“I will pursue the Half-wits. Take care of those two.”
“H-hey!”
Karamori felt a strong sense of unease as he watched Archive race down the street. Her body blurred again as she ran. He considered her words and actions. Was she really obeying fate? If not, then why?
He knew no matter how much he thought about that question, it wouldn’t lead him to any answers, so he put it out of his mind. Karamori watched Archive turn a corner and disappear from view, then kneeled down beside the collapsed investigator and the young man.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be fine,” the older investigator responded, stanching the bleeding from his arm.
The youth was dazed from being dragged around by Karamori and didn’t answer right away, but he appeared uninjured, at least. When he finally managed to speak, he said, “Wh-who the hell are you two…? Are you involved with Takeo, as well?”
“Huh? Who’s Takeo—?”
“Well, well, well. Whadda we have here? I felt a massive distortion this way, and who do I find but a couple of cute little Noary birdies.”
A voice deep and rumbling like a storm echoed through the alley.
Karamori looked up and saw a burly man standing further down the street. He was wearing a pitch-black trench coat—even though it was the end of spring—and had a shaved head, a heavily creased face, and a large, hooked nose. A smile increased the wrinkles around his small, beady eyes, which glared out from within the folds.
Even more conspicuous than his large build was the giant anchor he was carrying on one shoulder. It was heavily rusted and almost seemed to float in the air.
Karamori immediately stepped in front of Fujinaka, the investigator, and the young man, taking a quick-draw stance. The timing of this man’s arrival, his intimidating aura, and his unique appearance—it was clear he was no ordinary person. Most disturbingly, Karamori hadn’t even noticed him until he spoke up.
He scanned the eccentric man’s clothes, then looked him in the face. “You’re from Grave Nest… Pyrovault, right?”
“Heh, I figured you’d know me.”
Sweat trickled down Karamori’s brow. Very few people were able to gain any kind of notoriety among the hidden world in which he and others involved with Distortionism resided. Someone’s name being well known was, in and of itself, proof of how formidable they were.
“Why is Grave Nest after the Half-wits? Are you so short on members that you’ve stooped to recruiting monsters?”
Pyrovault’s small eyes went wide, then he put a hand to his forehead and burst into laughter.
“Ha-ha-ha! Was that a joke, or are you actually that stupid? That must mean… Huh, you guys are…” The large man barked with laughter. “Use your brain, kid! I expected more from a high-and-mighty Noary investigator.”
Karamori had no idea what was so funny, but he brushed off the man’s taunting laughter and calmly held Tyrfing at the ready.
“Whoa there, kid. You’d better be careful pointing that immortal-slaying sword at me. Heh-heh…,” Pyrovault chuckled to himself and stroked his jaw. His creeping gaze coiled around Karamori. “…You’re much younger than I thought you’d be. You’re Noary’s Vanit Slayer, right? I knew it as soon as I saw that corny sword.”
“Corny?! It looks super cool!”
“…Huh?”
“Huh?”
A sudden silence befell the alley. Both men seemed equally baffled by the other.
“Oh, you actually… Sorry ’bout that,” Pyrovault eventually said, looking awkward.
“Why’re you apologizing?”
Pyrovault cleared his throat and reassumed his arrogant attitude.
“Uh, forget it,” he said, changing the subject. “I’ve been dying to meet you.”
“…?”
The man’s grin deepened.
“Four years ago, you handled a case. My son was one of the victims.”
Karamori went pale.
“Don’t get the wrong idea. I ain’t holding a grudge. Anyone who gets into this line of work and expects to die old, surrounded by their loved ones, is an idiot. We started that whole mess anyway. But that ain’t stopping me—”
The man dashed forward, closing the distance in an instant.
“—from getting my revenge!”
“…!”
Karamori didn’t even have time to gasp before he reflexively swung his scabbard up. It collided with Pyrovault’s anchor without a second to spare, and the cacophonous clang of metal sent a tremor down his spine.
“Damn!” he spat.
The anchor was incredibly heavy. It was hardly a realistic weapon under normal circumstances, which could only mean one thing…
It’s a vanit!
Pyrovault swung the anchor again and grazed the younger man’s cheek.
“That’s a crazy weapon!” Karamori said.
“Yeah! It’s stupid hard to use, I ain’t gonna lie!” Pyrovault agreed, striking with the anchor again.
The weapons violently collided, then a second and a third time. The larger man clearly had the advantage.
“You’re damn good with that sword, kid!”
The anchor crashed powerfully into Karamori’s shoulder. He immediately swung the chained Tyrfing, knowing he had no time to wallow in pain, but the sheath bounced easily off Pyrovault’s arm. Karamori regrouped, drew the gun at his waist, and fired it at his opponent’s head. He knew his aim was good, but for some reason, none of the bullets hit their target.
“Who the hell’s still susceptible to guns?! Whew, hand-to-hand combat is such a blast! You definitely belong in this world, kid! But unfortunately…”
Karamori bent low, his eyes glittering with malice, fixed on Pyrovault’s right leg. He slid Tyrfing half from its sheath in a desperate attempt to turn the tables and was just about to swing it when—
“You’re making too many rookie mistakes.”
He felt his skin tear open. Karamori looked down and saw three large gashes running from his shoulder to his stomach. They resembled the claw marks of some sort of large beast.
Blood spurted from his wounds. Karamori couldn’t even process what had happened.
Pyrovault tapped the anchor with a fist.
“This thing is definitely hard to use, but it’s sure as hell strong enough to make up for that.”
Karamori collapsed face forward. The larger man thrust the anchor mercilessly down toward his head.
“Barbed Spear.”
A long spear summoned by a female voice flew through the air toward Pyrovault.
“Whoa there!”
Pyrovault quickly altered the anchor’s path and deflected the spear.
“Wouldja look at that. We’ve got company.” He glanced down the street, which had been empty just moments before, to see Archive, her figure blurring and her face contorted in pain. She was forming a shape with her red string. “What’d you do, teleport? That’s rare nowadays.”
“N-no… I simply came back… Fate did not determine I would chase those monsters.” Holding it out in front of her eyes, Archive finished a shape with her hemp string and said, “Exorcism.”