The Calm Before the Storm

The team had been safely secured.

No actual assassination attempts were made, but Lahar's threats had been no bluff. Unidentified suspicious figures were spotted within Evan and Misha's vicinity and promptly arrested.

As expected, the greatest danger was ignorance.

Even with a blade pressed against their throats, the Security Bureau still had no grasp of the enemy's true numbers. Nor did they know the full scope of whatever plot was being hatched.

"He got away. Slippery little rat."

Lahar had vanished.

The moment Muzark reported his conversation with Lahar to his superiors, a pursuit team was assembled, but they came up empty-handed. It was a failure born of the Redline's inherent limitations and the deep-seated rot within the Security Bureau itself.

"Without a single security camera, we have no choice but to throw bodies at the problem. But do these bastards ever follow orders? Just how deep does the rot go in this place?"

There were even security officers detained for intentionally sowing chaos. One of them tearfully claimed he had no choice but to cooperate because his family was being held hostage.

The truth didn't matter.

Stripping away the uncertainties left only two cold facts.

First, Lahar had ultimately escaped.

Second, a rapid wave of distrust was spreading through the Security Bureau...

And all of this was unfolding under the Director's lukewarm response.

"It looks like the Director has her own agenda."

"Did she have no intention of catching him from the start?"

Yen shrugged at Muzark's question.

"Personally, I wanted to drag him in and beat the truth out of him. But I can see where she's coming from. Even I'm starting to suspect everyone around me of being a spy. Taking out the ringleader alone won't solve the problem."

It was a period of patient waiting to weed out the rot by its roots.

Though frustrating, Muzark understood. He, too, believed that taking Lahar's head alone wouldn't solve anything.

"Now I get why this place was so peaceful while Southred was going to hell."

"Ahaha. It wasn't just because 'the Director and the Security Bureau were doing a great job.'"

The outlaws had laid low for a long time. They had invested time to blend into the very Security Bureau that oppressed them. It was an intelligent, cunning strategy.

Consequently, the current atmosphere in the Security Bureau was nothing short of chilling. Everyone cast suspicious glances at one another. A few who had been close to Lahar were even being interrogated.

Yet, it wasn't a busy time. On the surface, the Director had not taken any decisive action yet. Everyone knew it was merely the calm before the storm.

Sitting in a corner of the café, Muzark rested his chin on his hand and looked at Yen.

"You really drink that stuff down. It looks like muddy water."

"Hmm?"

Yen took a sip of her americano. Her drink of choice was always the same. Even if she was freezing to death, even if it was bitter, sour, and disgusting, it had to be an iced americano.

Ice was quite expensive, yet she insisted on it every single time.

"Is it actually good?"

"Who drinks this for the taste?"

The bubbles in her cup gurgled.

"The slums, you see, are terrible in general, but the luxury goods are absolute garbage. You can't find coffee, alcohol, or cigarettes this bad anywhere else. High-quality liquor and tobacco are treated like actual treasures."

True, when even the water tasted fishy, what could one expect? Thinking back, Lahar's grand claims were utter nonsense. Even if you became the king of rats, it wouldn't put a bidet on your toilet.

A clean toilet was far more precious than trivial power...

"But living on nothing but rice and water makes life feel so pathetic. Of course, as a mage, I have my own grand ambitions. But I also want to take care of myself as a human being, you know?"

Yen crunched on an ice cube. It was a habit she had developed to rinse her mouth because the coffee tasted so catastrophically bad. Muzark couldn't comprehend why she went to such lengths to drink it.

"And in a way, it gives me a sense of achievement."

"Achievement? How?"

"The higher up we go, the better it'll taste, right?"

Huh. That was surprisingly persuasive.

"How was it in the Yellowline?"

"I didn't pay any attention to the taste back then. It was probably decent, though."

As Muzark nodded in agreement, Yen offered him her cup with a grin. But the smell alone was enough to make him gag, so he waved his hand dismissively.

"Still, why pay money to torture your own tongue?"

"Aren't we picky. What are you going to spend your money on anyway?"

"I'll find a use for it eventually. It's money, after all."

"Hmm. Well, up there, spellbooks do occasionally go up for auction..."

The conversation drifted off for a moment.

Silence was natural between people, so there was no awkwardness. Feeling an inexplicable sense of comfort, Yen quietly gazed at Muzark.

As always, a question mark floated in her mind.

A new doubt that had arisen after the battle with the outlaws.

What on earth is that magic of yours?

Yen had received no explanation about Cryptofetica. Nor did she intend to pry. This had nothing to do with their level of trust.

It was common sense in the magical world.

Forcing someone to reveal their magic was a grave insult. Depending on the method, it could even violate the law. If it was an unconventional spell akin to a signature magic, asking was completely out of the question.

She could only make deductions in her head.

I thought it was just some kind of magic-interfering ability.

There was no need to jump to absurd hypotheses like magic nullification. Even simple interference was an incredible anomaly. But now, her thoughts had changed.

If it was an interference effect, how did he use Shield?

During the battle with the outlaws, Muzark had manifested that mysterious magic and his Shield simultaneously. He had deployed the Shield without suffering any magical interference whatsoever.

A Shield was a spell that enveloped the exterior of the body. If Muzark's black armor emitted some intangible wave that disrupted the flow of mana, he shouldn't have been able to use Shield either.

To have only his own magic function perfectly...

Was such a thing even possible?

At least within Yen's magical knowledge, it was an impossible phenomenon. It was like the massive weather magic she had witnessed in her childhood. Though different in nature, they shared the same inexplicable mystique.

Had it been not long ago, she would have felt both curiosity and wariness.

But now, a completely different thought had taken root in Yen's heart.

I just hope he doesn't end up dying a dog's death in a dump like this.

Yen was certain of one thing. Muzark was a mage who should never be buried in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a wasteland.

The Redline was an environment deeply ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hostile to humans.

For instance, the temperature was highly erratic. The daily temperature range fluctuated wildly. While it wasn't quite like jumping from midsummer to midwinter in a single day, complaints about the "shitty weather" were a common occurrence.

In the upper Lines, massive barriers regulated the climate... but that had nothing to do with the Redline. Although a purification barrier existed to filter out contaminated mana, its degradation was far more severe compared to the upper regions.

"Sniff."

This was the reason Muzark was sniffling in the middle of August.

"I guess even you guys get cold."

Beyond the holding cell bars, the demons were shivering uncontrollably. He hadn't wanted to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠get used to it, but damn it. Before he knew it, this hellish sight no longer evoked much of a reaction from him.

"It does feel like there are quite a lot of them."

Today, he had come to feed Harmensales at Shadia's suggestion. She had told him to clear them out since they had an excess of demons lately. Coincidentally, he had tossed and turned last night due to a heavy, suffocating feeling in his chest.

Their uncomfortable coexistence continued.

If it were up to me, I'd get rid of him as soon as possible.

Harmensales's presence was growing day by day, like accumulating sand. Muzark felt that despite calling it a contract, he was essentially yielding a "space" inside his own body each time.

I definitely need to cut him loose when the opportunity arises.

He had already formulated a rough plan.

The execution itself was simple, but it was a highly dangerous idea.

But not right now.

The previous two transactions had brought Muzark massive benefits. In their current situation, where the conflict with the outlaws remained unresolved, Harmensales was a powerful insurance policy.

"Shall we have a little chat this time?"

"I have no obligation to answer. Yeah, yeah, I know, you bastard."

It was the expected reaction. He had done the same last time.

"So, I brought a question that is related."

"Actually, I think this is something you failed to explain properly."

Muzark asked, facing the massive entity that could swallow a human without leaving a trace.

"Does your mana source happen to include 'humans' as well?"

The bright yellow eyes blinked slowly.

It was a motion that almost resembled breathing.

In the air as chilly as early winter, the demon's voice echoed all around.

"You certainly have a knack for making things sound complicated. But I get the gist of it."

Still, there was something he didn't quite understand, so he pointed at the demons in the holding cells.

"Are you saying those things don't have a mana manipulation system?"

"Then doesn't that mean you can't use them as a source?"

In other words, because they were weak and injured, their firewalls weren't working. Hearing this, Muzark felt a tiny, almost imperceptible prick of pity. Though it was no larger than a speck of dust.

In any case, his curiosity was satisfied.

To avoid becoming a mere snack for a demon of Harmensales's caliber, one needed at least a basic defense system. And that could change depending on whether one was injured...

"I see."

Now that the Q&A was over, it was time to trade.

Harmensales devoured the source as usual. After the demons in one of the cells were completely swallowed by the darkness, Muzark noticed a minute change.

The shadow cast by the pale light of the lamp grew slightly darker.

The endless abyss within the golden eyes grew deeper.

It was so subtle that it could easily have been dismissed as an illusion.

"...I shall state my demand."

Muzark spoke, keeping his guard up.

"Within the last fifty hours, I want to access the records of any conversations that the Eastred Security Bureau officer 'Lahar' had in a setting with four or more people, including himself. Is that possible?"

It was a somewhat forced application of the power.

From what he had gathered so far, Harmensales was like an encyclopedia. While he was deeply knowledgeable about past events and history, using him for ongoing, real-time incidents was tricky.

So Muzark had tried to make his request as specific as possible, but—

The answer was a flat refusal.

"Why?"

I see. Muzark nodded, swallowing his disappointment.

"I suppose you aren't completely omnipotent."

It was the same principle as an old academic paper being disproven by future generations. He was essentially boasting that he was selling outdated, dusty knowledge at a discount.

One fact could be deduced from this.

So he was perfectly fine until at least fifteen years ago.

Sariella Prision's deviation was an event from fifteen years ago.

Which meant that, at the very least, his "roots" were intact until then.

That's much more recent than I thought.

Muzark pressed his temples.

He had to sever ties with this thing before moving up to the higher Lines, if possible. Especially if he wanted to avoid getting entangled in Harmensales's downfall in any way.

In any case, the demon seemed utterly useless in the current situation. He had wanted to ask for a list of security officers who had met with Lahar privately multiple times, but that was out of the question now.

If so, there was only one question left to ask.

"What kind of magic is this?"

Feeling thoroughly drained, Muzark manifested his magic. It was a spell he practiced constantly but was still unfamiliar with. A pitch-black thread spun out from his fingertips.

The magic that Harmensales had presumably bestowed upon Claude Regan. He was curious about the "origin" he had briefly glimpsed. It had been too vivid to be a mere hallucination, yet its meaning remained entirely elusive.

It was already the third time he had heard those words.

But this time, the method was different.

"...What kind of name is that?"

Harmensales explained in words, without guiding him to the theater this time.

He concluded his explanation as if the price had been fully paid. The information was incredibly unfriendly, almost like a riddle. But if asked whether it was meaningless, the answer was no—it was highly valuable.

The chains binding the island beneath the sea.

The sight he had witnessed in his hallucination actually existed outside the Empire.

The outside.

The towering walls protecting the Empire ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rose in his mind's eye. Beyond those walls lay the absolute unknown. It was far too early for him to care, and his dominant thought was so what? but still...

"Anyway, it means it's incredibly powerful."

Harmensales remained silent.

August 15, Imperial Year 1435.

The moment Muzark woke up, he discovered an anomaly.

"What a load of bullshit first thing in the morning."