender by trying to attack me. A repeat offense is more sinful, you know.”
The seven vices: surprise attacks, repeat offenses, use of weapons, outnumbering the opponent, destruction, deception, and betrayal.
Nameless had committed the first two. The “surprise attack” of the iron rod in Growley’s shoulder and the “repeat offense.”
Because of that, Vice multiplied in that moment.
“Be engulfed by your sins.”
Five giants reached toward Nameless. The Cerberus and lion dove toward him. The Saint Disciple confronting them had lost his left arm. His right fist had been desecrated by the curse, left immobilized.
“Tsk.”
The ballooning avatars were about to crush him, but right before they could…the highest-ranked combatant from the Empire tsked in irritation and swung his right leg up. He brought it down on the floor.
“You fool. Do you believe the avatars will falter—?”
“They will.”
Nameless’s heel aimed for the object lying on the ground—his own left arm. He stamped on the mechanism that made up his artificial arm and broke it to pieces himself.
A flash of light.
The last trick embedded in his artificial arm had denotated and flooded the hall in light.
“…Is this an anti–astral power grenade?”
“So physical interference doesn’t work on them. But something that obstructs astral power could.”
The avatars around Nameless stopped moving.
The grenade could disturb the wavelengths of astral power over a thirty-yard radius. The only catch was that it was active for exactly two seconds.
The Saint Disciple passed by the avatars surrounding him in a split second and sprinted to the back of the large hall.
“I’ve seen your astral power. I’ll stop it when I see you next.”
“You think I’ll let you escape?”
The Cerberus pounced, chasing Nameless. The giants were hounding after him, ripping apart the walls and ceiling of the spire. They sprang toward the fleeing man.
The only one left behind in the space was the head of house Growley.
“……”
He checked to make sure the Saint Disciple had left the great hall.
“…I didn’t intend to fumble this. That was disrespectful, Imperial soldier.”
The old man spat blood as he tumbled from his wheelchair.
The fist that had struck his chest had smashed his rib cage. He wheezed, using every ounce of strength in him to get back onto his seat.
“You can’t escape. Vice will continue to pursue you to the ends of the Sovereignty.”
Even the head of the Zoa, Growley, had no way of knowing, however…that the Sovereignty had already begun to collapse, with the palace at its core.
4
The Queen’s Palace.
One central tower loomed over the palace made of the Star, Moon, and Solar Spires. A fortress for the queen.
The place was a living labyrinth constructed by astral power. Corridor exits shifted based on the month and day. Every floor had an elevator only operable via astral energy. Even if the Imperial army invaded, they wouldn’t be able to make a single elevator move.
Raiding it should have been impossible.
All in the Sovereignty had trusted the Queen’s Palace for a hundred years.
It was time to destroy their century-long beliefs.
The Queen’s Space.
A quiet place decorated with wine-colored carpets, currently buffeted by intense blasts from outside the windows. It was a shadow of its former glory. The near-freezing evening winds and embers burned the skin.
Amid the chaos…
“Oh, Nebulis Queen,” called out an Imperial assassin, voice echoing through the Queen’s Space.
Technically, it would be imprecise to label one of the Lord’s guardsmen an assassin.
“I don’t intend to draw this out. Besides, the Astrals will be here in minutes. All the more reason to hurry.”
The Saint Disciple of the first seat. The “Flash” Knight, Joheim. Red haired and burly, he wore a personalized battle coat integrated with armor. He took a step forward.
A single step.
As soon as Queen Nebulis IIX recognized that, her bangs blew into disarray.
A change in wind pressure? From that single step?
“Go into eternal rest, right here, right now.”
He brought down his narrow blade.
He had teleported—or so it had seemed as the swordsman pursued her. It almost looked like an illusion.
The queen opened her eyes wide, crying out, “Fire!”
It was an air shot.
A mass of air had been gathering at the ceiling. As if activated by a witch’s incantation, it turned into a bullet that came crashing down, gouging a hole in the floor.
The air current turned into an invisible wall that shielded the queen. She hurried to the second-floor landing. The Saint Disciple was pushed back to the doors of the Queen’s Space, wind sweeping across the room.
“Mira, the Silent Wind. Your powers are violent for such a nickname.”
“You’re stuck decades in the past.” She looked down upon the Imperial swordsman from the landing.
Queen Mirabella Lou Nebulis IIX fixed her disheveled bangs with her hand. She kept herself from putting a hand to her chest. Her heart beat wildly, warning her. It didn’t need to be put into words: She was agitated from the Saint Disciple managing to get close to her with a single step.
“Mirabella Lou Nebulis IIX—you can manipulate the atmosphere, a wind type of astral mage. You don’t control the wind. You control the air,” said the Imperial swordsman emotionlessly as if reading from a report. “You headed to the battlefield at the age of eleven. In the ten subsequent years, you gained 3 percent of the Imperial territory. Your appearance on the battlefield was frequent, even for a purebred. You have exemplary physical skills and assassination capabilities for a witch. Eyes were on you as the greatest queen candidate in history and prodigy in the Sovereignty.”
“……”
“But you’re in decline.”
He wasn’t provoking her. He was just making his observations as the Saint Disciple of the first seat.
“Your strength came from your time on the battlefield as an emotionless war automaton. Now you manufacture smiles as the queen in front of the people. Even steel will rust when all it does is sit in yawn-inducing meetings.”
“You speak as if these imagined situations have been witnessed, Imperial subject.”
“I have.” His long thin sword swished. “Through those living in the castle.”
“Oh, really?” Queen Mirabella couldn’t care less.
There was a traitor in their midst. She already knew it was someone close to her. In her heart, she could even guess which daughter it was.
“It’s all a process of elimination.”
In a hall occupied by only the two of them, Queen Mirabella’s voice called out to him.
“I do not care whether my own abilities are in decline. If I can protect the Sovereignty as its queen, that’s the correct choice.”
Behind the Imperial swordsman were the ruins of the door that had been sliced into dice-shaped pieces.
…Why haven’t my guards come?
…Those nearby should have come running straight here when they heard the roar.
Generally speaking, there were two defense systems in the Queen’s Palace.
The Astrals were the protectors of important figureheads, which included the queen. The other was the commando unit, the Rulers, which hunted invaders. They were true masters at their occupations.
That not a single one of them had appeared showed beyond a doubt that something was clearly wrong here.
…Did this swordsman beat the guards in front of my door?
…Or have other Saint Disciples entered the Queen’s Palace and are currently engaging them?
As she focused on every little movement made by her opponent, she thought of one person. Not any of her guards but her middle daughter Aliceliese. Only seventeen, she was unmistakably the trump card of the Lou when it came to battle. She should have arrived at the palace by now.
“Are you intending to wait for the arrival of the Ice Calamity Witch?”
“What?!”
He’d figured out her hand. Mind blank from shock, the queen stopped thinking for a moment.
Joheim’s form flickered. Launching himself from the ground with a kick powerful enough to rock the room, the swordsman moved to the space in front of her eyes, like he was floating.
“Did you use my own trick on me?!”
Bomb Cyclone.
A meteorological term that indicated a rapid change in low barometric pressure. Queen Mirabella’s technique created an invisible mine that dragged its prey into a typhoon-level vortex. At full capacity, it could even disarm an Imperial tank. Had he predicted the wind forming from it and cut through the air with his sword?
Impossible.
Master swordsman or not, he wouldn’t be able to respond to the queen’s attack without knowing her strategy.
“So there was a conspirator…!”
“It’s information warfare. I wasn’t planning on directly attacking you.”
“It was Elletear, wasn’t it?”
The swordsman was silent.
He simply swung his blade down straight at her. As the winds that made up the barrier around Queen Mirabella picked up speed, the Saint Disciple’s sword continued forward, tearing through the air.
She felt a cold shiver run through her.
At that moment, something hard passed by her face. Blood sprayed from her cheek.
“Ow!”
How deep had he cut her?
Was it a graze? Or had he cut deeper into her flesh? She wasn’t even given time to figure out the extent of her wound. She used all her strength to leap away.
He was quick. That wasn’t an accurate way of describing the swordsman.
He was outrageously fast.
If he were simply quick, he wouldn’t have been able to overcome her wind barrier. His agility and strength were perfectly balanced, affording him a shocking level of mobility.
“Prepare yourself.”
“—Are you sure you’re not severely misjudging what I can do?”
They stopped.
Queen Nebulis IIX hadn’t used her astral power, and yet Joheim abruptly halted as he stepped onto the landing.
Her eyes twinkled. Had her daughters Alice or Sisbell been there, they would have doubted their eyes. There was the inhuman gleam in the gaze of Mirabella Lou Nebulis IIX—purebred and machine. It was a look she’d never shown her daughters.
“…How unfortunate. It seems the guards and Alice are still not here.”
Her clothes rustled as they snaked down her body. She had shed the outer coat that had covered the shoulders of her royal dress. She stripped down to the lightweight bulletproof and blade-proof armor below.
“I don’t want to be responsible for destroying the Queen’s Space.”
Creak. The ominous sound that echoed around Mirabella Lou Nebulis IIX was from the air created by the atmosphere stirring from her astral power. It was the release of her powers that she’d been holding back.
“And here is how it ends.”
“……”
The Saint Disciple took the queen’s declaration silently.
A murmur escaped from the man. “It seems you don’t understand…who I am.”
Nothing could have held greater pity and contempt than his sigh.
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