Alchemist Emily
"Master."
The honey-sweet voice of Sea broke the tense silence. She approached Jinwoo and naturally entwined her arm around his, as if she were the lady of the house. "You must be tired. This way, please. It's the parlor with the best view. How about a glass of wine?"
Sea completely ignored Chiharu, treating her as if she didn't exist.
That blatant dismissal and the coquettish charm directed at her master finally pushed Chiharu's patience to its limit.
"Hmph."
She crossed her arms and sneered mockingly. "Looks like a bitch who's never even sniffed the dirt and blood of the hunting grounds has only learned how to chirp prettily in her comfy cage. Master would prefer the taste of blood spilled on the battlefield over cheap swill from a greenhorn like you."
At those words, Sea turned, facing Chiharu squarely for the first time. The frightened girl was gone from her face. She covered her mouth gracefully, but let the contempt shine through as she scoffed.
"Oh my, Huntress."
She emphasized "huntress" like calling a beast. "I'm not some tool that rolls in the dirt soaking up bloodstink like you. I am... Master's face. While you handle the dirty work, I proclaim his greatness to the world from here and build his empire. You know which role has more value... without me saying it, right?"
"You... you bitch...!"
Killing intent flashed in Chiharu's eyes. But before she could move, Jinwoo's cold voice halted the clash.
"Enough."
With one word, the two bitches snapped their mouths shut and bowed their heads.
"Your rivalry amuses me. But... baring your teeth before me without my permission is unacceptable."
He scanned the two women in turn.
"If you want to fight, prove it on the battlefield. Or prove it on my bed with your bodies."
At his words, both women's cheeks flushed with humiliation and excitement.
Jinwoo sank deep into the sofa and raised his wine glass. Sea hurried over and poured the finest vintage.
"There's a reason I came all the way to this distant American soil myself."
Jinwoo murmured lowly, savoring the wine's aroma. His gaze turned to the glittering nightscape of Washington D.C. beyond the window.
"Sea. I know you've performed admirably as my emissary here. But... it's not enough. The Americans are still dissatisfied."
He turned to her.
"They're grumbling because I won't personally handle the nightmares breaking out on their land. Their arrogant pride won't be sated by just buying a few 'goods.' They want my power itself wielded for them on their soil."
A cold smile curled Jinwoo's lips.
"And that arrogant discontent of theirs... is a new opportunity for us."
This time, he turned to Chiharu.
"Tonight, we hunt. Intel says a new nightmare is opening somewhere in this city."
His gaze fell on the weathered fox mask at Chiharu's waist.
"And tonight's prey... might just be special enough to replace that old mask of yours with something new. Look forward to it."
"......!"
Chiharu's eyes widened in shock and ecstasy. Her master would personally upgrade this mask—her symbol and relic of the past? She flashed a victor's smile at Sea.
See that? What Master truly needs isn't a smooth-talking parrot like you, but a huntress like me.
"Sea."
Jinwoo called her again.
"That doesn't mean we report every move to them."
He set down his glass and issued his final command.
"We hunt, finish it all, then notify them of the results like we're bestowing a favor. Make them grateful, make them cling harder. Understood?"
"Yes, Master."
Sea's voice held perfect understanding and deep awe for her master's cunning strategy. She realized it: she was his face, Chiharu his fangs, and he the true master pulling every string from behind.
For the moment, the jealousy between the two women merged into shared worship of their great master.
More victims' feet touched the soil of a new nightmare.
It was an airport. But not like any humans knew.
The sky was dyed an ominous, murky red, like blood oozing from a massive wound. The ground was littered with shattered runway asphalt chunks and burned plane wreckage like giant tombstones.
But what horrified them wasn't just ordinary passenger jets or fighters. Amid the debris writhed alien ships of organic metal, massive craft with crystalline moth wings, and grotesque flesh-and-bone bio-vessels—aircraft from countless civilizations jumbled like a graveyard of flying behemoths.
And at the heart of that graveyard, it conducted a ritual.
A colossal muscular warrior, easily over 2.5 meters tall. His body was encased in grotesque yet beautiful armor of thousands of silver metal shards constantly shifting and reshaping like living blades. The armor was body and weapon alike.
The uncovered face was even more horrific. Instead of eyes, dozens of freshly plucked human eyeballs clustered like grapes. Around the mouth, octopus-like tentacles writhed, devouring fallen tongues from the floor.
A terrified man, freshly dragged into the nightmare, knelt before him.
"H-huh... p-please... spare me..."
"Shh... the pain... is brief."
The warrior's voice was a bizarre harmony of hundreds speaking at once. With a massive finger, he plucked the man's eyeball like ripe fruit—gently, inexorably. Then sliced the wriggling tongue with a razor-sharp nail in one stroke.
"I thank you... for your offering."
He shoved the corpse aside, then knelt at the ruins' center holding the eye and tongue. As he offered them, they vanished like sucked into a black hole.
[...Excellent, my child...]
Billions of voices whispered in his mind at once. His owner and god. One and infinite, infinite and one. The Myriad One was pleased with the offering.
The warrior rose and paced the ruined airport, recalling recent annoyances in this world.
That puny mortal mage...
The game of his master and other outer gods: Eternal Nightmare. One tiny but irritating pest disrupting it, letting people 'escape' and spoiling the gods' fun.
My master's hound... got hunted by that pest.
The three Japanese bitches meant as sacrifices for my master's new avatar... thwarted by that pest too.
Now even peddling toys that let them bring weapons into nightmares, making our game even duller.
Personally, he found the mage quite 'capable.' Even felt a warrior's rivalry.
My master harbors a strange love-hate for that pest. Loves yet hates. Wants to crush yet cherish. And above all... possess.
He anticipated the day he'd clash with that mage in Japan, break its limbs, and drag it to his master's feet.
But not now.
The offering... comes first.
His myriad eyeballs spotted new 'prey' cowering behind a burning passenger jet wreck in the corner: airport staff in uniforms and a few passengers.
Other senses detected another presence in the nightmare sky above, soon to 'land.'
Fledgling mage... perhaps.
The warrior yanked free his double-headed axe—taller than himself—with a shring.
"Now... shall we begin the hunt for fresh offerings?"
He lumbered toward the next victims.
London Heathrow Airport, economy class to Washington D.C.
A girl crammed into the narrow window seat stared blankly at the gray London sky, hood of her faded Whirlly Peter hoodie pulled low. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and breasts so unreal even the baggy hoodie couldn't hide them. Emily.
Her mind swirled with complaints about her wretched past and the dream she couldn't abandon.
Damn reality...
Born to a poor working-class family on London's outskirts. Her childhood was endless gray hopelessness. Her sole escape: the magical world of Whirly Peter.
She read the tattered book hundreds of times. No longer Emily. In the story, she was a Hogwarts student, smarter than Hermione, the chosen hero overcoming the noseless one's curse to save the wizarding world.
Emily waved scavenged twigs, chanting in her room.
"Expecto Patronum!"
She firmly believed a loyal, clever owl would one day deliver her letters.
But instead of a guardian stag, her drunk father's bellows shattered her reverie.
Thus, her dream faded before reality's thick walls—until that day.
Eternal Nightmare. At first, just another disaster headline. But survivor testimonies online, and the Raven Mage's emergence, were a nuke to her dying dream's embers.
Magic... was real.
While others trembled in fear, Emily quivered with excitement. The world might end, but it was her sole chance for her dream to become reality.
From then, she scoured London's libraries, museums, and rare bookstores like a madwoman for forgotten magical traces.
And found it.
In a dusty antique shop's back alley display case corner, wedged carelessly among old books: a plain worn tome. No ornate decorations or ominous aura. Yet it drew her gaze like a siren's call.
Enchanted, she entered, got the owner's okay, and pulled it out. The leather cover bore arrogant gold-embossed lettering.
The moment she opened it, a sleazy yet upbeat voice flooded her mind.
"[Ooh! Finally! My beautiful big-breasted lady! You've awakened this body from its boring slumber! Your mana potential is as vast as those ample tits! Come, contract with me for immortality's glory and wisdom to turn the world to gold!]"
"Yes! Yes, I'll do it!"
Emily shouted joyfully without hesitation. Her dream was coming true.
...But the joy didn't last.
This 'St. Germain' grimoire was nothing like imagined—utter trash, beyond comparison.
First, it focused solely on alchemy, not 'magic.' No combat spells worth a damn. Fireball? Ice Storm? Absent. Just useless transmutations like stone to lead or water to sour slop.
Second, 'immortality.' True. No aging or illness since contracting. But... it demanded a deadly 'maintenance fee.'
"[Ahh, my beautiful lady. To sustain this body's power, you must feed me one 99% pure silver coin daily. You understand? Very important!]"
For her already dirt-poor family, scraping silver daily was hell. Most of her part-time wages went to feeding this damned book.
Third, the grimoire's personality was far from ancient sage. Constant sleazy tit praise, and in crises: "Hahaha! It's fine, my lady! That's life!" Useless optimism.
Fourth, alchemy needed potent monster materials from nightmares only. No nightmare access function. Just loitering near outbreak sites hoping for scraps.
Finally, products from scraped-together materials were pathetic. 'Healing potion' weaker than store vitamins. 'Homunculus' just a toddling clay doll. Tanky in nightmares maybe, but in reality, creepy toy.
Thus, her grand mage dream devolved into a viciously inefficient, money-pit alchemy hobby.
Now, pinning her last hope on meeting Raven Mage's emissary Kim Sea, she flew to D.C. Her pockets held only the economy ticket draining her savings and a few 'usable' vials: potions granting minor temporary physical boosts.
Emily sighed at the window.
My savior... might not be this grimoire, but that Raven Mage.