No Safe Zone
A fundamental truth of the magical world:
Intruding into a mage's workshop without a plan is suicide. With enough preparation, a mage can slay an opponent several tiers above them.
Of course, this rule doesn't apply to every situation. Mages have their own natural counters, and no matter how advantageous the setup, it is difficult to overcome an overwhelming gap in raw power.
But ninety times out of a hundred, it holds true.
The current battle might seem like an exception at first glance, but looking at it another way, it was no different. Although the Bomber was the intruder, he had turned the battlefield into his own workshop.
Thanks to his advance preparations, he was reaping the rewards.
'If he wanted a fair fight, he must be feeling pretty miserable right now.'
The Bomber wore a sickening sneer.
'Then again, what would he know? Every mage he's fought so far was probably just a piece of trash.'
There was no way a piece of trash from Redline could fortify a base. That was strictly the domain of experience and knowledge. The years they had lived as mages and the power they had accumulated were on completely different levels.
He had even kept watch on the hospital.
Even though Shadia Drury, the one he feared most, hadn't shown up in the end, his efforts weren't in vain. Every small preparation added to the grand design.
The Bomber was utterly overwhelming Muzark as a mage.
"But he's holding out surprisingly well."
If things had gone as expected, the battle would have ended five minutes ago. The moment they faced each other one-on-one inside the lodging, he thought it would be over once he spread the smoke and fired *Bullets*.
If the bastard had tried to close the distance like an idiot, he was confident he could have shot him dead easily. Even in the smoke that blocked all sight, he could pinpoint his opponent's location with perfect accuracy.
Ironically, Muzark's decision to back away had worked in his favor. It was a good thing the Bomber had placed familiars and bombs in the building as insurance, or he might have actually been in trouble.
"So his long life wasn't just pure luck after all?"
Still, he felt no sense of danger.
At most, it was just a matter of catching him sooner or later.
Now, his prey had two choices. Find a safe zone free of familiars and bombs to hole up in, or make a desperate attempt to escape the building entirely.
'Though both roads lead straight to hell.'
The safe zone was a trap designed specifically to lure his prey. And if he chose to flee? He would just follow from a distance and shoot him in the back with *Bullets*.
Either way, he just had to enjoy the hunt.
"Now, what's your move...?"
Right then, his connection with the familiars suddenly began to cut out.
'What?'
Images were transmitted through his shared vision magic.
The perspective would abruptly jerk up or down as if pulled by something, ending with the sight of an iron-clad fist rushing toward the screen.
Every time a familiar died, the Bomber flinched.
"Ugh!"
Even if he didn't share their pain, he couldn't help but be terrified. After all, a gauntlet was flying at them with enough force to crush a skull—and indeed, his familiars' heads were being pulverized one by one.
A familiar stationed further away finally caught sight of the situation.
Standing on the hallway railing, Muzark was shooting out black threads to bind the familiars. He was snatching and destroying every single familiar flying around the building's exterior as soon as they entered his sight.
'Annoying bastard. Is he trying to take out my eyes first?'
The Bomber didn't have the capacity to micro-manage multiple familiars in real-time. Thus, he had only given them basic orders to monitor designated areas.
Naturally, their movements were sluggish.
'He's surprisingly quick-witted.'
The Bomber moved the familiars inside the stairwells so they could at least thoroughly monitor the hallways of their respective floors. Even if it limited his field of vision, it was the most reliable method.
'Should I detonate another one?'
The prey's last known location was the floor right below.
Just as he was about to detonate the demon hidden in the box in front of Room 302—
"Grrr!"
Suddenly, a demon flew over the railing.
—Boom!
The demon slammed headfirst into the wall and exploded. The shockwave rattled his *Shield*. Though the magical barrier wasn't breached, the sheer force was enough to throw the Bomber into a panic.
He had found the demon and thrown it to the upper floor in that short span of time?
"You son of a bitch, I've had enough of your...!"
And once more,
Boom!
This time, a deafening explosion erupted right beneath the Bomber's feet. It didn't just shake the ground; the floor collapsed entirely. Losing his footing, the Bomber fell helplessly to the floor below.
The Bomber's figure, previously hidden in the smoke, was revealed.
It was a space that his smoke magic, which had been slowly consuming the building like a game of territory, had not yet reached. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, perhaps his last, born from catching his opponent off guard.
Muzark stood in the third-floor hallway.
Muzark's condition was far from normal. His left arm, pierced by *Bullets* and caught in explosions, was practically in tatters, and the wound on his flank was bleeding heavily.
But a beast is always at its fiercest when wounded.
Sssss!
The blood pouring from Muzark's flank and left arm evaporated, turning into a black haze. In dark magic, there was no catalyst as easily obtainable and cost-effective as blood.
The *Cryptofetica* concentrated on his right arm now covered half of his forearm.
"Grit your teeth, you flatfish bastard."
Muzark lunged forward, kicking off the ground.
The debris falling from above didn't even slow him down. Smoke poured from the collapsed ceiling, swallowing the Bomber once more, but the moment it touched the *Cryptofetica*, a change occurred.
The smoke began to disperse freely with the wind.
It was proof that it was slipping from the Bomber's control.
The 'smoke' the Bomber used was a combination of two spells. First, he generated smoke, and then he added wind manipulation magic to spread it or keep it gathered around him.
And right now, his wind manipulation magic was faltering.
The Bomber had no time to notice this strange phenomenon.
All his attention was focused on the charging Muzark.
'You piece of trash!'
There was absolutely no reason to dodge.
He responded by reinforcing his *Shield*. He believed Muzark's reckless charge was just a foolish habit he couldn't shake from his days as a non-mage.
A brute-force punch without even a weapon in hand.
A simple clash of destructive power against durability.
He was confident his spell wouldn't be broken by a mere bottom-tier mage.
The moment he realized something was wrong was—
'Huh?'
When his *Shield* crumbled like styrofoam in an instant.
Before he could even think of backing away, a fist slammed into his face.
—Crack!
"Ack!"
The Bomber was sent flying, feeling a brief moment of weightlessness before crashing down. His face throbbed with a pain so intense it felt like it was on fire. His nose collapsed, and blood gushed from both nostrils.
Confusion and panic surged, far eclipsing his anger.
"Wh-what... why... ugh..."
In truth, there were plenty of spells specialized in breaking *Shields*. *Bullets* were a prime example. You didn't need to shatter the whole thing; just punching a finger-sized hole rendered the *Shield* useless.
In other words, dealing damage that exceeded its durability.
But that strike just now was fundamentally different.
'The magic... just vanished?'
Normally, only the point of impact should break, or at the very least, the collapse should start from there. But the moment that fist struck the *Shield*, the formula itself unraveled, and the magic dissolved.
And the instant he took the blow, his smoke magic vanished entirely as well. The smoke he had already spread remained, but no more was being produced.
'What the fuck! What kind of magic is this?!'
Even in his terror, the Bomber didn't stop thinking. He analyzed the phenomenon of his magic being nullified and tried to come up with a countermeasure.
Though calling it a countermeasure was generous; it was a painfully obvious conclusion.
He must not let him touch him.
"G-get away!"
The Bomber scrambled backward, firing *Bullets* wildly. Intangible magic projectiles shot in the direction his fingers pointed, requiring not even the motion of pulling a trigger.
Though he had lost his composure, it was still a threatening response.
To force a follow-up strike, Muzark would have to take damage. It was the struggle of an experienced mage—even if he protected his vitals, bad luck could easily lead to mutual destruction.
But Muzark pursued the Bomber without hesitation.
'If I lose him here, it's over.'
The Bomber would never let him get close again. If he kept sniping from a distance, Muzark would have no chance of winning. He couldn't keep amplifying his magic with his own blood forever, either.
Even if it cost him his flesh—no, even if it cost him his bones—now was the time to crush the bastard's skull.
*Splat!*
Blood splattered.
Almost at the exact moment a *Bullet* pierced his shoulder, Muzark's right hand clamped onto the Bomber's wrist. As he squeezed, the sensation of bones shattering traveled up his palm.
"Aaaaagh!"
Listening to the satisfying scream, Muzark yanked the wrist with all his might. Unable to resist for even a second, the Bomber collapsed helplessly to Muzark's right.
For the first time, the bastard's back was exposed.
Muzark stomped down on the fallen Bomber's spine.
The Bomber twisted his head around to look up at Muzark.
"W-wait, hold on. Hey."
The victor looked down, and the defeated looked up.
"Spare me."
The loser pleaded.
"Aren't you curious? Where I came from, huh? How I made the *Demon Bombs*, and, yeah! How I knew Harmensales was in Redline. There's so much you want to know, right?!"
He wasn't entirely wrong.
Despite fighting for his life, Muzark didn't even know the Bomber's name. Though he had referred to him as the mastermind, there was a high chance the Bomber was also working for someone else.
'No, it's not just a chance. It's almost certain.'
As expected, the Bomber wasn't a Redline native. A mage this strong sneaking into Redline without leaving a trace just to target Harmensales?
All on his own, just to satisfy his own greed?
'That's too convenient of a delusion.'
Even so, Muzark cleanly cast aside any lingering doubts.
Keeping him alive was never an option.
That wasn't wisdom; it was greed and arrogance.
"Go babble to your mother in hell."
"Wait, just think about it for a second...!"
He raised his fist.
Thud, thud, crack!
He beat the Bomber's head into a bloody pulp. The pleas to stop turned into agonizing groans, then into shallow breaths, and finally, even those ceased.
Soon, silence fell.
"...Haaa."
The iron armor covering his right arm dissolved into a black haze and vanished. The blood and grime on his gauntlet dripped onto the floor, staining the hallway bright red.
As he gasped for air, a low chuckle escaped his lips.
'This is strange.'
He had just beaten a man to death with his bare hands, yet he felt refreshed.
Like he had just sung his heart out at a karaoke bar.
"Man, I didn't think I was this much of a psychopath."
Usually, he only felt the relief of survival, but today he had to admit it. Sometimes, killing someone could make one feel incredibly lighthearted.
Truly.
By the time the sun had completely set, a van pulled into the lodging. Aiden and the twins were shocked once by the ruined state of the building, and shocked twice when they found Muzark.
"You look surprisingly intact."
"How is that intact?! He's practically half-dead!"
"People don't die from just that."
"Ugh, I shouldn't even bother talking to you!"
Luca rushed over in a hurry to check on Muzark. Aside from his left arm, there were no glaring injuries, but the sloppy way he had wrapped his bandages looked terrible.
"You need to practice wrapping bandages, man."
"You try doing it with one arm and see how well it goes."
Muzark replied to Rio's banter before locking eyes with Aiden.
"By the way, you got here quickly."
"It wasn't a long journey. We actually took our time."
"It seems you really didn't stop by Orangeline."
"Wasn't that our agreement from the start?"
His matter-of-fact tone brought a belated sense of relief. It seemed there was a reason the twins followed Aiden so loyally. Despite his youth, he felt like a dependable adult.
"So. Is that him?"
"Yeah. He wasn't a face on any of our lists."
"Don't tell me he was a Redline native?"
"Who knows. He didn't look like one to me."
He dragged the corpse forward by its hair and pushed it in front of them.
"Don't look, kids."
"Come on. Why make such a fuss over a single corpse?"
"I don't care either. I'm not a kid."
"As long as you think you're all grown up, you're still a kid."
Aiden sighed and examined the corpse.
"He's in terrible shape."
"Things just turned out that way. Is he too hard to identify?"
"Aside from his face, the rest of him is intact, so there are plenty of ways to investigate."
"That's a relief, then."
"What kind of magic did he use? Tell me in detail."
Muzark explained the details of the battle. Naturally, he kept quiet about *Cryptofetica*, focusing entirely on the Bomber's magic.
By the time he finished listening, Aiden's expression had hardened unconsciously.
Just in terms of combat prowess, he was easily at the level of a lower 1st or 2nd-class mage. Furthermore, considering his mastery of summoning magic and the technology to modify demons into bombs, his evaluation would shoot up by several tiers.
'This makes no sense.'
He might even be comparable to a mage from Yellowline, beyond Orangeline. Yet such a mage was running wild in the lower regions without any restrictions?
'Who on earth was he?'
And...
'...How on earth did Muzark kill him?'
Muzark was truly a mutant of Redline.
Although mysterious events occurred all the time in this world, no one would easily believe this.
"I'll hand the body over to you."
Muzark said abruptly.
"I believe I've done my part."
"More than enough. I'm glad I spoke to you back then."
"I can assume I made the right choice listening to you too, right, Aiden?"
"That's a very polite way of rushing me."
Aiden smiled meaningfully.
"Of course. I guarantee you won't regret it."
The look he gave Muzark carried an even deeper curiosity than before. Regardless, Muzark was simply grateful for the sincerity he felt in Aiden's promise.
'Yen.'
Now that he had killed one, it was time to save another.