Cloverbloom (2)
Lenon Sirius. True to the name Ice Sheet, he favored tactics built around Grease magic.
At a glance it looked like nothing more than a spell that made people slip, yet that single fact carried enormous weight in a fight.
So if Sinel and I meant to take Lenon down, we first had to break down his Grease magic.
The method I devised to shatter it was simple: scatter marbles across the ground.
Grease hindered the movement of anyone inside its area. On a surface under its effect, only Lenon himself could move freely, exempt from the influence.
But what about marbles scattered across that same surface?
If the marbles fell under Grease’s effect, friction with the ground would be reduced to almost nothing, letting them keep rolling for a long time across the greased zone.
Marbles still under Grease’s influence, and Lenon free of it. What happened when those two contradictory states met?
I figured there were roughly two possibilities.
One: the moment Lenon’s foot touched a marble, the marble left Grease’s effect. In that case the residual kinetic energy in the marble and the friction from Lenon’s shoe would clash. Odds were high he would lose his balance and go down.
The other: even after Lenon’s body made contact, the marbles stayed under Grease’s effect. Then the instant he stepped on one, it would slide out from under him and dump him on the ground. After that the rest of the marbles would keep fouling his movement without end.
Exactly like the sight of Lenon rolling around in front of me right now.
“Good work, Sinel.”
If Lenon was now under the same Grease effect as everyone else, Sinel—still under Haste—would hold the combat advantage. That had been my calculation.
And Sinel proved it, subduing him cleanly. Lenon lay sprawled with both arms and legs stabbed by daggers, bleeding.
I pulled myself together, stood, and walked toward her. Whatever mental state left him thrashing on the ground, he clearly could no longer maintain the spell; the magic on the pavement had long since faded.
Sinel glanced my way, worry thick in her voice.
“Is your back all right?”
“It was nothing.”
To keep her as free of Grease as possible, I had ordered her by telepathy to kick off the walls and move. Of course, while she leapt at Lenon I had been the one tumbling across the floor.
“I never expected you to use the marbles like that.”
“I figured it would work to some degree. Still… you left him looking more pathetic than I expected.”
“If he used Grease he could have knocked us down and run.”
“Well, that much is true.”
Thud!
I kicked the machete; it skittered into a corner of the alley. With the dangerous weapon out of the way I closed in on the still-writhing Lenon. The Ice Sheet, covered in stab wounds and moaning, was not a pretty sight even by the most charitable standard.
“Ghhh….”
“Ordinary restraints clearly won’t hold him.”
“Are you taking him to the security forces?”
“No. This one goes to the Black Market.”
Lenon’s unofficial Black Market bounty was higher than the security forces’ official one. Hauling him to the Market was simply more profitable. Besides, I needed to pick something up there anyway; a stop wouldn’t hurt.
I dug my phone from my pocket and dialed.
Moving a package like him without extra noise required the right delivery service.
“Winon Office. What is the nature of your request?”
“Three passengers. One’s in rough shape—I want him moved to the Market. We’re in District 8.”
“You wish to use the delivery service?”
“That’s right. How much?”
“Eight hundred credits.”
The delivery service run by the Winon Family, a Black Market tenant. It was the same outfit Usher Hayes—the protagonist of War City—had used when he moved bounty targets during the Black Market arc. They called themselves a “delivery,” but the word meant something very different here. Their most distinctive trait: no questions asked, no matter the condition of the cargo. The fee, of course, was steep.
“No problem. Come straight over.”
“Give us the exact address and we’ll dispatch immediately.”
I recited our location and hung up. Now all that remained was waiting for the vehicle.
Sinel stared at me for a moment, apparently intrigued by the exchange, then turned her gaze back to Lenon still thrashing on the ground in pain.
Opinions of the Black Market varied from person to person, yet one line always appeared when the story described it:
Where the Cross Network rules the light, the Black Market rules the dark.
That was how much the place meant to those who lived in the shadows. Countless organizations wore corporate masks and set up shop there, quietly dealing in weapons, drugs, stolen goods, mercenaries—anything. Even the city’s giant corporations sometimes came looking when they needed dirty work done. Anyone could grasp the Market’s standing from that alone.
“It’s fascinating.”
Sinel stood beside me at the bounty desk while I waited for settlement, eyes roaming the Market with open curiosity. She had been studying every corner since we stepped inside. For someone who had always kept the city’s underbelly at arm’s length, the reaction was only natural.
“First time here?”
“I’d only heard rumors. Never had a reason to come.”
“Unless the headache is big enough, most people stay away. There are plenty of other ways to move stolen goods or launder money.”
James the junk dealer was a perfect example. He didn’t take just anyone as a customer, but for those he accepted he offered service better than anywhere else. Better to hand James forty percent and get a clean result than risk a shady Black Market deal that might screw you over. In my case, knowing about the limping Bruno from War City had been pure luck.
“You know so much, Boss. You must have worked incredibly hard to earn the name ‘Dark Merchant.’”
“…….”
A chill ran down my spine. I had never put in so much as a fingernail’s worth of that kind of effort. And I had zero desire to own such a creepy title.
“Meeting you was good fortune, I think.”
“That so.”
“Yes. It has to be.”
“Same for me. Finding a partner you can trust isn’t easy.”
Sinel lowered her head. Her expression didn’t change, yet something subtle shifted in the air around her.
“A partner you can trust…… Is that what this is.”
“Mr. Percival? You’re up.”
While I watched her unreadable face, a voice called from the desk. Settlement had finished while we talked. I stepped forward and faced the clerk, who slid a sheet of paper across.
“Twelve thousand credits. Sign at the bottom.”
“Twelve thousand? That’s higher than what I saw before.”
“Another company posted an additional bounty on him yesterday. That would be why.”
“Additional bounty? Ah—Lesert must have sweetened the pot.”
The researcher named Wilson I had run into earlier claimed he was handling company business in secret. The new money on Lenon’s head almost certainly came from Lesert Industries. Whatever had been inside that bag Wilson was carrying must have been more important than it looked.
“I’m sorry, but we can’t disclose who posted the bounty.”
“Figured. All filled out—just hand it over?”
“Confirmed. The amount after fees is in this bag. Thank you for always using our Market.”
I took the black bag the clerk offered. As I left the desk and started deeper into the Market, Sinel snapped out of her thoughts and followed.
Twelve thousand credits. After fees, ten thousand eight hundred. Even subtracting the information costs, today had been a satisfying haul. Holding the money bag felt rich. Once we got back to the office I could order a mountain of delivery food and throw a little party just for the two of us.
“Sinel.”
“Yes.”
“When we’re done here, anything you want to eat?”
“Something I want to eat?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry about the price.”
The extravagant offer made her press her lips together, face turning thoughtful. She was clearly weighing options. But the happy deliberation didn’t last long.
Someone suddenly appeared behind her and threw an arm around her neck.
“Sinel, long time no see. Never thought I’d find you in a place like this.”
Ash-gray hair just like Sinel’s. A girl with carefully braided bangs and cloudy eyes looked down at her. She clearly knew Sinel; she clung to her and spoke with easy familiarity.
Startled, Sinel’s hand shot toward the dagger on her thigh—then froze the moment she saw the face.
“Spinel……?”
Spinel. Ash-gray hair. Silver blades neatly sheathed in a case strapped to her thigh. The familiar name and the details flooding my vision told me exactly who stood in front of us.
The Skyscraper Mage, Spinel. A 6th-circle Archmage capable of Spell Overlord, and a special-class bounty target who lived in the city’s deepest dark.
“You even brought company. That’s new. Who’s this?”
“……Spinel. Don’t touch the Boss.”
“Boss, huh. Aha, so that’s the relationship.”
Archmage. In War City the word carried real weight. The girl before me was one of the monsters lurking in the city’s shadows.
And that monster now smiled and held out a hand toward me.
“I’m Spinel Cloverbloom. And you are?”