The Winter of Limbus Pit (3)
At the very moment Julian was sliding a silver bullet into the chamber of his revolver, Erika, collapsed on the floor, bit her lip hard at the cold sensation seeping through her cheek. The metallic, fishy taste of blood flooded her mouth. 'How pathetic.'
She had wanted to be of help. In this trash-heap of a world, she wanted to be useful to the only person who had ever acknowledged her. Of course, this situation wasn't her fault; she had done the best she could for someone her age. It was just that her opponent was vile. But her young heart couldn't easily accept the reality of it. Her vision blurred with tears. She couldn't stand the sight of her own red blood splattered on the floor, feeling like nothing more than useless filth. The blood running down her arm. The revolver dropped on the ground. The sneering, pale face looking down at her. Just as everything began to feel like a story from another world, a warm, gentle voice echoed in her ears.
It was the voice of a woman, carrying an air of nostalgia yet an irresistible, overbearing authority. 'Do not let them take what is most precious to you.' The voice seemed to lead Erika. Following that sweet guidance, Erika, as if possessed, brought her torn wrist to her lips.
Lick. The fresh blood that touched the tip of her tongue flowed hotly down her esophagus. Without her own volition, her lips began to chant.
“‘…To the throne of white bones, the white bones,’”
Erika staggered to her feet. The skin on the back of her hand bulged. Tearing through the flesh, white fragments protruded. ““‘To the one who offers, the compensation…’””
They were too short to be claws, too blunt to be thorns. The white fragments were molded into a shape close to a knuckle duster. Julian’s eyes widened at the sight. It was, without a doubt, a magical incantation.
““‘Thus, with my remains, I shall break their pillars.’””
Whoosh. She swung her fist, aiming for the left side of Casky’s neck. The white clown, distracted by Julian’s gun, was too slow to react to the surprise attack. The spikes on her knuckles tore through the clown’s throat.
“Gah…!” Casky screamed and stumbled backward. He fumbled at his wounded neck. Whether it was his good fortune or not, the wound transferred to one of his subordinates. The clown let out a sigh of relief and sneered at Erika. “Y-you surprised me a little. But, something like that… hehe… and anyway, I still have my subordinates….”
At that moment, Casky’s words began to slur.
“W-wait…? My tongue… why is it like this…? Subordinatessss… still remain….”
His pronunciation leaked out as if he had been injected with anesthesia. One side of his tightly pulled lips lost its strength and sagged.
Only then did Casky realize his body was not normal. “M-my body… it’s… strange….”
He hurriedly fumbled at his face. He had no sensation in the left side of his face. Soon, the grip of his left hand, holding a jackknife, loosened. Clatter. The knife fell to the floor.
Losing his balance, Casky staggered and fell to one knee. “Ugh… ugh-ber…?” Casky drooled, twitching like a broken doll. His terrified eyes darted between his paralyzed body and Erika’s weapon.
Erika, too, stared blankly at her own crumbling, snow-white knuckles. “Huh…?”
“It’s magic,” Julian said, stroking Erika’s hair. He observed Casky rolling on the floor and synthesized the symptoms. Hemiplegia. Dysarthria. Facial paralysis. Classic symptoms of acute cerebral infarction due to embolism. Julian knew of the magic that caused such phenomena.
“Bone-manipulating magic, is it….” It was highly likely to be esoteric magic. He didn't know which family’s magic it was, but, 'The performance is brutal.' From the way the knuckles were crumbling despite not having hit anything, Julian grasped the purpose of the magic. Given its durability, those knuckles weren't meant to clash with spears or swords. It was magic designed to crumble the moment it was created. As the crumbling knuckles passed through the enemy’s blood vessels, they injected bone fragments and marrow. And the moment those fragments flowed through the vessels, they acted as the most vicious poison, untreatable by any antidote or healing magic.
'Magic that induces embolism….' Fat embolism. A condition where bone fragments or fat travel through the blood vessels and block vital organs. Erika’s magic was a way to artificially induce such a disease.
Having finished his deduction, Julian’s crow mask looked at Erika with concern. “Erika. By any chance, did you perform exception handling?”
“Huh? Eh? Exception handling?”
“I see.” He pulled a syringe and a small vial from his coat. The vial, filled with a clear liquid, bore a label that read: [Heparin]. Julian grabbed Erika’s arm and inserted the needle into her vein.
“Ouch, it stings!”
“Let’s get you on a steady dose of heparin for the time being. The fight isn’t over yet, so there’s a risk of bleeding, but in my view, your magic looks far more dangerous.”
“Why? Did I break Imperial law or something?” Erika looked at Julian with a tearful face. She still didn't understand what Julian was talking about. Julian chuckled at her cute reaction and shook his head.
“It’s not that. It’s because you didn’t perform exception handling.”
“Exception… handling?”
“Magic only activates exactly as written in the formula. There is no function that automatically avoids you or your precious people.”
Every magic carries the risk of side effects. Fire magic carries the risk of burns and elevated body temperature; lightning magic carries the risk of electrocution and nerve disruption. That is why Exception Handling was a concept every mage learned before casting their first spell. It was the principle of writing conditions into the formula to exclude oneself or one’s allies from the target. In coding terms, it was like learning conditional statements before learning how to insert negative sentences.
However, there were always those who handled magic without going through this foundational process. “Novice mages without a master don’t know that fact. That’s why they often suffer irreversible disabilities during their first magical demonstration.”
Erika’s magic also contained that kind of danger. It seemed she didn't know about exception handling either. Therefore, just as she had caused a stroke in Casky, she herself was at risk of a stroke.
“Then I am….”
“You don’t need to worry. I gave you the medicine, didn't I?” Julian said, pressing down on the injection site. Her expression, which had been stained with worry, relaxed. It was just then, as he was meticulously checking Erika’s condition:
“Te-teache…” The white-faced clown, drooling from his mouth, called out to the crow doctor. “Me… save me too….”
“…” The lenses of the crow mask stared silently at the clown.
“Me… me too… please…”
“……Understood.” Julian nodded, filled a new syringe with medicine, and approached Casky.
Medical intervention performed on hostile target [Casky].
Just as he had done for Erika, Julian administered heparin to the white clown. Feeling the stinging pain in his right arm, the clown rejoiced inwardly. 'As expected, a healer who comes down to a gutter like this would be like that.' Casky’s boss, Narenkönig, had said that healers with such convictions were the most profitable. Was it because of that naive conviction? Because they wouldn't refuse to treat patients if he locked them in a room and sent them in. There was no need for threats or persuasion. If he kidnapped them and shackled them, they would move as he pleased.
'Hehe. What should I make him do first?' Casky’s dilemma deepened. Should he have him fix the ones that were accidentally broken while sculpting art pieces? Fixing the ones that were resold after being broken didn't seem bad either. Secretly dispatching him to VIP nobles who never wanted their depraved hobbies discovered seemed good, too. Ah, come to think of it, he fixed the piece he made just a moment ago in an instant. Since he seemed to have profound knowledge in that area, asking for advice on how to create art pieces didn't seem like a bad idea.
“Th-thank you… teache….” Casky, drooling like an idiot, expressed his gratitude to Julian. Now, once the paralysis wore off, he could take this naive, foolish doctor back to H-Sector.
“No, Teacher… how could you possibly….” Behind Julian’s shoulder, Erika looked at Casky with a devastated face. The clown forced his facial muscles to move, sneering at her. “Ahihi….”
Whether Julian knew of Casky’s inner thoughts or not, he looked down at him and whispered.
“But did you know?”
“…?”
“There is actually no research that heparin is effective for fat embolism syndrome. In the past, it was administered as a desperate measure, but it has even been removed from 21st-century guidelines.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Heparin is for prevention, not treatment. To explain it more simply, unlike Erika, for you, time is the only medicine.”
Having finished his explanation, Julian stood up. Casky, whose brain hemisphere was still paralyzed, could not fully understand Julian’s words. Julian checked his watch. Then, looking outside the clinic, he continued.
“Of course, that is if you have any time left.”
“Eh?”
Thud. The moment Julian’s hand left him, a heavy hand was placed on Casky’s shoulder. It was a rough, violent touch that lacked any hint of manners or grace.
“Hey. Even in the gutter, there’s a code of ethics. Don’t you think messing with a clinic is a bit much?”
It was a voice Casky knew. His head turned backward with a creak. “Tao… Chen….”
“Look at that pronunciation, you bastard.” The gang leader, Tao Chen. A bead of cold sweat rolled down Casky’s forehead. Behind Casky, the few remaining lookouts hurriedly raised their weapons. The gang leader swept his gaze over the lookouts.
“Stop it, you lot. I’m tired.” He didn't hide his annoyance as he pulled a leather pouch from his coat and shook it out onto the floor.
Thud-thud. Eight blackened, blood-stained red noses rolled on the floor. That alone broke the morale of the lookouts, and they lowered their weapons.
“Why did you place so many clown bastards on the way here?”
“Hiiiik…!” Casky’s complexion turned pale as well. “H-how… that many people… like flies?”
“Hey. Whose name is 1st-Class? Isn't it a bit shameless to try and trip me up relying on nothing but basic strengthening procedures and sheer numbers?”
Tao Chen grabbed Casky by the scruff of his neck. Casky struggled. Naturally, Tao Chen didn't budge an inch. Then, Casky pulled a jackknife from his sleeve and swung it. He was aiming for Tao Chen’s neck. But Tao Chen didn't even dodge, taking the knife directly to his neck.
“Ouch, that stings.”
The knife bounced off pointlessly. Casky was speechless at the scene that defied common sense. “Ma-magic… impossible….”
“Sigh. Impossible, my foot. What, do you think I got the D-Sector boss position by drawing lots?” Tao Chen brushed the knife away as if it were ticklish and twisted Casky’s wrist.
“Gaaah!”
“Quiet, you.” And picking up the knife that had fallen to the floor, he spoke to Otto, who was leaning against the entrance watching them.
“Hey, buddy. Thanks for the help clearing the path. But you said this guy was the one who made your face like that?”
Otto, who had been gasping for air, nodded with difficulty. Tao Chen chuckled and brought the knife to Casky’s lips.
“Hey, clown. You know my methods without me having to say them, right?”
“Ugh… ugh-aaaa!”
Splatter. Fresh blood splashed against the clinic wall. Casky struggled in Tao Chen’s grip. He resisted about four times, but after the fourth splash of blood, he stopped resisting on the fifth and went limp.
Tao Chen tossed the now-unmoving Casky aside and said, “I apologize for being late, Teacher. The clown bastards wouldn't clear the path on the way here.”
“No, it’s quite alright.”
“I thought with Otto here, you wouldn't need an escort to the exit, but I was complacent. I didn't think the wild dogs would be this much of a problem…. For now, please head to my restaurant. I will protect you until safety is secured.”
Only then did Julian release the hammer he had pulled back, letting out a sigh of relief. He took two silver bullets from his revolver’s cylinder and returned them to his pocket.
'I’m glad I didn't have to use these.'
Silver bullets. Ammunition that could only be obtained from the temple, capable of neutralizing all magical miracles. These bullets, worth eight houses each, were not something even Julian could easily fire.
'Honestly, it’s a price that makes anyone hesitate.'
No matter how precious life is, if you have to crash a Rolls-Royce to save it, anyone would hesitate for a moment. Julian was no different. Silver bullets were a means he never wanted to use.
Fortunately, thanks to Tao Chen’s timely arrival, Julian didn't have to pull a trigger worth eight houses. Julian felt relieved and closed the empty cylinder. Then, instead of the bullets, he pulled out a notebook with communication frequencies recorded in it and said,
“Ah, by any chance, could I borrow a communication device if you have one?”
The special ammunition he possessed was not limited to just silver bullets.