With a sword in her right hand and a gun in her left, she cut down the undead in front of her and beat a path forward. However, the moment she opened that path, the world began to warp. The narrow path through the wheat field became a cobblestone street, and the distant trees that ran alongside it became gas street lamps. The shacks in the distance, one by one, became buildings built from bricks. This was a phenomenon that could not happen in the world of the living.
Clicking her tongue in irritation, Octavia surveyed her surroundings. They had already changed completely from the calm countryside to the streets of a city. The paints, which had already absorbed a number of people and gained some strength, continued to change the scenery as if repainting it, concealing its user.
“Blast! There’s no end to this, Octavia! We need to find the painter, the one using it...”
“I know! I know he’s somewhere. Somewhere that hasn’t changed—”
“One.”
A shadow soared through the sky of this world, where everything was a mere imitation. Panicked, Octavia looked up at the sky.
“Two!”
“Phantom Thief! Crow! Why are you turning up again?! I’m busy!”
“Three!”
With a snap of his fingers, Crow summoned a roaring flame. It raged through the hordes of the dead and the city street scene that surrounded Octavia, as if burning the painting away.
“This building is the only place that hasn’t changed. Therefore, he must have fled inside.” Alighting upon the roof of the building, today—as ever—the Phantom Thief smiled. Octavia wanted to put a bullet in that calm face of his.
In the remains of the building after it was blown open, though, she spotted a man painting obsessively. The walls around him were covered in canvases.
“That’s him, Octavia! As for that Phantom Thief—”
“We’ll deal with him later, right? I know! Let’s go, Hat! You are a Palette of Paints!”
She’d learned that there was no point in telling the Phantom Thief to wait for her, so there was nothing else for it but to escape this world and catch him back in reality.
“Searching... Target confirmed! Unlock!” As Hat cried out in confirmation, the palette the painter was holding began to spout out the paints it held.
Red, blue, yellow—various colors blended in midair, forming a single black geyser that descended on Octavia. This was the signal that everything here would be painted over, and they would return to the real world. But Octavia couldn’t afford to lose consciousness now.
I’m pretty sure I was in a grand hall with paintings on display!
Octavia opened her eyes. Just as she had imagined, she was back where she had been before she had gotten sucked into the other side. A grand hall in a palace, decorated with paintings that were judged to have been cursed.
“Oi, Octavia! Are you all right?!” It was a familiar face. Inspector Ashton Baker, who had been reassigned to the Royal Capital, put an arm around Octavia’s shoulders. Octavia nodded and looked around the hall.
“I’m fine. More importantly, what about Crow, the Phantom Thief?!”
“Not a clue. All of a sudden, the lights went out—”
“Inspector Baker, this painting has been replaced!”
Along with Ashton, Octavia turned to face the largest painting in front of them. The painting, which up until moments ago had definitely depicted a family at their dining table, was now a painting of a pig’s backside. And in the center of the painting, a card had been affixed.
I’ve helped myself to the Demonic Heirloom.
From Crow, the Phantom Thief
With a deafening crash, all the window panes shattered. A shadow appeared in front of the large window at the far end of the hall. With one foot on the window frame, the figure was indeed carrying a large painting under one arm.
“Why, you...!”
“The paints are safe with us, Octavia,” said Hat. “Calm down.”
Thus scolded by Hat, Octavia stopped where she stood. “But we can’t just forget about a piece that was painted with them—”
“Let’s do this again sometime, Miss Detective.” Crow casually blew her a kiss.
Octavia arched her back, ready to pounce. Before she could, the Phantom Thief departed with his cape fluttering behind him.
“Bugger. So the rumors were true—that painting was a Demonic Heirloom. I’ve seen more than my share of them lately, I have!”
“Ashton, where is my assistant, Raven?!”
“R-Right.” Ashton blinked at Octavia as she turned suddenly to face him. “He was here until we came into this room—” He broke off. “Oi, Octavia! Aren’t you going after the Phantom Thief?!”
“Sorry! I’ll be right back!”
In any event, she had no choice but to leave the rest here to the police. She had retrieved the palette of paints. She was concerned about what might result from a painting painted with the Heirloom, but if she captured Crow, that matter too would be closed.
“Where are you planning to look, Octavia?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know, but if we can find Raven quickly enough, there might still be time.”
“Ah, Octavia! I’m glad to see you’re all right!”
Bursting out of the hall and into a corridor, she found the very man she’d been looking for at once. As she stood there, stunned, Octavia’s assistant walked up to her and breathed a sigh of relief.
“That was quite the surprise. After that hullabaloo in the great hall, everyone ran out through this corridor and pushed me out with them.”
“Is that right?” Octavia asked slowly.
“I hurried back as fast as I could, but what’s the situation now?” The Raven who looked back at Octavia—concerned now, of course—wore neither a top hat or a cape, nor was he holding the stolen painting. There was not a shred of evidence to be found.
That was right. She had no evidence that this man was Crow, the Phantom Thief, the man whose legs she had sworn to break before tearing off that infuriating mask. Not a shred of evidence.
“Did you manage to catch Crow, the Phantom Thief?” asked the man with a brazen smile on his face, seeming livelier than ever. Octavia congratulated herself for being disciplined enough not to hit him.
“I’ve started to feel like maybe Raven isn’t the Phantom Thief.”
“Isn’t it a little late to be having doubts?”
Although she’d tried to refuse, Raven had taken Octavia home. The moment she’d gotten inside, she had thrown herself down on the sofa, feeling a bit exhausted.
“I mean, there’s no evidence. It’s just a hunch.”
“Well, that might just be because he’s been more careful lately not to leave any. In the first place, we shouldn’t have let him know that we were onto him. Lately, even I’ve been careful not to say anything in front of him that might give us away!”
“Even so, isn’t it frustrating to go on being deceived by him?”
“You need to learn some strategy, you good-for-nothing.”
“You’re all-knowing and all-powerful, Hat. Can’t you think of something?”
Octavia’s protest was so flattering that Hat stood up straight, but then he drooped down to one side again. “But, well, for some reason, he has the key...”
“But what is that key? Now that you mention it, you still haven’t explained that to me.”
“It needs no explanation. A key’s a key. It unlocks the vault—and with it, the ability to administer the Imperial Heirlooms.”
Octavia sat up silently while Hat bounced away to rest on the low cabriole leg table in front of her.
“As you well know, the Imperial Heirlooms were cursed by our god when the United Empire collapsed and they lost their leader. They left my administration, and I lost all the information on my register. Their storage and usage could no longer be controlled, and if activated in that condition, they would degrade into the perilous tools known as Demonic Heirlooms.”
“So that’s why I’m helping you to re-register them now?”
“Only a magic user of the imperial bloodline can do the work of registering them—which leaves only you, now. But every rule has its exceptions. In this case, the exception is that key. The key performs the function of activating the Imperial Heirlooms in an emergency. Though it only works temporarily, it allows someone not of your bloodline to use an Heirloom correctly, just as you do. Even if the tool is not yet registered.”
“Why would he have something like that...?”
“Who knows? I was sure that the angels would have destroyed something as dangerous as that long ago...”
With a long sigh, Octavia threw herself down on the couch again. The cushion gently accepted her face with a squish.
“Just who is he?”
“How about you ask Eliza? At the very least, she should know something about the line of the Marquis Osvard.”
She groaned. “I don’t really want to...”
“Why not?”
Why indeed? She wanted to expose the secret behind that grin of his, but part of her wanted to leave it alone, if he had some reason to hide it. Nobody likes for people to rummage around in their private matters against their wishes. This isn’t like me. I want to ask him myself, but how?
For some reason, when it came to Raven, she always seemed to lose her bearings.
“Hey. Don’t sleep there, Octavia. Change properly and go to bed. Octavia?”
“I wish I had a chair that could carry me to bed. No, even better—a bed that could fly anywhere.”
“Don’t be lazy! Getting up now will be a good example to the other tools—”
All at once, the cushion was pulled out from under Octavia’s face. Octavia leapt up reflexively, but then saw the girl who had taken her cushion, standing beside her with her hands on her hips.
“Ann. You gave me a start.”
“I intended to. It woke you up, did it not? No matter how tired you might be from your work, I struggle to think that your attitude befits a queen.”
As Ann told her off fluently and without an expression on her face, Octavia sighed.