Huh? That's Not a Cat, That's a Lion
With the winged garment on her back, Lupin was nothing short of a wanderer of the heavens. No—more precisely, she was a castaway.
In a game, aerial control usually came down to four keys: left and right, up and down, handling the turns and the climbs and the dives. That, however, was only the simplified version of the story. The moment you stepped into fine control, anyone's head began to ache.
Ailerons banked an aircraft into a turn. A rudder yawed the nose from side to side. Elevators governed climb and descent. You could say it was all managed with a stick and a set of pedals, but if possible meant instant, what would geniuses even be for?
And so Lupin, who didn't possess a scrap of background knowledge, had no choice but to learn the physics unique to a flying body—something utterly unlike any object that moved while pinned to the ground by gravity.
But this was Lupin. Proprietor of the Growth Values, born with an invincible star spoon in her mouth. Which was why, this time as well, she grasped the knack of flight in a mere hour and began, more or less, to carry her body through the sky by will alone.
"Damn it. To think something this good has been hogged by birdbrains all this time."
"Might you spare a thought for the birdbrain who has to listen?"
"Oh, come on. You're a spirit. You're just wearing a bird's face."
"I have confirmed the location of the Secret Chest. It seems you have no mind to go just yet."
"Well, I have to actually be able to fly before I can go looking for it."
"A fair point."
Anyway, things being what they were, she had no choice but to train in earnest. What good was flying if she couldn't go where she pleased? The proper way was to keep at it until she could truly make use of it. Otherwise, even with a new power in hand, putting it to work would be anything but easy.
"All right. Next destination..."
Having somehow crash-landed on a mountain in the outskirts of Novi Rostov, Lupin fixed on the nearest landmark she could find. It was the Rostov branch of the Adventurers' Guild, a building that called to mind a single grand hall. The structures around it happened to be low, which made it easy to pick out.
"If I aim too dead-on, I'll just overshoot."
She deliberately sighted a little off to the side of her target, then kicked off the ground once more.
Meanwhile, at the Rostov branch of the Adventurers' Guild, a lockdown had fallen over the lounge itself after a desk was smashed to splinters. Somehow, not a single person stepped in to stop it. The headquarters administrator who ought to have been calming the situation was away at a party today. And even if there was a clause for this sort of thing, who was going to be the one to step forward?
"Honestly. You are persistent, aren't you?"
"I... I can't. I can't tell you...!!"
Her opponent was one of the Imperial Alliance's Big Three: the Poison Flower of the Blumang Empire. A crazy bitch who swung a halberd twice her own height as if it were nothing. You could not look a monster like that in the eye and fire off the immortal, blanket-kicking line, Do keep it down indoors.
Already three tables had lost any resemblance to wood and were rolling across the floor as burning trash. Everyone inside the guild had fled, and yet Vatslava was still stubbornly holding out, refusing to give up the secret—to the point where you almost had to admire her. Even Emelin, who had expected at first to dig the information out with ease, was beginning to feel that the air had turned strange.
"Hmm. What should I do, Nanny?"
"Ahem. Well, if both money and threats have failed, would it not be proper to withdraw? You have exhausted every method Your Highness typically employs."
"Honestly. If you lay all my cards out like that, I'm the one who ends up in a bind. Why do you think I brought you along in the first place? Lend me that head of yours."
"My apologies. I failed to anticipate this situation as well."
And so the princess and her nanny traded their little routine. Even with those words in her ears, Vatslava shook, rigid with terror. Her opponent was at a loss, yes—but Vatslava herself had no decent way to break the stalemate either.
As the standoff dragged on, though, her survival instinct lifted its head. No one had ever treated her as kindly as Lupin and Yegor, and she absolutely did not want to betray them. If she meant to refuse that betrayal, she needed a means of staying alive.
How do I get away...?
It was a trial she had to overcome on her own. She was afraid she might not even manage to flee, and yet the memory of training through daily hardship rose fresh and clear. Running. Push-ups. Sit-ups. Not a single day of stamina and strength work missed.
Then surely, at least once, she could muster enough force to startle her opponent. And then she would run. If she stayed a hostage, it would only be a burden on Miss Lupin and Mister Yegor!
Her mind made up, Vatslava clenched her teeth. The enemy was close enough that the slightest lean of the torso would reach her. Emelin had her back turned, and her main weapon, the halberd, was jammed carelessly into the floor a short distance away. If Vatslava struck first from this range, wouldn't it be hard to react?
On three. That's when I attack.
One, two—
"Planning to attack when you hit three?"
Emelin turned her head as if she had been waiting for it. Vatslava went rigid.
"Go on. Hurry up. I'm waiting."
Am I actually allowed to hit her? Would a hit even land? What kind of confidence did I have, thinking I could throw a punch?
As if reading that unsteady heart, Emelin began to load aura into her words. A terrifying killing intent rode her gaze and raked through Vatslava's chest.
"What are you doing? Weren't you throwing yourself at me ready to die?"
No. There had never been any such resolve. Vatslava was a person afraid of dying. A person who had stayed alive by doing wicked things, because she did not want to die.
Her trembling hand crept forward with everything she had. But the strengthless fist gave out and dropped before it could so much as touch Emelin's face. Emelin caught the collapsing, unconscious Vatslava and sighed.
"So she wasn't simply a girl with a big chest."
"To hold out this long before Your Highness's aura is remarkable. I thought she was an ordinary person, but it seems that isn't quite the case."
"Hmph. The Black Rose Knights are overflowing with types who have outstanding endurance. Resisting aura I released in earnest is curious, I'll grant you, but..."
In any case, it was uncertain whether anyone else would keep faith as stubbornly as Vatslava had. And so Emelin's mood turned sour on the spot.
"So. What on earth is the relationship between Marzoc and these girls? This only makes it harder to tell."
"Ahem. At the very least, it appears to be more than friendship."
If she had thrown herself in to protect her lover despite knowing the absolute gap in power, that would make a certain kind of sense. But had a woman with a chest like this ever been Marzoc's type? Any time the subject came up it turned into an argument, so they had never properly talked about it.
"Haa... Fine. If she showed this kind of will in order to protect her own lover, I suppose I have to acknowledge it."
"Are you thinking of arranging a marriage, perhaps?"
"Nanny. I told you not to get ahead of yourself. I only meant that, as a person, she's acceptable to that extent."
"Ahem. For now, shouldn't we look for the other young lady? It shouldn't be too late to decide what to do with them after you have confirmed her as well."
Stirred by this long-awaited glimpse of devoted love, the old woman smiled impishly, as if she were only waiting to hurry on to the next step. Emelin sighed, glanced at the clock barely still hanging on the wall, and muttered.
"Right. I'll stop by the party first, so keep an eye on the girl and look after her while you're at it."
"Understood."
Emelin left the guild branch in a strangely unsettled mood. The people who had been waiting outside, trembling with anxiety, scattered all at once. As if conscious of their eyes, she slung the halberd over her shoulder and broke into a run. Dragging things out any longer would only tire everyone else for no reason.
And that was the moment.
"AAAAAAAAAH!"
Something whistled past. An unidentified flying object drew a trajectory over Emelin's head as hopeless as a balloon with the air rushing out of it.
"...Her again?"
It was that pink hair that had flown off into the distant sky a little while ago.
Pilots of the world—you have my respect. My deepest respect.
Such was the thought of Lupin, who had spent a full two hours flying in every direction imaginable and crashing, over and over again.
In truth, the way the winged garment worked wasn't all that different from an airplane's wings. Lower the left and you banked left; lower the right and you banked right. Simple and clear—entirely thanks to the tailor having neatly divided the back into left and right. What steered it, however, was Lupin's shoulders. She had creaked and groaned through unfamiliar movements, and only a little while ago had she finally managed a clean turn to either side.
What remained was climb and descent. Was she supposed to scrunch her toes and then spread them? Even so, she figured raising her Flight rank all the way would sort it out, and she glanced at the clock tower standing beside the bridge as if it were no great matter.
"Cutting it close. I should get going."
A promise had to be kept. A difference of five minutes was enough to kill someone who might have lived.
"So the Prime Minister's residence is..."
She had no map, but Lupin remembered where it stood. It had only recently become the Prime Minister's residence; back in the days when she was traveling, it had gone by the name of the Imperial Palace. A white palace. A red palace. A palace of every color. The whole of it had looked as gaudy as Neverland.
There had been Abandoned Chests inside that residence too. Inside a roof shaped like a madeleine, for one. Stuck upside down on the ceiling of a bell tower, for another. Hunting them down had been rather fun.
"Hup!"
Lupin kicked off the ground. After tumbling hard for a while, she was caked in dirt enough to shock the young ladies who had been getting her ready, with little twigs arranged in her hair like ornaments. Her body was a wreck, but her mood was excellent.
Now that she had a sense of direction, the journey through the sky was all the more delightful. The wind brushing her cheeks had no business feeling this refreshing. Imagining a Secret Chest waiting at the end of it, she felt a rapture she couldn't help. Going to open a Secret Chest, and getting to fly besides—the joy was doubled. She would have to name this one the Chest Double.
"Pfft."
And so the strange person who thought it up alone and burst out laughing alone flew straight across the sky and landed in the inner courtyard of the Prime Minister's residence. The skies had yet to be opened, so airspace defense was nonexistent. Startled knights came running, and among them was Dmitri, Speaker of the National Assembly.
The moment Lupin set her feet lightly on the ground, the winged garment melted away. Many people still lined up outside the broad main gate, not yet permitted entry, witnessed the scene.
"Did you just see that?"
"A person flew in, right? I'm not seeing things?"
"I thought only a Grand Master could fly."
Everyone on the continent knew the Grand Masters' faces, more or less. Once upon a time both nations had hurled slander at them, calling the lot the chief culprits of mass slaughter. Set beside those faces, this one was a stranger's entirely.
"But doesn't she look like that woman who flew off from the tailor's earlier?"
"Ah. That Irregular Aura User..."
"Now that you mention it, I remember. They're genuinely rare, but they say that even among Irregular Aura Users, there are occasionally people specialized in flight."
Memories scattered through the heads of those who had stopped by the tailor's were drawn smoothly together, clumped, and reached a conclusion all on their own. If she was a powerhouse who had earned enough merit for the Prime Minister himself to present a letter of thanks, it wouldn't be strange even if she were an Irregular Aura User. And as it happened, word was already thick through noble society that the person in question was a woman martial artist. Irregular Aura User. Woman martial artist. Rarity multiplied by rarity. Two clues alone narrowed the subject down to a single figure.
The provincial nobles who had sniped at Lupin's figure back at the tailor's felt their guts go past a chill and straight into a hard freeze. If it so much as came up at the party...
"She didn't happen to hear what we were saying earlier, did she?"
"N-no. Surely not..."
