The Hidden Dagger (3)

In the midst of catching our breath and reinforcing our respective defensive spells, the Materialist mage suddenly burst into a manic laugh.

"Hahaha! It seems the General Secretary saw things with perfect clarity! Only now do I truly understand why he deemed a seemingly fragile girl like you such a threat."

"Sigh... That damn General Secretary. Isn't he just a senile old man hidden away in some back room? The man is pushing a hundred and twenty in a few years. I highly doubt he's kept his wits about him."

Even if he used relics to prolong his life, there was a limit to how drastically one could extend a human's natural lifespan. If you've lived for a century and another twenty years on top of that, it's about time you kicked the bucket.

Did Stalin live until 1953 in the original history?

A man born in the late nineteenth century living past seventy was considered quite a long life by the standards of his time. This was even more true considering he had reigned as the absolute, undisputed leader of the Soviet Union, vigorously dedicating himself to state affairs. Surviving for more than half a century beyond that would have been utterly impossible without the aid of a relic.

Unable to tolerate the insult to his ideological leader, the commie barked back.

"A traitor to the Union has no right to speak his name so lightly!"

"Ha. A traitor to the Union? Me?"

"There is no way you were ignorant of the duty the General Secretary entrusted to your father! Yet you chose to throw away the path of being escorted to Moscow and throwing yourself at the mercy of the Magisters!"

Who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in their right mind would ever choose such a path? I asked back, genuinely dumbfounded.

"You guys were the ones who betrayed us first, weren't you? What does it have to do with me whether he allegedly tried to sell relics to the West or whatever?"

"You foolish girl...! Yerina Bronska, if you were truly a citizen of the Union, you should have denounced your father. By failing to do so, you admitted to being his accomplice!"

This guy was completely out of his mind. Was he seriously trying to brand me a criminal using an anachronistic system of guilt by association? Of course, the original Yerina might have known about her father's plans, but expecting her to snitch on her own father to the Soviet secret police was absurd. The lens through which this man viewed the world was heavily warped.

If he wanted to brand me an enemy of the Union, he should at least cite the crimes I committed after arriving in London. Not that I had any intention of letting them capture me quietly even then.

Putting that aside, I asked, genuinely baffled.

"Since you won't be able to speak once you're dead anyway, let me ask you one thing. Why are you so hostile toward my organization? Couldn't we just go our separate ways?"

I was repeating what I had heard elsewhere. After all, the warning—or rather, the threat—that we should mind our own business and tend to our own backyards without clashing was something I had already heard in the Paris Catacombs. But this was a fundamentally different question from a fractured syndicate's branches looking for any opportunity to devour each other in France. The United Kingdom and the Soviet Union were physically vast distances apart.

Even if I was a runaway margrave's daughter, what reason did they have to hunt me down at the risk of diplomatic and magical conflict with Britain? At least, by my rational deduction, it made no sense.

What if this encounter had taken place on British soil instead of the south of France? The General Secretary and the Soviet of Materialists had no way of knowing that I had resolved to tear down their iron fortress and burn Moscow to the ground. Even if I grew powerful in Britain, as long as I stayed on the western side of the Iron Curtain, it shouldn't have mattered to them.

It was a painful truth to chew on, but at this point, my organization and I were incredibly small. Especially from the perspective of those who ran the world's largest nation from the shadows. Since the details of my exploits in Britain couldn't have reached Moscow, their sheer hostility toward me was simply incomprehensible.

Why... just why...?

They shouldn't have viewed me as a grave threat until much later. At this rate, my plans would suffer a major setback. The advantage of a surprise attack would be completely lost. Capturing a mage alive was an extremely difficult task, so I resolved once more to pry as much information out of him as possible while he was still breathing.

Until now, I had been too focused on killing him immediately to think about it, but the moment blood was drawn, my victory was assured. The relationship between hunter and prey, engraved upon the soul, was no longer something that could be reversed.

The Materialist mage let out a hollow chuckle and sneered. "Are you seriously asking me that?"

What was this bastard talking about? Judging by his expression, he seemed to be harboring a similar thought.

"Ha! To think the second leader of the Northern Covenant Syndicate is nothing but a greenhorn who doesn't even know her own worth!"

"..."

"Every precious relic in this world must be kept under the strict surveillance of Moscow. We tolerated your father because he served his purpose, but now that the situation has flipped, there is no more room for hesitation!"

So that's what he meant...

As long as the magic of Charm flowed through my veins, I was essentially a national relic myself. I was a walking, talking personification of a mind-control app. Frankly speaking, if the General Secretary dragged me around and made me lock eyes with the US President and the British Prime Minister, wouldn't the task of the global proletarian revolution be instantly complete?

Therefore, from the perspective of Stalin, who had "abdicated" his position as General Secretary but still remained in the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shadows as the head of the Council of Materialists, I was an asset that had to be secured at all costs. It wouldn't have been a big deal in the past when my father was playing his role as a loyal margrave, but with the organization collapsed, dragging me to Moscow was the only logical course of action. And this Materialist catching his breath and gathering his magic in front of me was likely dispatched to Kaliningrad back then for that exact purpose.

"Now I get it... That's why those bastards were babbling about legitimacy and whatnot that day, wasn't it?"

The scenery of my earliest memories reassembled, its outlines becoming clear. The Spetsnaz operatives wearing balaclavas had shared this exact conversation right before falling under my Charm.

Presumably, the "relic" they referred to didn't just mean the Spiegel, but myself as well. It all made sense now.

"Despite your father's transgressions, we tried to give you a chance to atone, yet you threw it away. Naturally, you must pay the price, shouldn't you?"

"Viewing people as mere tools, and wanting to destroy what you can't possess. What kind of childish behavior is that for someone your age? Actually, wait. At a hundred and twenty, maybe that is acting your age."

I had heard enough from a living communist. I could dig up whatever remained from his corpse once he was properly pacified. Thus, provocative words were followed by provocative action.

Before the bastard could fly into a rage and unleash his burning anger, I thrust my shadow violently into the air. My target was the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Like plucking fruit from a tree, my shadow beast snapped the chandelier right off.

The moment the wiring severed, darkness plunged over the battlefield. Though a few minor light sources remained, the illumination was drastically reduced. We both instinctively squinted, struggling to adjust to the sudden change in environment.

But the communist's reaction was slower. Since he wasn't the direct target, and because I had suddenly acted right in the middle of our conversation while we were catching our breath.

The chandelier crashed to the floor in the darkness, spewing countless shards of glass and metal. It landed precisely halfway between us. I swept my shadow beast over the wreckage, gathering the sharp fragments into the darkness of my shadow. Since they weren't magical items, no matter how sharp they were, they couldn't harm my shadow. It simply enveloped them all smoothly.

Though he had restored them, the Materialist's defensive barriers varied in thickness. The spot where my Magic Bullet had pierced was noticeably thin, flaunting itself as a weak point. Thanks to the sharp blade that had slipped through that gap earlier, the very soul I was targeting was glowing with a brilliant light.

With his defensive magic half-useless, it was time to press the attack on a physical level. I shifted all the sharp shards trapped inside my shadow to the finger-like appendages of my shadow beast. Then, tiny mouths sprouted one by one from the five fingertips. Though small, they were fully formed mouths with lips, teeth, and even tongues.

Except for the fact that they were made entirely of dark red shadow.

The sprouted mouths opened one by one, and the hidden daggers they held began to shoot out at varying speeds. The sharp edges caught the faint light, glinting colorfully. Every single shard carried a faint whisper of death.

Though we had the same amount of time to recover, our degree of recovery was far from equal. Due to the deep wounds already carved into him, the damage the bastard had sustained had reached an irreversible point. The sharpest shards aimed at the mage bypassed his defenses entirely, inflicting physical wounds.

Yet, despite reducing my enemy's capabilities to this extent, I didn't escape unscathed.

"Ugh...!"

Despite the warning from my improved Rosetta Stone, a few Magic Bullets managed to graze my defensive magic. It was a good thing I was shrouded in my upgraded defensive barrier and had twisted my body aside in sync with the soul's alarm; otherwise, I would have ended up in a similar state as him.

The enemy seemed to have changed his strategy entirely.

He's planning to push himself to the brink of death to find an opening for a turnaround...!

Since I had replicated his Magic Bullets, the advantage he had been so confident in was now overturned. He knew that to turn the tables again, he had to sacrifice his own flesh to break my bones. In a way, he was remarkably consistent. Even in this state, he was practicing the maxim that offense is the best defense.

"Sigh... You have absolutely no intention of making it out of here alive, do you?"

"I don't care what you babble anymore. If you grow any further, you will become a grave threat to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his grand plan. Even if I must burn my own soul to ashes, I will eliminate you."

This was troublesome. There was no telling what kind of magic a mage prepared to die could unleash. Logically, sacrificing one's own life just to drag an opponent down wasn't a strategy used very often.

As I reinforced my defenses once more, the mage from Moscow pulled the Order of Lenin from his breast pocket and chanted his incantation.

"...?"

Was this guy actually insane? He had the gall to call me a Nazi, yet here he was chanting a slogan that sounded exactly like one. Talk about a lack of self-awareness.

Amusement aside, chanting that Nazi-esque slogan was indeed a ritual imbued with magical effects. It served as a trigger phrase to activate a powerful spell that couldn't be cast through mere thought alone.

At the same time, his soul began to emit a brilliant, burning radiance. Quite literally, he was declaring through his actions that he would burn his own soul to drag me down to hell with him.

I cursed inwardly and braced myself once more. I had already abandoned any thoughts of defeating him; now, I just had to survive. Five minutes... or maybe ten?

The moment that thought crossed my mind, an attack flew straight at me.

Whoosh! Guided by my improved Rosetta Stone, I dodged the fierce barrage of Magic Bullets. Directional explosion spells merged, carving bizarre magical traces in the air.

The assault in the darkness didn't end with a single strike. Thorns sprouted from the double-helix magical traces, exploding outward. The way they ruptured from the inside out was highly reminiscent of a landmine.

This time, the attack wasn't limited to pure magic. Just as I could replicate his Magic Bullets, there was no rule saying he couldn't copy my barrage of glass and metal daggers.

The second attack, born from the double helix, possessed a physical form at its center. Defensive magic be damned—even if it was an upgraded piece of future tech—this spell was dripping with the sheer malice of wanting to rupture my internal organs all at once.

I managed to dodge, but I was worried about the man I had sent to the rear. Rolling across the floor to recover my stance, I slightly turned my head toward Pavel.

...Looks like he's fine.

He seemed to have taken my advice to "only act when I signal" quite literally. Pavel was capable of reconstructing his defensive magic, and since he had physical cover, being far away meant he was out of harm's way.

My eyes met the blue gaze of my security chief, who was currently failing to earn his paycheck. Even if the commie bastard's overloaded soul shone brightly, reality remained pitch black. I could see Pavel, his eyes fully adjusted to the dark, straining to take in every detail of the high-level magical battle unfolding before him.

I dodged the successive attacks one after another. While I evaded most of them with the help of the improved Rosetta Stone, there were times when I was caught mid-motion and had no choice but to activate the Spiegel.

As this went on, a sharp realization flashed through my mind.

At this rate, there'll be no end to this...!

It felt like nearly twenty minutes had passed, but in reality, it had probably only been a few. If this dragged on, the threat of collapsing from exhaustion would catch up to me first. I realized with absolute clarity that simply stalling for time wouldn't bring a clean end to this.

Biting my lip, I bolted forward. My goal was to retrieve the dagger rolling on the floor, drenched in blood. I could have summoned the Schattenmaiden, but a larger surface area naturally increased the chances of getting hit.

Getting my shadow beast hit by an enhanced Magic Bullet in this situation would be fatal. Since the shadow was fueled by a portion of my own soul, I wouldn't escape unscathed if it took damage. It was an action that would only plummet my chances of winning this game of chicken, which had devolved into a battle against the clock.

It had been the same when I clashed with the British Ministry of Magic's mage in Northern Ireland. Back then, when my shadow beast was engulfed in flames, my very soul had screamed in agony alongside it.

So... I have to move myself...!

I lowered my stance, maintaining my speed as I snatched the dagger. I was running so hard that my heels scraped against the floor, emitting a harsh, grating screech. While the maid dress was one thing, I was incredibly grateful I hadn't worn high heels today.

I kept charging toward the commie whose soul was burning so brightly, holding the blade straight.

"Hyaaaah!"

The defensive magic blocking my path tore like wet paper with a single swing of the blade, without even needing to fire a Magic Bullet. This ancient relic had recognized that the blood soaking it belonged to the very prey standing before it.

"Agh...!"

"It's over, Stalin's lackey."

Despite my calm declaration, my voice was thick with ragged breaths. And inside my rapidly spinning mind, a question immediately surfaced.

Why isn't he dying...?

The primary ability of this Northern Irish relic dagger was, of course, using blood to amplify my magical output, but it possessed other applications as well. The proof was that every time the blade sank deep into the communist's flesh, a chunk of his soul was sheared away.

Though his bloated soul was shrinking over time, he was still far from actually "dying."

This crazy bastard...!

I tried to pull back, but my arms were suddenly grabbed. The grip was far beyond any normal human strength. Even though a blade capable of shearing his soul was buried deep in his shoulder, I had lost my grip on the hilt, and both of my wrists were pinned.

This was bad...

The Materialist's retaliation didn't stop there. As if his sole purpose was suicide, he fanned the flames ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠burning his soul even higher. Unlike when the Schattenmaiden had been captured in Belfast, this spell offered no safety even to the caster inside.

Which meant—

I'm going to be burned alive along with him...!

Of course, his soul was being eaten away at a faster rate. Furthermore, I could gather the burning fragments of my soul to slow down the process. But given the sheer difference in the overall scale of our souls, it was glaringly obvious that I would collapse first if this continued.

I stared into the crazy bastard's eyes, but nothing happened. This was the second time my Charm had failed... but unlike the first time, I wasn't even given a moment to figure out why...!

I tried to find a way out using my legs, which were still free, but even that didn't go as planned.

Thud! I drove my knee straight into his groin, but the bastard didn't even flinch. There was no way this thing was human...!

If that didn't work, where should I strike? His head? His neck? Or should I aim for his shoulders to free my arms? If I lost consciousness, it would be all over. I had to muster every ounce of strength to find a solution... but...

"Ah..."

Just as my vision began to blur, the grip on my wrists suddenly loosened. At the same time, the magical flames that had been consuming my soul flickered out.

"How...?"

As I collapsed, my strength entirely spent, a figure came rushing toward me.

"My lady! Are you alright?!"

For some reason, this felt like a situation I had experienced before...

Glancing at that welcome face, I gathered the very last of my strength right before my eyes closed to deliver my final words.

"Did you come to pick me up...? I'm... not drunk today..."