Just as the third-tier spell "Domain" was unleashed by the search team from the "Intersection Society," a legendary artifact-thief organization, the Ghost Skull Syndicate found their path blocked by two Hollows hired by high-ranking officials of the Ountakana Auction House; meanwhile, the Order Numero faction, allied with Archbishop Quiqenos, arrived alongside the Cevenose Security Department to take part in the battle.
"Fighting desperately against two Hollows" was not a sufficient description for the captain of the Ghost Skull Syndicate. Even so, ten people against eighteen armed opponents and spiritual power users was not as easy as they had imagined, despite their organization's feared reputation.
After all, the two Hollows treated their captain as nothing more than a nuisance, like a mosquito, while their true focus remained on his companions.
"Captain... He's stronger than I imagined," muttered the dark-haired, dark-eyed man, breathing heavily.
Despite undergoing extreme training, ordinary humans had no chance of defeating a Hollow with nothing more than a thousand-year-old dagger and a revolver.
Gusts of wind swept through the air from the impacts, while the surrounding atmosphere warped under the force of their attacks.
A beautiful full moon hung in the sky, its blue light bending strangely, making the late night even more ominous.
"We're in trouble, Captain! 'He' managed to wound Ravina!" shouted the burly man serving as the team's scout.
The moment their captain gave instructions through body signals, they immediately understood. Nine of them, three of whom were women, nodded before splitting up in different directions according to their assigned groups.
The road on the left led to the market. Even though the stone-paved street there had been torn from its place, they still insisted on crossing it.
"...Where do you think you're going?"
One of the Hollows was enjoying the scene, while his companion kept his mouth shut and focused on the target.
Ten members of the Cevenose Department were being lectured by one of the Order Numero members.
"Handle those corpses and don't tell anyone!"
Hearing that, the ten people nodded in unison, turned around, and left the area, heading back the way they had come.
Meanwhile, the captain of the Ghost Skull Syndicate did not move an inch from where he stood, his attention fixed on the six members of Order Numero.
His face appeared ordinary, his gaze dull, as though their presence posed no threat to him whatsoever.
He did not wish to speak, or perhaps he could not say anything, as he summoned his Recipestele and attacked one of them simultaneously.
They're fools.
That thought naturally crossed his mind.
With just a single strike, one of them, despite not being an ordinary person, would immediately lose consciousness, or worse, die.
Using the black magic of his Recipestele, the captain of the Ghost Skull Syndicate, Zamma Flathcer, successfully killed the man with a touch, channeling black energy into him until his internal organs began to fail.
Of course, there were conditions for killing them: simultaneous contact, and the attacks had to hit the exact same point.
Zamma's Recipestele technique successfully struck both the left and right sides of the man's chest, causing his lungs to be destroyed by the black magic known as "Hand of Death."
As a result, within seconds or at most minutes, unless luck intervened, the victim would die. The black magic could even grow stronger if the target had previously harbored negative thoughts.
Imagining such a fate befalling them, his opponents immediately scattered. They were unfamiliar with the abilities of the temporary captain of the Ghost Skull Syndicate, even though the organization itself was infamous throughout the world.
'Damn, he's strong. No wonder they have so many artifacts and remain uncaught as thieves without interference from other organizations.'
One of them immediately noticed that something was off about Zamma's expression.
"Hey, captain of the Ghost Skull Syndicate artifact-thief organization," he called out loudly from several meters to Zamma's right.
"Judging by that gloomy look on your face, did you fail to steal the item you wanted?" continued the white-haired man with slicked-back hair, grinning.
One of the others glanced at his companion and chimed in, "Obviously because they're not as impressive as the rumors claim."
Hearing and seeing his companions mock him, the man beside them spoke up.
"You, are you worried about your companion who almost lost his life?"
For a moment, they forgot that they were all Receivers, deliberately focusing on provoking Zamma's anger.
On the other hand, Zamma benefited from their insults.
The taunts they threw at him failed to change Zamma's expression even slightly, causing all five of them to grow irritated.
"Hey, bastard. Are you looking down on us?" asked the black-haired man loudly.
Zamma remained silent and unresponsive, like a statue that had stood there breathing for far too long.
Frowns appeared on their foreheads while their jaws tightened. One of them glanced at the winged creature, roughly the size of a human infant, floating beside Zamma's left side.
Then, in a swift motion, they rushed toward him and released a pale purple sphere of light.
It nearly struck Zamma and his Recipestele, but they managed to evade it.
Both landed safely, but the four men gave them no chance to counterattack.
While dodging and causing the stone beneath his feet to crack sharply with every step, his Recipestele let out a sigh and said,
"...Pathetic human."
One of them growled.
"You damned vile creature, how dare you say that to me?"
Naturally, the black-haired man took the bait. He unleashed even more pale purple spheres than before, and from those spheres emerged a dragon that lunged toward them.
Zamma continued running sideways and backward, his pupils narrowing briefly as the dragon rushed at him.
Boom!
A massive burst of light erupted, transforming the surroundings and sending powerful winds roaring through the area.
Amid the white smoke billowing across the street, the five men shielded themselves from the windblown dust with their arms.
When the wind subsided, the dark silence of the night once again settled over the road. Meanwhile, the metallic scent of blood drifted through the air and struck their noses.
"...Did the attack work?"
The white-haired man, not an old man with gray hair, asked while rubbing his nose.
"At the very least, it injured him," replied the black-haired man as he wiped his cheek.
The white-haired man shot him a sharp look.
"Don't let him escape. He's the mastermind behind the disappearance of the artifact from the cathedral tower."
"He's cunning. Be careful, friend," muttered the brown-haired man uncertainly.
"Don't split up. We can defeat him."
Another brown-haired man, disheveled in appearance and wearing a somewhat blank expression, spoke confidently.
"Hey, how do you know he stole the artifact from the cathedral tower?"
"The bishop told me. Why even ask?" replied the white-haired man with a snort.
The slicked-back brown-haired man frowned.
"Speaking of artifacts, does he have it with him? And does it possess destructive power?" he asked once more.
"I never knew Daren liked talking so much," exclaimed the black-haired man in confusion.
Still walking, the white-haired man turned to the left and looked at him.
"He's always been like that," he replied quietly.
Even while chatting, they watched their surroundings carefully, their eyes darting left and right.
Not far from where they were walking, Zamma looked at his Recipestele and made a hand gesture.
Naturally, despite having been with him for quite a long time, she was still confused.
"...What are you trying to say? Speak up already..."
She reflexively covered her mouth with her tiny hand.
'Right... he can't talk. Damn it, I was careless.'
The corners of her mouth lifted, almost forming a smile, as she sank into her thoughts.
'Will he get angry at me? Judging by his expression, well, no... actually, he always looks like that. I just remembered. Hahaha.'
Hoping Zamma would forgive her earlier remark, the Recipestele hesitated for several seconds before saying,
"Try showing me that hand gesture again slowly, okay?"
Zamma nodded innocently and performed a series of simple hand movements. He pointed toward the figures walking below, then finished by curling his index and middle fingers.
The Recipestele immediately understood the meaning behind those detailed gestures and nodded.
"So, you want to kill those two men, the black-haired one and the white-haired one, then decide whether to run away or eliminate the rest to cover your tracks?"
Zamma nodded while smiling, though his facial expression remained unchanged.
'That's not a bad idea. Besides, their bones probably taste delicious. Hahaha.'
She laughed wickedly inwardly before lightly poking his cheek.
"...Don't take everything so seriously when you react!"
Zamma brushed away the tiny hand and immediately leaped from the rooftop.
Running while fused with his Recipestele, he arrived beside the white-haired man, touched him, then the black-haired man, and shot away the moment the latter noticed his presence.
Thud...
The body of the white-haired Order Numero member collapsed.
Meanwhile, his three companions instinctively retreated, realizing that there was no one around them except him.
"Kin, are you alright?" asked the slicked-back brown-haired man, his eyes constantly scanning the surroundings.
"..."
Everyone remained on guard, but only the white-haired man could not let out a scream, even as he opened his mouth wide as though he had lost all ability to speak.
Exactly nine seconds later, the white-haired man tragically lost his life, his face turning blue. His companions could barely bear to look at him and became even more wary of their enemy.
Knowing that the enemy was targeting him, the black-haired man released pale purple light around his body and spread it in all directions.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The streetlights shattered from the explosions of light while they hurriedly fled the area.
Hidden within a dimly lit alley swallowed by darkness, Zamma's lips curled upward as his left hand clutched his arm.
'It can't regenerate on its own? Even its innate healing ability can't repair this arm?'
After muttering inwardly, the Recipestele emerged, causing Zamma's missing right wing and altered physique to fade away, along with the small markings on his face, chest, and left hand.
"Phew... that guy was from Order Numero, huh?" she asked curiously.
Zamma made a hand gesture while shrugging his shoulders.
Naturally, 'she' had no idea what it meant, despite spending so much time with him.
'How do people even communicate with you? Especially that muscle-brained guy?'
The Recipestele asked herself before her physical form dissolved into mist and vanished into the night wind.
Zamma slumped down into a sitting position, his back against a dark wall while clutching his right arm.
From the elbow down to his fingers, the arm had been completely mangled.
'If that man had gotten serious, I might have died myself. Ah... maybe resting for a while will calm my mind.'
On Jikusuma Street, inside a simple two-story house.
In his room, Zavi sat leaning beneath his bed, his gaze fixed on the open window.
For some reason, the night scenery was so captivating that it softened the sharp intensity of his gaze, causing his expression to droop.
He had no idea what to do and was still thinking about the true powers of those two artifacts.
Slowly, he turned around and looked at his brown suitcase shrouded in darkness beneath the bed.
Despite the darkness, a faint blue glow seeped out from the suitcase.
'What kind of artifact is that? Come on, tell me.'
Knock... Knock... Knock...
Zavi's body tensed as he slowly stood and asked,
"Who is it?"
His voice echoed briefly through the room before silence swallowed it.
"...An old friend of yours," came the calm reply.
Zavi stood still, staring at the door from afar as he thought,
'An old friend? That voice sounds like... no way.'
Zavi dismissed the idea that a fifth-tier Mastering evil spirit had come to visit him.
"..."
The distinctly feminine voice added, slightly louder this time,
"Your old friend is coming in, okay?"
The moment those words were spoken, the door slowly opened, allowing light from the hallway to flood in and illuminate Zavi's room.
"Y-You... Celvira? Why are you here?"
Zavi shuddered upon seeing the familiar face of the girl.
Celvira stared at him with a sharp expression, making Zavi immediately understand her intentions.
'How did she even come here?'
He grabbed the bowler hat on his bed and his suitcase before diving out through the window.
Seeing that, Celvira smiled faintly and, in an instant, appeared beside Zavi.
"Wuah..."
Zavi staggered backward and fell, while the suitcase hit the ground with a loud thud.
"Why are you running? Aren't you happy that I came to see you?"
"...."
Zavi trembled under the presence of Nammeridya, a third-tier evil spirit. He knew that "she" was not violent and merely liked to toy with him, irritating as she was. On the other hand, he could not control Celvira's free will after losing Moreira, the human she loved.
"...I don't know. Really, believe me."
Even though his face was exactly the same as when he played the role of James Moriarty, his chest rose and fell while his heart felt ready to leap out.
'Besides, I can't kill you.'
Celvira bit her lower lip as she watched countless glowing red eyes staring at her with overwhelming intimidation. Even within those glowing red eyes, microscopic crimson eyes observed her closely.
"I heard your complaints, so I'll keep you company."
The countless glowing red eyes faded away after those words were spoken.
Now, Zavi could breathe normally again.