Anyway, the Cult's at Fault
The Rounds—high consuls of the Empire, its supreme military power. And at the very bottom of that roster sat the Twelfth Seat: Ekaterina.
Even among the Rounds, a company packed with monsters whose humanity was itself open to doubt, she was singularly strange. In raw destructive force she lagged far behind, yet the peculiar nature of her ability closed that gap. So the woman who held the lowest seat—who, to anyone watching, seemed to muddle along doing nothing and living easy—was Ekaterina.
"Ekaterina. Skipping the Heavy Iron demonstration again this time?"
There was a long dummy that ordinarily lay flopped on the floor, then shot upright the moment aura was jammed into every corner of its maze-like interior. Forged from all manner of heavy alloys, it was a pillar that could not be raised without aura, and they had shortened its name to the Heavy Iron. It also bore a certain resemblance to a man's distinctive equipment, so in the underworld the same word doubled as a euphemism for the phallus.
Any decent Master needed only ten seconds to stand the Heavy Iron straight. A Grandmaster took three at the longest, and most of them cleared it inside one. Among the Rounds, Ekaterina alone could not raise it.
"But... it's just so grotesque."
It wasn't that she was weak. She simply suffered from a severe aversion to men. She was that rare thing even on the continent—a woman who chased women—and her tastes ran hot enough to melt the pack ice of the Arctic.
"...I'm not doubting your skill. But from the outside, people will think it strange. Remember that you're one of the Rounds."
"Why? I can prove it some other way. For instance..."
When a person suddenly multiplied into three, an ordinary Aura User tensed on instinct. And if each of those three clones carried absurd destructive power, the rabble were finished in the blink of an eye. Speed had nothing to do with it. The clones simply appeared and vanished from places an opponent could never predict. That was Ekaterina's edge, and the fundamental power that had earned her a place among the Rounds.
"Like this. I can lift it with my clones, can't I? I'd really rather not put my hands on the thing!"
Year by year, Ekaterina increased the number of her clones and piled on strength. The count grew, one year after another, until at last—
"...Impressive. To think you can handle nine clones now."
And so she was born: the Nine-Tailed Fox of Rostov, who stole the soul clean out of you with no fewer than nine clones.
Tales of this nine-tailed fox usually spread through civilian women. Lock eyes with a statuesque beauty, and in that instant she multiplies into nine and your mind goes blank. Come to, and you are lying in a lavish hotel; the moment your eyes open, an itch crawls over every part of you while a tingling climbs the small of your back, unbearable enough to raise goosebumps. Afraid some villain has kidnapped you, you check your body, find that nothing of the sort has happened, and slink home wondering whether a witch really did bewitch you.
It was one of Ekaterina's ordinary methods of abduction. The aura of Geburah—now in Lupin's possession, and turned into Puppet Magic—had originally belonged to Ekaterina, and had been put to work in exactly this sort of vile kidnapping. It was no wonder the people around her had begged and pleaded for a little restraint. And the ones doing the begging were no lesser voices than the Prime Minister and the former Emperor.
That was how willful she was, how impossible. She had survived so long as a crazy bitch that nothing frightened her anymore.
Anyone who got cocky, you seized the initiative and crushed first. If they came at you, you warned them that once your teeth sank in, there was no telling what would follow. That was the conversational style of a lunatic aged long and slow. And so, when Lupin and Klein came flying in and ground her flat, she was already a breath from detonating.
"You crazy bitches dare use me like a doormat...!"
But when Ekaterina sprang up and saw their faces—well. Weren't they exactly her type? One had a face still unripe and a figure that was perfect. The other was a shy little beauty she couldn't bear to let slip away. To think Rostov had another pretty girl like this besides Klein.
"Say. Have we met? If not, how's today?"
Lupin couldn't speak to the rest of it, but the hand was ominous. Middle finger and ring finger raised, crooking in a come-hither—that carried a meaning nothing like a simple taunt. Answering instinct's whisper, she eased a step back.
"Even if we have, I feel like we shouldn't have..."
Sadly, the pass went wide. Looking thoroughly unsatisfied, Ekaterina raised her voice so that everyone would hear.
"Hmmmm... No, but I really feel like I've seen you somewhere. A wanted poster, was it...?"
Klein, already tucked behind Lupin's back and doing nothing but reading the room, felt a chill race up her spine. Even Klein, who hardly ever refused a fight, had clicked her tongue and kept her distance from this one. Ekaterina was a crazy bitch who, at the slightest excuse of a familiar face, dragged you straight to her bed. Criminals she dragged off for the crime of being criminals. The outfit had kept her from recognizing Klein for the moment, but now that a wanted poster had been mentioned, she might lay Lupin's face over Parmenia's and turn utterly unreasonable.
Wanting to avoid the hassle, Klein whispered to Lupin.
"I think she's mistaken Lupin for Parmenia."
Lupin fiddled with the vials hidden in her harness belt and muttered.
"Did she catch a whiff of this poison? What a freak of a nose."
"...That can't be it. How would anyone smell poison that's sealed? Lupin and Parmenia just look alike."
"Oh. Right, right. I forgot."
How do you forget the face of someone you killed and then robbed of her precious vials? They even looked alike. But Klein could not bring herself to call Lupin an idiot. The day Lupin said "That's right, I'm an idiot!" and owned it, Klein would become the idiot imbecile who had lost to that idiot.
Anyway, what mattered was that the vials not be found. Lupin seemed to carry them around like spoils, and nothing good would come of showing them now.
"Anyway. Those vials. Just be careful not to get caught—"
"Knew it."
The problem was that Ekaterina's obsession outran Klein's worry.
"I told you I've seen you somewhere."
A moment ago Ekaterina had been standing right in front of them. Now she was at Lupin's back. She hadn't moved—a clone had simply popped into a blind spot—so even Lupin failed to react in time. Lupin was a veteran at tracking motion with her eyes, but she was not used to a jump scare like this.
And so: a soft tok, then a clatter. Five vials of lethal poison sprang from Lupin's harness belt and tumbled across the floor. Every face went rigid at once. The one groaning with rage among them was Klein.
Fucked. The word seethed through her head. The situation had just turned into a filthy headache.
If someone set out to railroad her, Lupin could be taken for Parmenia as easily as anything. The two looked so alike that even Klein had been fooled. And now vials that looked dangerous at a glance were rolling on the floor, while Ekaterina held a composite sketch of Parmenia up beside Lupin's face and shook it.
"Look. See? I told you I saw her on a wanted poster."
If that crazy bob-haired woman started insisting, a shocking scenario could be born in which the entire Republic had been deceived by a Parmenia pretending to be Lupin. A misunderstanding could be cleared if one worked at it, but being misunderstood in the first place was already unpleasant. And if Lupin took on mental stress in the process, the Calamity Star might grow in the wrong direction. Should the misunderstanding deepen like this, Lupin would end up a fugitive and build her power on malice toward humanity. It would end in the worst outcome of all.
The awakening of an Apostle of the Calamity Star. The destruction of the Cult. No—the destruction of the entire world!
I'm going to lose my mind.
She had not yet recovered all of her aura, but she could still wield an aura whip. Klein swiftly wound the thin whip around her fingertips—a sharp crack—and snatched up every vial of lethal poison rolling on the floor, gathering them into her hand. Anything, so long as every eye fixed on her.
Ekaterina startled at the sight. That distinctive use of aura finally let her recognize the Shrine Maiden hidden behind the adorable outfit.
"Wait... what's this now. Aren't you Klein? Why does this crazy bitch look like that again?"
Klein was about to spit curses on the inside, and then she didn't. Of all moments, the command Lupin had laid on her sent the words bursting out on their own.
"Klein is a victim. Klein has been deceived by the Cult all this time.... The Heavenly Lord treats the Shrine Maidens not as people, but as dolls. A young girl like Klein had her weakness seized by the Heavenly Lord and was driven out into the world half-naked. Please believe her. Klein's tears are the proof...."
A tiny, rolling sob. Heavenly Lord, forgive me... A single round tear slid down Klein's cheek.
Lupin marveled at the sight.
"A tragedy.... Born on modern Earth, she would have swept every Best Actress award."
Klein snapped back to herself and yelped.
"What are you saying?! Do you not see how serious this is?!"
As usual, the only one trying to salvage the mess was Klein, and she was the one about to lose her mind.
The problem was Ekaterina's reaction to those words. As if she had been waiting for exactly this, she began to knead the situation however she pleased.
"Aha. You and Parmenia, hand in hand, come to turn yourselves in? I'd welcome that. Perfect—as one of the Rounds, I'll see that the two of you stand on the judgment dais of the Round Table hall."
Contrary to Klein's fears, however, the Prime Minister and Dmitri were not yet fully convinced that Lupin was Parmenia. Their suspicion and distrust of Ekaterina were simply too great. Live as one of the Rounds, and you ought to have done something properly. They had found the Cult's stronghold and asked her to sweep it; she ignored them. The mafia ran wild and they asked her to sweep them; she ignored them. So for the moment, what worried Dmitri more than his suspicions of Lupin was something else entirely.
A fight was about to break out. It wasn't certain that Lupin was Parmenia, but the resemblance was extreme, and she was carrying poison besides, so the doubt was there. Even so, to let them fight here would mean the palace...
No. Absolutely not. It could not collapse again. This was a building that stood as a symbol of the Republic.
"I have a proposal!"
At that booming voice, everyone turned to Dmitri. If this was to be settled at a stroke and right sorted from wrong, there was only one way.
"Lupin says she is herself, and that she is not Parmenia, so it is difficult for us to take either side."
Ekaterina jerked one eyebrow down, as if about to wail over how they could fail to trust a Round of their own country. Dmitri was faster, and he kept going.
"Let us settle it with a trial by duel! What do you say? If Ekaterina wins, Parmenia and Klein are handed over. If Lupin wins, her innocence stands proven."
A way out like a single shaft of light through a tangled mess. After all, there was no chance an Apostle like Lupin would lose to the mere lowest seat of the Rounds. Klein was just about to applaud on the inside—not bad, for an old man—when it happened.
"Simply handing them over is no fun. I'd like to add one more condition."
Ekaterina wore a lewd smile, flicked her tongue, and wet her upper lip. The usual crook of the fingers came with it.
"If I win, both of you had better be ready tonight. I'll let you experience heavenly pleasure."
What an obscene thing to say. Dmitri and the Prime Minister lost their words at the same time and clutched their foreheads.
Lupin, who had been enduring all of this, spoke with a straight face.
"Does that include her?"
"Yeah. Honestly, my taste runs a little closer to Klein."
Lupin was no idiot where the senses were concerned. She could tell well enough when a gaze full of lust was aimed at her body, and she knew perfectly well that this shameless body of hers kept stirring indecent thoughts in people. She herself sometimes felt her heart race, looking at her reflection in a mirror or in water. How much worse must it be for other humans—that was the general idea.
But Klein? A flat chest, a scrawny frame—anyone could see she was a child. And this crazy bitch was declaring war, announcing she would devour a child like that?
"Unforgivable. You polar-bear-slaughtering lolicon pedophile..."
