Night of the Imperial Capital - 4

I felt the leather notebook nestled against my chest, radiating a subtle presence, and allowed myself a quiet breath of relief.

This ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was outside the black market. That meant I had slipped out of the alley without a single confrontation—without even falling victim to the usual pickpockets.

This was luck beyond mere fortune. This was a miracle.

The black market’s security was absolute garbage. In the game, nine times out of ten a player who stepped inside triggered some random event. A thoroughly miserable place. The only reason my feet kept carrying me back was the shop whose stock rotated with pure randomness; I always chased the jackpot.

Anyway, this was a genuine stroke of good fortune. The moment I returned to my lodgings I would use the notebook. I couldn’t keep drifting around with my mind half-unmoored forever.

With steps suddenly lighter, convinced I had solved one of my worries, I turned on my heel ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and kicked off the ground.

Yes. There was still one matter left to handle.

The stalker who had been peeping at me from the rooftops since earlier.

I checked the notebook and the softly jingling pouch of gold coins once more, then raised the intensity of my physical enhancement. This much should be enough. Hard enough, probably, that a blade would not bite cleanly.

…Probably.

This was the first time I had properly used physical enhancement since entering this body. Of course I didn’t know its limits. For some reason the body’s instincts whispered into my ear that I would not be hurt, and I simply chose to believe them.

Then let’s leap.

I poured strength into my slender legs and sprang from the earth. My body rose, the sky suddenly closer, and I floated into the air. What greeted me was a black silhouette that looked thoroughly flustered.

Honestly I had no certainty I could catch them, but the panic gave me a fighting chance. The Saintess’s physical enhancement had never been properly depicted in the game, yet its performance far exceeded my expectations—strong enough that I could serve as a frontliner if necessary. Self-healing made that possible.

And now I would try something I had only ever imagined: kicking off the empty air itself.

Was it possible?

Hmm. Apparently not.

I twisted midair and condensed starlight beneath me. The starlight moved with the natural ease of a true master, as though it were simply another limb. I was no master; I felt like a child flailing borrowed power, relying entirely on the muscle memory left behind in the Saintess’s body.

A foothold formed in the void. I stepped on it. My destination was the nearest other human.

In that brief span, accelerated thought racing to keep pace with the enhanced body finished its calculation. I kicked off the foothold and launched myself through the air, diving straight for the roof where the black silhouette waited.

The mysterious stalker was not as easy a target as I had hoped. Even a rough appraisal put them at the very threshold of Superhuman. No matter that I was the Saintess, my combat ability had never been particularly outstanding.

…Honestly, this was a crisis. I had charged in far too thoughtlessly. If the opponent meant me harm, I was in serious trouble.

Then I saw their next move and could only gape in disbelief.

They turned their back and fled.

That… made me a little angry.

Even though it had been quite some time since I quit the game, I still remembered everything essential for taking down a humanoid enemy ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one-on-one. I dredged up the old knowledge.

One: raise base stats with physical enhancement, accelerated thought, and Blessing.

Two: pre-cast offensive ranged magic.

Three: pinpoint the enemy’s position and place a magic-eating Hole.

As a cleric I prepared Light Arrows for ranged attack. The enemy’s position would be revealed by Luminous Sphere. Hole was a mage-only class skill, so substitution was impossible. But the opponent did not look like a mage. In the game’s lore most mages were shut-in shut-ins who hated using their bodies; unless this one was an extremely rare outdoor type, their physical movement was far too polished. Therefore the enemy was almost certainly a swordsman or thief-class. The way they had been racing across rooftops only supported the theory.

First, I would fire the arrows I had stockpiled behind me at that insolent fleeing back.

Snap—

I imitated the sound of a finger flick I had heard somewhere. A cheerful crack, and light streaked through the dark Imperial Capital toward the enemy.

And then—

…Eh?

I made a stupid noise inside my head. They had cut the holy magic with a sword.

That made no sense. Even a Superhuman swordsman could not block holy magic without damage using an ordinary blade—unless it was the Holy Sword or carried a magic enchantment. At best you got seventy percent reduction. Cutting it clean in half? My pride took a hit.

Snap— Snap—

I flicked my fingers twice more and loosed every remaining Light Arrow. My body raced across the rooftops, closing the distance. For a brief instant, when they had cut the light, their body had stopped. That meant their realm was not yet true Superhuman—only infinitely close. In that case, I would win. I was a Superhuman. Or rather, this was the Saintess’s body… was it mine now?

Hoo. Calm down. My heart was pounding. First real fight; of course it was. And somewhere deep down, a tiny part of me was happy.

Faster. Even faster. I closed in until I was right on top of them. The enemy swung their blade and sliced the two delayed arrows out of the air. My eyes had been right. That sword carried at least a magic enchantment—and whoever cast it had real skill. Had an item like that even existed in the game? It felt oddly similar to the Holy Sword. Well, it couldn’t actually be the Holy Sword, so it should be fine.

At last I reached them. In a situation like this, the option available to a high-level cleric who chose close combat was—

Eek!

I nearly jumped out of my skin. The blade edge cut precisely through the space I had been about to attack. A fraction slower on the dodge and my arm would have been gone. I needed to be careful. Against a magic sword, even the physical enhancement I had cast myself would be sliced clean through. Steel I could endure; this was outside the specifications.

Could I win?

No. Mindset was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠what mattered. The bad habit of predicting the worst outcome in advance needed to go.

Physical ability: roughly even with me under Blessing and enhancement. The enemy’s only means of attack was that single sword. Ranged options: none, as far as I could tell. Speed: they had the edge.

Their build looked like a boy roughly the same size as the Hero, yet that body had reached the very tip of Superhuman. In game terms, the existence in front of me was clearly stronger than the Hero in the level 1–10 range.

I steadied my breathing and closed in.

Snap—

Two arrows streaked toward the enemy at once, long tails of light trailing behind them. How would they handle this?

Thud—

Huh?

I could only stare in disbelief. They kicked off the roof and dropped to the ground below, back still turned, simply to escape the arrows.

Were they in their right mind? Against a ranged attacker capable of unilateral aerial bombardment, voluntarily abandoning the high ground was no different from a declaration of surrender! Taking even a single point of HP damage from a greenhorn who didn’t know the first letter of “combat” was pure humiliation. I didn’t know what kind of NPC this was, but the moment I caught them I was going to kill them.

I was a cleric who could not fly, so the orthodox method was to snipe from the rooftops.

Combat begins.

The Hero clutched the recognition-interference enchanted robe around his body and steadied his breathing.

He had been secretly watching over the Saintess, fretting that she might be hiding some health problem or secret, when she began to change clothes. His face had flushed scarlet and he had hastily stopped peeping. What followed, however, was the real problem.

A faint presence brushed his senses. He leaned far out of his own window, turned his head to the right, and looked.

What the Hero saw was the Saintess—now dressed in a black robe—leaping from her window.

Was she trying to kill herself? A silent scream tore through his mind. He scrambled after her and jumped, only to find her landing perfectly unharmed.

How?

Aside from healing holy magic and basic offensive spells, the Saintess had never once cast auxiliary holy magic on her own body. She always reserved those for her companions.

In the end the Hero tailed her in secret and watched her enter the black market, then leave again. He even saw her hide a leather notebook he had never seen before against her chest.

And then she discovered him.

He had requested a special recognition-interference artifact from the Emperor himself, so she should not know he was the Hero. He had thought a moderate retreat would be the wisest course. That had been a mistake. Unlike the Saintess of the first cycle, she was not someone who could be “moderately” escaped from.

Or perhaps he had simply never known her at all.

He needed to find a way out of this situation—now.