Pre-show: Pigeon Magic

Back before the possession, Lupin's first job had been a truly magnificent place.

She'd only just stepped out into the world as a working adult and hardly knew a thing. She'd grabbed whatever workplace she could find so she could eat, and what she landed in was the blackest of black companies. From the interview all the way through to being hired, it wasn't even paperwork—it was a verbal agreement. When they told her they'd take care of the rest, Lupin was so delighted she just kept saying yes, and the result was a company-drafted employment contract of sublime villainy: three solid years on ten days of vacation, without a single raise.

A friend had advised her to report them to the labor ministry and see what came of it, but the moment she clocked out she was too busy cracking loot boxes to have the energy. After three years she was made permanent, and by then they treated her decently enough—by Lupin's standards, anyway. To her, that was the orthodox method of employment. The bible.

Paper contracts, aura contracts. She didn't know the first thing about any of it.

"Contract term is two years, for starters. I might decide I don't like the way you work, so I can terminate it midway whenever I feel like it. Your pay is the ten gold bars I just handed you. Even if I cancel, I won't take those back. Easier for you that way too, right? As for benefits... hmm. Every wanted criminal I catch is yours."

Yegor, who had been bracing himself on the natural assumption that this would be an aura contract, was struck dumb.

A verbal contract? It had no binding force whatsoever. The terms, though, were so outrageously generous that objecting felt awkward.

"You don't need the bounty money?"

"Nope. I'm not a fan of walking around with heads dangling off me, and I don't really need money either. You do, so take plenty."

"...This is going to help me a lot, financially. Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Anyway, we made a contract, so you keep it no matter what. If you die, we're in big trouble."

And so a verbal contract that could be torn up without a mouse or a bird ever knowing was sealed. Yegor found it absurd, but he didn't bother pointing it out. He had no intention of breaking it anyway, and now that he was at her side, if anyone tried to swindle Lupin he could simply stop them. More than that, she had stressed it twice and then a third time, and his curiosity about the person he was meant to protect stirred in spite of himself.

If a powerhouse like her was going out of her way to entrust someone to Yegor, just how grave a threat to their life must that person be under?

An imperial scion, maybe, fled from some imperial house? Or a young lady of the nobility who'd cut ties with her parents and run off for love?

Only Lupin knew the truth.

"Extra duties. If we end up traveling out into the backcountry, all the cooking is on you. You carry all the luggage, too."

"I was planning on that anyway. Your palate's pickier than I expected."

Lupin, on the verge of wrapping the contract up, suddenly sank into thought. Had she been acting too much like a predatory employer?

"Anything you want added? Some clause of your own?"

"I'd like you to help me train every day."

"Denied."

"Why? It's a simple thing."

"Oh, come on. Where in the world is there an employee who asks his employer to swing a whip at him?!"

Well, wasn't that exactly it? Men whipping each other. She couldn't help thinking of those bizarre old videos—a black leather cap, strange noises, a whip cracking—and as far as she was concerned, anyone who recommended that filth with a you can't be the only one who hasn't seen this deserved to have their fingers broken so they could never hit the recommend button again.

"I'm not asking you to help me with a whip. Like I said, that's not my taste."

"So what, Red and Blue are your taste?"

"Right. Said the sword was too heavy, and next thing I knew they'd produced a whip from somewhere."

Blue had only been going along with it, so strictly speaking it was Red's taste. Did all women just turn into that in front of a handsome man? Lupin found herself thinking that maybe this bastard called narrative plausibility was even greater than a hypnosis app.

"Anyway. Lord Yegor-Who-Loves-Whips-Way-Too-Much. So what do you want help with, then?"

"Don't call me weird titles. A sword will do."

Lupin looked revolted.

"Hey. I don't have a hobby of splitting my employees in half and killing them."

Yegor sighed and drew the sword at his hip. A moment later the hilt was pointed at Lupin.

"Give it a swing."

"At who. You?"

"Yeah. It's fine."

"Full power? Or just a reasonable amount?"

"Swing with everything you've got. It won't even leave a scratch."

If he up and died after saying that, it would be pretty unhinged in its own right. Lupin stared at the sword he'd handed her, weighed it, and made up her mind. Fine. Don't bring it down on his neck—just lop off the left arm. You can swing a sword all you want with one arm gone. If he ends up one-armed, does his stock with women go up or down? Kinda curious, actually.

"Here it comes."

The hand locked around the hilt rose slowly toward the sky, then dropped with the force of a weight whose cord had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠snapped. The blade came down in a clean arc and stopped dead. It simply hung there in empty air.

"Ohh..."

Far from biting into Yegor's shoulder, the sword failed to raise so much as a scratch. Something glowing and translucent had caught it; it wouldn't pull free, and it wouldn't sink a hair deeper.

"A technique that wraps aura around the body like armor to block attacks. Aura Armor. The efficiency isn't much to brag about, but anyone short of a real powerhouse isn't getting through it easily."

"Hmm. Yeah, at this level I can help you out."

"Good. When you've got the time, a sword. That's all I'm asking."

"I'll help. Just don't come crying to me later about how your arm got cut off because of me, or your leg."

"Don't worry. Long as I don't die, it's fine, isn't it?"

In that instant Lupin was certain. This bastard really was a masochistic pervert. Inside her, the friendship score with Yegor began to trace a slow downward curve.

"Yeah, whatever.... Do what you want."

"If it looks dangerous, I'll stop it myself. So don't worry about it."

That was a result rather at odds with the way Yegor's estimation of Lupin kept climbing on his side.

He got to his feet and idly brushed his left shoulder. Lupin didn't know it, but cold sweat had beaded across his scalp and down the line of his spine. As the sword tip fell, Yegor had heard his body's warning—a truly craven warning that his left arm was about to come off. Reason shouted that he was fine. Instinct said otherwise. In the end he drove Aura Armor's output to its maximum, roughly twice his usual intensity, and Lupin's sword stuck fast in an armor like that. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠It was an output that sent the blades of ordinary Masters bouncing clean off. If this wasn't a marvel, nothing was.

A mysterious power.

Yegor was interested in Lupin's skill, and in her talent. Swift Advance of the Shadowless Sword Style—an art that unfolded it on pure speed and strength, with no aura at all. He had never seen the like in his life. It was a rarer constitution even than his own, the body that grew harder the more it was struck. Keep her close, build the relationship ahead of time, and he could claim any number of advantages before anyone else. Yegor had his reasons for hiding who he was, and for the time being he had no reason at all to leave her side.

If one assumed, however, that a favorability value existed which only Lupin could see, then Yegor was already in the negatives. Whether the friendship would survive past the end of the contract was anyone's guess.

"Oh, right. You. Don't go putting a whip in Lava's hands."

"Lava?"

"The one you're supposed to protect. Anyway, don't go infecting her with weird tastes."

"...It's not fun anymore. How about we stop?"

Lupin, her expression severe, spoke in a solemn tone.

"What are you even saying. I am dead serious."

After being fooled by Maze Rat, Lupin made up her mind to aim for the opposite of the ones with enormous bounties: the small fry. She herself had realized that the ones who advertised their treasure chests out in the open were, if anything, more likely to have no real treasure chest at all. For a Lupin whose eyes spun the moment she so much as heard the words treasure chest, it was truly remarkable growth. A ten-chain of music boxes in a row had finally stapled her skull shut. On this point, even Lupin acknowledged Maze Rat. He had laid down his life and left her a great lesson—a truly noble sacrifice, one might say.

At any rate, Tasili set off on a trip for the next commission, and with that the lessons in civilizing the clueless Lupin were temporarily suspended as well. Seizing the opening, she set the same goals all over again: snag ten Secret Safes, and activate her unique aura, Pigeon Magic.

Fortunately, perhaps because they were small fry, the hunt went like a blade through bamboo. Every last one of them dropped to a single Swift Advance, so there was no need to bust out the gorgeous Swift Advance Strike.

And the important part. Five stars.

The small fry's Secret Safes were far more honest than the big shots'. Music boxes? None. Fake treasure chests? None. Nothing inside but one-hundred-percent pure stolen goods, scraped together stitch by stitch! Every single one she opened sent the counter up. Big or small—so long as it held stolen goods and the owner was a criminal, it seemed to count as a Secret Safe.

Deeply moved, Lupin thereafter crisscrossed the streets of Ryabolsk without a moment's rest. It was right around the time adventurers' written accounts began making the rounds at the Association—stories of pocketing easy money after stumbling across a wanted man's corpse on a dawn patrol.

Who am I?

The owner of Pigeon Magic.

She had swung a real sword so relentlessly that her Strength Growth Value finally reached Grade X, with nowhere higher left to climb. On raw physical ability alone she could stand shoulder to shoulder with a Master, and depending on the moment even hold the upper hand. Her aura, meanwhile, was still a mere one star. The more she grew it, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠further the scales would tip.

Aura experience was something you built by using aura. And Lupin's pigeons found those connected to a Secret Safe. She could hunt Secret Safes just by training? Then she had to do it right away, didn't she? Even at this point, Lupin had no idea what kind of result the act would bring.

Talent had informed her that Pigeon Magic was detection, yes. But at its root, Pigeon Magic was an aura made for killing enemies.

Deep in the night, when everyone slept, a flock of white pigeons rose into the sky over Ryabolsk, the largest city in the east of the Rostov Republic, home to some hundred thousand souls. The faintly glowing flock scattered in every direction and drew paths of light across the dark, and a spectacle like fireworks unfolded. A few who witnessed it that night later testified that a small, pretty white firework had burst over by the cathedral. To an ordinary person, it may well have been a single spark.

The scattered pigeons divided their numbers with precision and set off to detect every Secret Safe within range, whirling in a frantic dance around the safes and the people who owned them. A few, annoyed by pigeons that smashed in through the windows out of nowhere and ran riot, swung hands and weapons.

Merciless judgment fell upon those who dared attack the pigeon spirits. Beaks that looked almost round, depending on the angle, became weapons more terrible than any other, and pecked eyes and throats without pause.

The next morning, the mayor declared a state of emergency—because every detective and crime expert who saw the scene concluded the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠case was impossible to investigate.