His feelings must have shown on his face, but Velladonna clearly didn’t give a damn.
She tapped the desk with her fingers.
“It’s a top secret division with a very unusual jurisdiction. They handle cases that are beyond the capabilities of the other precincts.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And you’ll be provisionally placed as the chief of it. Well? Not a bad offer, is it?”
If this was true, it was the opposite of bad. Precinct chief was a high rank, even in management. They oversaw several hundred detectives. Their role was the furthest thing from the blood-soaked streets and came with quite substantial authority.
“……I’d love that, but can I ask one thing?” Rogue said.
“Oh? What is it?”
“……What’s the case? What is it you want me doing?”
He had a hunch.
“Good instincts.” Velladonna smirked. She pointedly settled back in her chair. “Right you are. The top brass are desperate to get the Lifetaker behind bars. Naturally, you don’t have to take this offer. Nabaco Island awaits! Getting thanked by your elders is hardly unpleasant. I’m sure they’ll love to have a young man around to lift things for them.”
She elegantly crossed her legs.
If he refused this second option, his fate on Nabaco would be sealed. Velladonna wouldn’t hesitate. He’d seen any number of poor saps fall prey to her snap decisions. And he’d learned from their mistakes.
“Chief,” he growled.
“Hmm?” she said, tilting her head.
“……Where is this precinct?”
That was all Rogue could say.
The empire occupied half the continent of Deane, and the capital—Elayl—was shaped like a crescent moon. It sat at the edge of the land, and ocean commerce flowed through it. It was the beating heart of the empire’s economy.
It had nine wards. On the left side of the city was the ocean; at the center, high-rise office buildings; and at the upper end, hills leading inland. A twenty-minute drive from HQ into those hills, and the bustle of the city vanished without a trace, replaced with luxury homes.
Rogue was headed for a building on the outskirts of town.
It looked like an old church. Looked because it was covered in vines, the outside walls peeling off—a veritable ruin. But this was the address he’d been given. If he hadn’t been warned ahead of time, he might have driven right past it.
A disheveled exterior wouldn’t exactly interfere with its purpose. Velladonna had said the Sixth Precinct was located underground. Allegedly in the interests of informational security. He had his doubts.
Rogue stepped into the church and paused.
There was a door on the left, behind the pulpit. It was made of iron and placed awkwardly in the ruined church.
Then he heard a voice.
“Detective Rogue Macabesta, I presume?”
A girl’s voice was echoing from a speaker somewhere.
“……That’s correct,” he said.
“Wait right there,” she said, clearly able to hear him. “Verifying your identity.”
No one came out to meet him. He deduced that there must be a hidden camera.
He stood where he was until the heavy metal door slid aside—into the wall itself, without a sound—revealing an elevator a few meters in.
“Identity confirmed. Please step inside.”
He did as he was told, stepping up to the pulpit. He moved through where the steel door had been, and the elevator doors opened for him. It was a bit large to ride alone; the floor, walls, and ceiling were all white. It was nothing like the overgrown exterior.
No further instructions came.
He looked back once, then stepped into the elevator.
As the doors closed, he found himself out of breath. He’d thought himself resigned to this, but his doubts came flooding back. He questioned why it was underground. And wondered what good working there would do him. Desk work was one thing, but Rogue was a detective. Holing up indoors would get him nowhere.
The descent went on for a while. He wondered how far down the place was. After what felt like an eternity, the doors finally opened.
“You’ve arrived,” a woman said.
He stepped through the doors into an open area.
The room was furnished with round tables and chairs, and several people were seated at them. An atrium revealed the floors above. Each floor was lined with fancy doors, and the passages outside them were lined with glass railings. There were no vines, no peeling plaster.
It looked much better than he’d feared. But as he took in the offices, Rogue frowned.
Where are the other detectives?
No matter how busy things were, there should be someone else working there. But looking around, he didn’t see a single adult.
He had no idea what Velladonna was thinking. But there was no use standing there—he started walking and soon found a girl with glasses waiting for him in the center of the hall. She had fine features, but her pale skin and the dark circles under her eyes made a sickly impression.
“Welcome to the Sixth Precinct, Detective Rogue. I am Rico Raina, on staff here. Let me know if there’s anything you need.”
She bowed low, but Rogue was preoccupied by her form of address.
She’d called him detective…
…not chief.
“Rogue. Nice to meet you. I’ve got several questions…”
“Ask away.”
“Is this really the Sixth Precinct?” he asked, looking around.
Girls sat on the chairs, leaned against the walls with books or over the railings above—he counted twelve at a glance. All girls, and not one of them seemed like they worked for the Magic Crimes Bureau.
But Rico nodded. “This is the Sixth Precinct,” she confirmed.
“I was told I’d be chief here…so where are the other officers? Out in the field?”
“You are the only officer assigned to the Sixth Precinct. In that sense, you are technically the chief, Detective Rogue.”
Her stare was almost mechanical.
His head was spinning.
“……So who are they?”
“Prisoners.”
“Prisoners?”
He wondered why there were prisoners in a precinct. That alone prompted infinite questions, but he restrained himself. He focused on his most pressing concern.
“……I was told to take charge here and track down the Lifetaker. Not look after the incarcerated. Can investigations actually be done like this?”
He’d practically growled this line, but Rico didn’t bat an eye.
“Not to worry. These prisoners are rather unique. Let me introduce you. This way.”
She headed off toward the girls.
Rogue followed, scowling. This was too smooth, like a rehearsed procedure, and that fueled his suspicions.
Soon, they stopped in front of a girl occupying one of the round tables. He was there for introductions, but her eyes were closed. Based on her breathing, he guessed she was asleep. Rico paid this no mind.
“This is Miseria. Skilled in mental interference spells, she turns people into puppets. Code name: Puppeteer. She once went after the imperial family and turned all the imperial guard into her puppets.”
The girl in question had her legs crossed and her chin in her hand. She wasn’t moving. She was wearing a white jacket over a white skirt, and she had long white hair that flowed over the table and her legs.
She was visually striking, but she otherwise appeared to be a normal girl. There was nothing unusual about her.
Yet that stirring in his chest wasn’t going away. Rogue had felt like this before. She should have been a normal girl…but by the time he connected it to his past—it was too late.
Rico was still talking.
“Under a special jurisdiction, she’s been given a six-thousand-year deferred beheading. The Noble Council has declared her…” Rogue’s heart was racing. “…the Thirteenth Witch.”
That turned his fear into fact.
“……What?” he rasped.
Rico tilted her head.
“Did I say something wrong? This is all information covered in the officer training school curriculum.”
“……I know.”
“Then what is the problem? Miseria being a witch?”
“……Witches should be in the Andewurs. Why are they here?”
Rico raised a hand, pointing up through the atrium.
“The Andewurs? Rest assured, this is an Andewurs. Like the others, there are elaborate defensive and obfuscation spells applied. The latest in technological security ensures no intruders can get in.”
“……Yeah, that’s not the problem,” Rogue said, his voice rising. “Why are we letting witches roam free?!”
Was she working here without knowing how easily witches could blow them all away? Rogue included?
Long before magic spread to the masses, the empire had its share of witches. They were beings melded with their own spells, no longer aging—literal monsters. They appeared without warning and brought calamity upon the empire.
There were witches who’d vaporized entire towns; caused riots that left hundreds of thousands dead or injured; kidnapped thousands in a single night. Witches were very real.
And yet—
—the average citizen was not even aware of just how great a threat they posed. They had become an imaginary threat to make their children listen. ‘If you misbehave, a witch will come get you.’ In their minds, witches were ancient history.
As Rogue’s frown deepened…
“Did we wake you, Miseria?” Rico said.
He jumped and turned to find the white-clad girl’s eyes opening. Her long lashes fluttered a few times, then her pupils snapped into focus.
“Oh dear! Is it time? I dived too deep,” she murmured, turning to face them.
Unfathomable blue eyes.
For a moment, he felt as if they were swallowing him up. He felt helpless, like he was out at sea, praying for rescue.
Trying to shake himself free of her gaze’s grasp, he noted her smile—manufactured, like one on a doll’s lips. She had a pretty face. The choker at her throat went well with her skin tone. Her glittering white hair caught the light. In another day and age, she’d have inspired quite a following.
But Rogue found himself backing away.
“No need to be afraid. I am only human.”
A clear voice, and an adorable smile. She said it so lightly, it left him stunned—then shame and anger caught up with him.
“……Human? Witches are—”
“Now, now. Let’s get to know each other first. I’m Miseria, a prisoner of the empire. Your name is?”
He mulled that over for a moment.
“……Rogue. Rogue Macabesta.”
She flashed another smile.
“Rogue, hmm? What do you make of your assignment to the Sixth Precinct? Ready to—I don’t know—push Velladonna off a cliff?”
That one took him a beat, too.
“……Why does a witch know the chief’s name?”
Witches in the Andewurs were meant to live like the dead, shut off from all outside information. But this Miseria girl made it sound like she knew Velladonna personally.
“Hmm.” The white-clad girl frowned, glancing at Rico. “Rico, has this pitiable newbie been briefed on nothing?”
Briefed?