A figure was swinging a sword, and it was reflected in the marble.
Rogue’s fingers hadn’t reached the gate inside the trunk yet. He was convinced his head was about to go flying, but instead, the figure swept past, disappearing without laying a finger on him.
“Go on ahead!” Catherine yelled.
He turned back.
Catherine was grappling with the knight in midair. He had a tight hold on her arm and, even as Rogue watched, was swinging that sword mechanically.
“I’ll be right behind you! Go!” Catherine shouted. She knocked away the knight’s arm, sending him flying. Her opponent smashed through a column and rolled across the floor.
“………You’d better come!” Rogue yelled.
Catherine nodded. He saw the knight getting up—and his fingers touched the gate.
His vision spun. His weight was yanked in all directions—and when he next opened his eyes, he was surrounded by light.
Where am I?
There was iron everywhere, from the floors to the ceiling, like the interior of a submarine. But the lights were far too bright and hurt his eyes.
The area was fairly spacious. Rows of chairs were lined up like in a reception room, facing plastic booths.
As he tried to place it, he heard footsteps.
“Welcome, Detective Rogue.”
Auroch was peering at him from inside a booth.
“This is where Chronos was once held. I set a gate here while I was helping him escape.”
She was leaning half out of the booth, holding a distinctive rapier, and was clearly prepared for combat.
But if this was a prison, Rogue realized, it should be staffed by sturdy types used to dealing with magic crimes. Yet like the hotel a moment ago, he sensed no one else around.
“……Where are the guards?”
“Right here.”
She kicked something at her feet. Some men in guard uniforms rolled out from the booth. No light remained in their eyes, and their spines were curved.
“The Synchro spell in my magic sword has its uses, but mental interference is rather time-consuming. I knew you’d be right on my heels, and this is the result.”
“……What’s wrong with you?”
There was no need to slaughter the staff. Even if the goal was to eliminate witnesses, there was a big difference between brainwashing them and murdering them in cold blood. And the weapon was much too obvious. Was she just getting desperate?
Auroch seemed unconcerned. “All for the sake of my mission. No other reason.”
“Your mission doesn’t cover the deaths of innocent bystanders.”
“They saw me and raised a fuss. With you coming any moment, I had no time to waste on that. Don’t worry, I severed the spinal cords, so they barely felt a thing.”
Rogue grit his teeth.
_____What a scumbag.
But as he swore inside, Auroch slipped out of the booth, facing him down.
“Clearly, I rather underestimated you. I never imagined you’d see through my plans so easily. I’m impressed. As a show of respect, I will point out one error in your deductions.”
“And that is?”
“It’s a small concern, but allow me to correct it before we try to kill each other. You suggested the goal of this operation was for the Ligtons to wrest control of the witches away from the Drakenias. That is the case. But that is only what my superiors want. My ultimate goal…”
“…is to kill all the witches.”
With that, Auroch lunged forward, her thrust aimed directly at his brow. He jerked his head at the last second, and the wind whistled in his ear. A few severed hairs danced in the air. His eyes met Auroch’s. She was grinning.
_____Shithead.
“I was so happy when they picked me for the job! I finally get to kill some witches!”
She unleashed more thrusts, aiming only for his vitals—but then the tip of her rapier scraped his leg. Rogue had been in hundreds of fistfights, yet her flurry was so fast that his eyes couldn’t quite keep up with it.
“They’re evil! They should all be put down! Don’t you agree, Detective Rogue?”
Even as she struck, Auroch ranted on, implacable. She wasn’t even giving him a chance to catch his breath. How does that work? He sure wasn’t gonna last long.
Rather than back off, Rogue closed in. The tip of her blade sought his right eye. He dodged by a hair’s breadth, reached out his left hand, and grabbed her sword arm. The blade stopped dead, quivering a few millimeters from his brow.
“………That’s rich, coming from you!” He roared and gave her a head-butt.
Bleeding from the nose, Auroch said, “But I have the right to say it! Witches tore through my ancestors like confetti. They were slaughtered for hundreds of years. All were brought into this world obligated to risk everything to hunt witches, so their deaths were of no consequence. And yet those witches still live! Is that not insane? This is a righteous vengeance!”
Vengeance? Against witches?
The blade touched his brow.
“Is your strength fading?” Auroch asked. “Do I sense a grain of sympathy? Oh, do you have personal experience?”
The pressure on his brow gave way to pain. Warm fluid ran down his cheek.
“……How did you know?”
“I looked into you. A decade back, a small town in the woods was wiped out overnight! Only one little boy survived. Just eight years old. The investigation at the time concluded that the culprit was a ‘free-range’ witch. Ha-ha! I’d say we’re in the same boat.”
“……!”
He fixed her with a glare, but her smile didn’t waver.
“Witches are cruel. You should know that. Killing them brings salvation to us all.”
Auroch was crowing. There was no trace of doubt in her eyes.
“How much do those collars really restrain them? They’re merely decorative! And once something goes wrong—it’s far too late.”
The force she was using was picking up. He could feel that through the palm of the hand holding on to her. He found it hard to believe she could be this strong. Were it not for his slash-resistant gloves, she’d have cut his hand and head off.
The nature of Auroch’s smile shifted from a thin smirk to a vicious grin.
“Too worried about the witch on the other side? No need to worry about her, I assure you. She’s already dead.”
The battle was dazzling.
Two shadows flitted about the hotel lobby, bounding off the ceiling and walls, fighting in three dimensions. One used Floating and barely touched the ground; the other smashed marble walls with his feet as he vaulted after her.
The distance was no issue for the Saint. Near or far, she was melded with ten thousand spells and had unlimited means at her disposal. The issue was the magic sword in the knight’s hands.
“—!”
The sword scraped her throat. Big beads of sweat on her brow, the Saint retreated to the ceiling. Floating held her hair and veil in place—but several of those hairs were turning to sand.
The Sandmaker magic sword.
A blade made to pierce all defensive spells and even destroy a witch’s flesh. And the knight swung that around like it weighed no more than a wooden sword. The blade flashed, slicing a chunk off the marble floor, which he hefted in one hand. He threw it toward the rafters, at the witch, then kicked off the ground in pursuit.
A wall appeared before the Saint. A flicker of hesitation crossed her face. Would he wheel around right? Left? Or through the wall itself?
She guessed wrong.
The knight appeared behind her, magic sword raised high.
Instantly, she threw up layer after layer of defensive spells, but the knight’s blade cut through them—well, not all. She had thirty-odd layers, and he’d shattered twenty-five, but the remaining ones soaked the blow. Ironically, a similar standoff to that was happening on the other side of the gate.
But the knight kicked the Saint and her defenses.
The ground shook.
A huge crater opened, with the Saint at the center of it, coughing up blood. She tried to sit up, but a jolt of pain ran down her back.
She’d yet to see the limits of this knight’s might.
She heard the sound of something heavy in free fall—the sound of her impending doom.
Eyes blurry, Catherine raised an arm. A wind blade assaulted the knight’s head.
He dodged it with a crick of the neck.
Her blade sailed across the lobby, accomplishing nothing but venting a hole in the front doors.
The knight was looking down upon her coldly.
In mere seconds, Catherine would be impaled upon his magic sword. But then—the helmet covering his face cracked. Her spell had nicked the helm.
The sound of cracking metal tore through the air. A line ran up the visor, across the head. The helm split in two and fell away.
“No…why…? How?!” Catherine gasped.
There stood a girl with a collar around her neck.