Adopt 192
by CristaeEpisode 192
The port city, warned of an approaching typhoon, was in an uproar.
Every ship anchored at the harbor, from small boats to massive sailing vessels, had been secured tightly with ropes, while people battened wooden planks over every window.
Today, on the eve of the storm, tension was evident on people’s faces, but there was no sign of fear.
Even the typhoon that swept through the harbor each year, ravaging their homes, was nothing more than part of daily life to them.
‘I almost wish Giuseppe was mistaken.’
A disaster shelter situated on high ground.
I gazed up at the sky, shrouded in ashen storm clouds.
Restored by the fountain of all things, Giuseppe had shared with me the fragmented memories he’d stolen from the novice priest who was once a black magician.
Six figures gathered around a round table.
The operation, set for two days hence.
A human sacrifice, meant to complete the undying black magic circle.
The means to secure it…
“Master.”
A voice called to me. The moment I turned and saw Cheshire’s darkened expression, I understood at once.
We had finally found what we’d been searching for.
“It’s just as the oracle said. A magical device forged through black magic was installed in the shelter.”
Delicate strands of magic, spun like spider silk, dangled from Cheshire’s hand. At their end swung a semi-transparent cube, swaying like a pendulum.
Inside the crystal cube, various spheres floated like planets in a miniature universe—a sight that, rather than beautiful, struck me as deeply ominous.
“Suga, what about you? Do you sense anything from this thing?”
Responding to my question, Suga materialized for the first time in a while, buried his nose in the object and sniffed, then cocked his head quizzically.
“No, I don’t smell anything worth a hundred gold coins.”
Unfortunately, it seemed Suga’s black magician sensor only responded to people.
After confirming Suga’s reaction, Cheshire explained what it was.
“It’s a particularly nasty artifact. At the set time, every magic spell compressed inside will detonate like a barrage of fireworks.”
“…If this were triggered inside the shelter…”
“The building would collapse and the casualties would be catastrophic. This is essentially an explosive spell.”
A dreadful word surfaced in my mind.
A bomb attack.
That was how the cult aimed to harvest the lives of the harbor city’s people to complete their ritual of immortality.
‘Gunpowder and firearms aren’t even that developed here… yet a bomb attack?’
It felt strangely out of place with the era, but I shook my head, banishing the idle thought.
That wasn’t what mattered now.
By a stroke of luck, Giuseppe had glanced the novice priest’s memories, alerting us to the bomb hidden in the disaster shelter.
But relief was premature.
We couldn’t be sure this was the only explosive device.
Given how sensitive the black magician novice priest was to Giuseppe, the black magic organization must be aware Giuseppe could use his “Eyes of Insight” to see into the past.
If I were in their shoes—
‘They wouldn’t store all the explosives together, nor would they share their locations among themselves.’
That way, even if one or two came into contact with Giuseppe, the remaining explosives would not be exposed.
It was safest to assume there were as many hidden bombs as there were members—at least six—scattered throughout the city.
“Can you find out when it’s set to trigger?”
Cheshire grumbled, saying alchemy wasn’t exactly her specialty, but soon managed to answer.
“In eighteen hours.”
Ah—thankfully, it looked like we had time to evacuate the people.
“All right, first we’ll go to the lord, present this artifact as evidence, and begin the evacuation…”
Just then—
Plop. Plink.
Before I could finish speaking, raindrops began to tap the bridge of my nose.
At first it was just a drop here and there, but in no time, rain poured down in sheets, and a sharp gale tore through the city.
The typhoon had made landfall.
Thanks to the translucent barrier Cheshire conjured overhead, not a hair of mine was wet, but I couldn’t suppress a sense of despair.
By the time we explained the situation to the lord and began evacuating people, the typhoon would be raging through the city.
In other words, while fleeing from a bomb, we could be swept away by the storm.
It was already too late to abandon the city.
In that case…
“…It’ll be best to evacuate everyone to the disaster shelter. The black magicians won’t realize the bomb in the shelter’s been removed, so it should be the safest option for now.”
Cheshire acted without delay.
Thankfully, the authority of the tower master worked wonders.
Moreover, the lord—whose face turned ghostly pale at the mere mention of black magic—asked no questions and nodded obediently, agreeing to follow our lead.
To keep the black magicians from catching on, the lord used the typhoon as an excuse to order an evacuation.
But the shelter wasn’t large enough to hold everyone, and, accustomed to surviving typhoons year after year, the westerners didn’t feel threatened enough to run straight to the shelter; most simply barricaded themselves inside their homes.
In short, many remained exposed to the threat of a bomb attack.
Together with the magicians of the tower and soldiers provided by the lord, I braved the downpour as we searched every corner of the city.
The places where, if a bomb went off, the destruction would be greatest.
Perhaps because we focused on such spots—
We found one device in the clock tower, another in a densely populated residential district.
By the time we’d discovered both bombs, night had fallen, and gales strong enough to topple trees were laying waste to the city.
Only ten hours remained.
It became impossible to continue the search any further because of the wind and darkness. At last, Cheshire let out a quiet breath.
“Ah.”
Her eyes, which had been as gray as the rain-drenched city, abruptly gleamed gold.
“There’s movement.”
“What?”
Cheshire glanced around, then whispered in my ear.
“The black magician who attacked the oracle. He’d been quiet, but now he’s moving—actively.”
It was news like a welcome rain shower.
I nodded, retrieving Kao’s familiars from the shadows.
“Send a message to the high priest.”
Instead of complaining, Cheshire simply nodded once in silence.
Soon, one of Cheshire’s yellow butterflies fluttered into the typhoon-wracked darkness, headed for the temple.
“I thought I’d lived a long life, but I’ve never seen such a wretched typhoon, click click.”
It was the Red Tower Master who spoke, though his shoes remained spotless and dry.
The rest of the black magicians fared less well, all resembling drowned rats.
Apart from the Red Tower Master and the alchemist who’d crafted the bomb devices, none had mastery enough over magic to shield themselves from the rain while moving about.
A few scowled openly at the Red Tower Master in their irritation, but he ignored them, chortling to himself.
He was buoyed by an exhilaration he had never before experienced in his long life.
Nine hours remained.
After that, he would achieve immortality, free from all human constraints and rules, able to pursue truth eternally.
‘Though I’ll have to serve that ascetic for a few years, it’s a small price for eternal life.’
And once that’s done, I’ll rip the ascetic apart with these hands.
No one but I need know the secret of the undying magic circle.
Wearing a childlike, innocent smile as he imagined such things, the Red Tower Master turned to the principal actors of tonight.
To activate the circle of immortality that the ascetic had revealed, four magicians were required.
As soon as the price was paid in hundreds of corpses, he and three others would activate the circle together. One might think this required trust and cooperation, but the Red Tower Master trusted none of his fellows.
He was confident, though, that they wouldn’t betray him: everyone but himself worshipped the ascetic as a god.
No matter their scorn, they would not dare disobey their leader.
“Click click, I’ll be relying on you.”
He had just finished this brief greeting and was checking their plan.
The troublesome Marquis Blanche the ascetic had fretted over had departed for the capital, and there was even news that the high priest Giuseppe—who had interfered at every turn—was on his deathbed.
Yet, a vague sense of foreboding made the Red Tower Master narrow his eyes, scanning the room.
Once his excitement had subsided, that nameless unease prodded his rusted instincts.
His gaze swept around the round table and landed on the man who’d poisoned Giuseppe.
“You, come here. There’s something odd about you.”
“Finally lost your mind, old man—urk! Let go of me!”
Without warning, the Red Tower Master swung his staff, sending the man spinning up into the air.
Then, he noticed—a butterfly-shaped residue of magic clinging to the man’s right shoulder.
“A tail…!”
He started to shout the warning, eyes wide—
Crash!
A dazzling spear of light smashed through the rotting wooden ceiling, driving itself into the center of the round table.