Adopt 193

Episode 193

“Spear of the Meteor!”

Someone shouted the name of the weapon.

Among black magicians, the rumor had spread in secret: if you ever faced the Spear of the Meteor, abandon everything and flee. To them, the spear formed of light was as merciless as the scythe of a grim reaper, cutting down their number without hesitation.

Yet none of the magicians gathered around the round table made any move to escape at once. That was because they were certain the Spear of the Meteor could not possibly appear here.

After all, its sole rightful owner was said to be hanging on the verge of death.

“W-what?”

“Why is that here…?”

The mismatch between what they knew and the reality unfolding before their eyes.

That instant’s hesitation sealed the fates of several black magicians.

Whoosh.

Something as white as an egret drifted down through the ruined roof and landed atop the table.

Even as he landed in the heart of enemy territory, Giuseppe calmly adjusted his stark white clerical robes. A fairy peeked out from his hair.

With sparkling eyes, the fairy looked around and cried out,

“All together, they’re worth five hundred gold!”

“Confirmed. All black magicians.”

“Damn it, get away!”

The black magicians snapped out of their stupor and tried to dodge the spear.

But the thin chains winding around the spear unraveled like vines, spreading in all directions like a net.

There was no time to offer sacrifices or cast black magic.

Clang!

As if each chain possessed a will of its own, they raced to ensnare the black magicians trying to scatter.

“Clerics and magic? What is this?!”

The black magicians’ secret council was turned into a hunting ground in an instant.

Some managed to roll aside, evading the chains, while others slashed the chains apart with aura-infused swords.

Yet soon, those ensnared by the magic chains were ruthlessly dragged back.

“Ugh!”

Giuseppe stepped on the back of a black magician hauled atop the round table as if restraining a trapped beast.

Then, summoning two more spears, he pinned the man’s hands to the table like an insect in a specimen case.

“aaAAGH!”

“Wow, for a servant of God, you’ve got a nasty streak.”

A taunting, mocking voice.

Now impaled through both hands and unable to move, the black magician wept from the pain yet managed to lift his head with effort.

As he did, he saw a man in a gray cape, with pink hair, standing beside Giuseppe, arms crossed.

He realized the man was a magician not because of the cape, but because he stood, unsupported, on thin air.

Giuseppe appeared gentle, if not inhumanly serene, with a faint, emotionless smile. In contrast, the magician’s gray eyes still gleamed with a trace of human feeling—and the black magician, sensing this, pleaded for his life.

“P-please… Y-you’re… mistaken. I—I’m nothing more than a humble, hic, merchant…”

At these words, the magician regarded him.

Relying on the instincts of a veteran merchant, the black magician glimpsed a flicker of pity in the magician’s gaze, and hope surged.

Tap.

Giuseppe’s fingertip touched the black magician’s forehead.

The golden light in his eyes flashed, as predatory as a beast stalking in the darkness.

Giuseppe withdrew his hand and wiped it on a handkerchief, murmuring,

“To have delved into black magic for the sake of your own safety and profit—remarkable, truly.”

At that, the magician scowled and clicked his tongue.

“N-no… there were reasons…”

But the black magician’s pathetic excuses ended there.

“May merciful Aria turn a deaf ear to your plea for forgiveness.”

With this brief prayer, Giuseppe drew the Spear of the Meteor from the table into his grasp.

And then—

Crack.

“Kh!”

The man’s world went dark.

Giuseppe’s tranquil voice followed.

“The location of the explosive is the northeastern ship warehouse. Have you located the others?”

“…All but the Red Tower Master.”

Without sparing another glance for the man’s dimming eyes, Cheshire perched an oracle beast on his index finger.

After whispering both the bomb’s location and the escaped magicians’ direction, he gently kissed the butterfly’s wingtip.

“To my master.”

Carrying its master’s message and kiss, the yellow butterfly soared into the sky, heedless of the pouring rain or fierce winds.

---

Never in her life had a night felt so long.

The woman ran and ran without rest.

Yet her pursuers seemed to know her location at every moment, springing at her from all directions.

She realized only after staining her blade with their blood that they’d marked her with magic for tracking.

It was only after she scraped the enchantment from her back with her aura that she was able to shake the pursuers off.

Confirming no further signs of pursuit, she leaned against a crumbling stone wall, gasping for breath.

Blood from her sword was washed away by the rain, dripping to the ground.

“Clerics and magicians… Is the world now upside down and I never noticed?”

Even recalling it now, the situation seemed ludicrous.

It was those in red cloaks who’d ambushed her when she escaped outside.

Some had swung swords imbued with holy power, others wielded magic wands.

It was a combination she’d never imagined possible—much less prepared for, and thus unbearably troublesome.

She wiped her face, uncertain whether it was rain or sweat, and straightened away from the wall.

Luckily, the storm and darkness were working in her favor.

The rain would mask her tracks, the wind would blind the pursuers, and the night would hide her body.

Now, with the hunters having lost her trail, this was her chance.

‘I need to hide in some deserted ruin and recover my stamina, even if only for a moment.’

To a woman who’d once gained fame as a mercenary, such adversity hardly counted as real hardship.

She cautiously peered out of the alley.

Satisfied no pursuers lurked nearby, she stepped forward—just as a prickling sense of being watched froze her in place. Sword ready, she spun.

But it was only her imagination. The alley was deserted, with only the relentless rain pursuing her.

“…”

Yet she kept her guard high, spotting a single crow sheltered beneath a low roof.

Its crimson eyes gleamed fiercely from the darkness.

Immediately, she recognized it.

“A shadow crow…”

At her muttered words, the beast rapped its beak as if replying.

“Damn it!”

She sprang aside at once.

Just as quickly, the hunters were upon her again.

‘That woman’s still in the city!’

The ascetic had said it:

Marquis Blanche, who could expose black magicians, commanded monsters.

Now she saw it—at the edge of her vision, shadow crows swelling under cover of darkness, slinking and swelling.

On tree branches, below eaves, atop ruined ramparts, in the spires’ shadows—they waited like silent sentinels, surveilling every corner of the city.

“There she is! Take her!”

Among the shouts of pursuit rose the cawing of crows.

Even tossed like paper in the gales, the shadow crows soared up, circling above the black magician’s head, guiding her pursuers.

Now the woman understood how they were always on her trail. But there was nothing for it.

She could only keep running through the pounding rain until she dropped.

---

Atop a tall spire.

Unable to bear the headache, I leaned against the wall and gulped down a mana potion.

I felt a trickle of mana returning to my core, but the pain only throbbed without relief.

The headache was not caused by magical depletion.

“Ugh, this is killing me.”

Even so, I forced myself, peering through the eyes of Kkao’s scattered familiars across the city, tracking the positions of the black magicians.

Scenes from all over the city poured violently into my mind.

Only when my brain, overloaded like an overheated engine, signaled agony did I break the link with Kkao.

As I pinpointed the sword-wielding female black magician, a butterfly messenger, fragrant as a bloom, fluttered in from a rain-lashed window—Cheshire’s herald.

Through the magic beast, news arrived that the bomb hidden in the northeastern warehouse had been removed.

I relayed the position of the identified black magician in reply and stood.

For the time being, as a gesture of solidarity and to lower mutual suspicion, all clergy and magicians dispatched for this task wore matching red cloaks.

Each also bore one of Cheshire’s messenger beasts, so information I uncovered could reach them swiftly.

Giuseppe would use his “Insight” to read memories from captured black magicians and identify the bomb locations.

The plan, so far, was unfolding as hoped.

At least three bombs remained.

Six hours until detonation.

‘I can do it.’

I savored the hope, gazing out through the rain-streaked window—

“So, you’re the one at the command post.”

What I saw was a child floating in midair outside the spire, peering within.

“…!”

I froze.

The child clutched a long, heavy staff nearly too large for his small frame.

On his innocent face, I caught a glimpse of cruel laughter, and murmured like a curse,

“Red Tower Master…”

“Click click. Goodness. It’s become a nuisance—my identity is far too well known these days.”

I swallowed reflexively.

Well, I’m screwed.