"Silver-san, please do tell me more about yourself!" The Janian requested, much to Sévir's furrowing brows that hinted his annoyance. Sévir's hands were buried deep in his pockets, and he didn't bat an eyelash to the girl in the goth dress of grey and burgundy.
"Keep it down One Shot. That's what they call you, right?" He had just arrived back to Stepanburg a few hours ago and never met the One Shot while as far as he knows, everyone else already had. It was impossible not to after all, she had been in the West Capital Organization—the assassin syndicate for days during his absence, not to mention her light-speed ascension to the kill counts.
He bat an eye to her side, assessing her details—her long hair as dark as the night, her skin as milky as Zephyr's. She was the same height as Minerva who was about half a head shorter than Sévir.
"It's embarrassing when you stare at me like that." She uttered as if she had an extra eye watching her surroundings, or perhaps it was just her instincts sensing his deep staring. Whatever it was, Sévir looked away.
"Ladies first—tell me about yourself."
"I've nothing special to tell though~" she replied.
He shrugged, unfazed by what he believed was a rejection. "Then I've got nothing as well."
They halted a considerable distance away from a building that fit the bill of the [Old Man], Demeter Amadeus: their boss. Light poured from its tall and small yet numerous openings.
"This has to be it, right? There's no other warehouses nearby." Sévir exposed his hands to the cold air seeping through his skin, reminding of the unforgiving season he had to live through for the following months—prepared or not.
Glancing to his left, the unconcerned One Shot extended an arm. "Kage—Tan-zutsu." The black gem on top of her left index ring beamed a dark grey hue. Shadow materialised into an antique pistol. "Silver-san, are you ready?" She glanced back, a small smile etched on her face.
Sévir couldn't decide what impressed him more—her above decent pronunciation or her shadow-conjured gun. "You've got decent pronunciation." He said, despite it being irrelevant to her question.
"Ara, someone is impressed~ Well, I spent a while mastering the pronunciation of L." She pointed her gun forward. "May you lead the way?"
"Mm. Let's go."
"On second thought.. I've a better idea."
He looked behind after halting from her words. "That is?"
She cocked the pistol and aimed at the ground. "Sōzō." A loud and deep bang like a grumble echoed as a shadowy platform lifted them up in the air.
She needn't have included him in the transport; he could manage on his own. Was she showing off? Whatever the reason, they neared the rooftop.
Upon landing on the roof, she cocked and aimed her gun at her heart. Sévir's heart skipped a beat—was she going to kill herself?
"You seem to be nonchalant about me pointing the gun at myself, Silver-san."
"What do you plan to do by shooting yourself?"
"This—Shikaku." The white gem on her left middle ring brightened. "Anatolia." She pulled the trigger right at her heart.
Sévir stared, puzzled: How was she not wounded? A brief glow from her gem then, a figure identical to her appeared behind her. Was it Kage, her shadow magic? No, her black ring remained glowing.
"Confused, aren't you?" She chuckled while her clone leaped down the roof. "Anatolia—I can bring 'then' to 'now' and command them."
The answer sufficed, but left questions about limitations and potential.
"What did you send your clone to do?"
"Rewrite our original fate." She answered vaguely, chuckling to his frown. Unfortunately for him, she couldn't be bothered to further emphasise.
He steeled himself not to talk to the One Shot, or to who he wants to call the [Queen of Vagueness]. If she were a guy, he would've smacked him already.
A minute later, her clone returned through a shadow platform most likely from [Sōzō]. She hopped off said platform and walked over to the original. "There are fifty-six inside the warehouse: twenty-six bandits and thirty captives. However, they're all on alert from the gunshot prior to my formation."
"Very well, me. You did a great job." The original One Shot aimed at the clone's head. "Anything else?"
"I suspect there to be smuggled goods within the towers of crates."
A bullet pierced the clone's head, and she fell, disappearing before landing.
"What shall we do with the captives?"
"They aren't part of our mission. Our mission is to annihilate all bandits inside and tip off to the Trystan Knights about this place." He crossed his arms. "I suppose there's a fifty-fifty chance of gaining extra Zinari if we destroy some, if not all the smuggles."
The faint voices of the bandits approached. "I'll see you inside, Silver-san~" She cocked her gun and aimed at her heart. "Kakusu." Shadows engulfed her, and she vanished.
Sévir stomped on the roof, breaking it and jumping inside.
His feet glowed green, slowing his descent. The warehouse was a maze of towering crates, just as the clone said. "Woah, this place is stacked." Literally.
"What if I push them all down? Though.." In a scenario where innocents loomed around, their cries for being saved muffled, they could be held anywhere, maybe even behind one of the crate towers. He definitely couldn't topple them over like dominoes.
His feet glowed green before he jumped high and remained in the air, his head peeking through the zenith of the crates.. Alas, he saw nothing more but crates.
He ventured through, bypassing the complex pathways through the top. He saw nothing, and nothing even further. Crates crates crates. The bewilderment finally caught onto him when he reached the corner—how in the world were there so many crates? How did they bypass the border guards? Even if they pass it off as official and regional cargo, it should've been inspected.. Unless the guards were threatened, killed, or part of the scheme.
He tore the top of a crate and shoved it on top of another, pulling the white cloth that covered whatever the product was right after.
His curious eyes widened and fixated to the sight of what was inside—a crown purely made of aquamarine. He carefully grabbed the crown and inspected its details. Being a former prince exposed him to the realm of the high class, he was very much aware of these types of crowns—[Union Crowns]. These crowns were worn by nobles who led the regions of the empire, all distinguished by the gem, colour, and design.
The one in his hands was distinguished by its detailed design resembling the splash of water. Nonetheless, the bottom where it was closest to the head kept intricate carves expected from a crown, though its design definitely stood out.
There was no mistaking—it was the [Grosvillean Halo]—the Union Crown of the [Grosvenors]... How in the world did it get here? If word reached the Grosvenors of its discovery, they would automatically issue an execution to whoever stole it, or even to whoever found it.. If he were caught, would Minerva save him? Not like he needed saving anyways.
He gently returned the crown, the blanket and the cover to their respective spots and flew away. Even he wouldn't dare to handle the crown so abruptly. Sweat trickled down his forehead, for he knew only the leaders and makers of the crown were allowed to touch such a precious item.
He had held the delicate crown so carefully, his finger barely touched it even if he was gloved. The gloves wouldn't do anything if they used a special magic that allowed them to see through anything.
His attention was shifted to the familiar gunshot that echoed through the silent air, they evolved to multiple.
"That's my cue." The grumbling prompted him to fly closer. If there were that many, it obviously meant an attack that would attract all the bandits to the area and lead to a huge confrontation.
As quick as he started, he arrived at an open area that had little to no crates. To his left were the final extensions of towered crates that hid trembling men, women, and children all tied up. Some of the adults huddled together with the children, hinting at their possible connections.
To his right, the One Shot who single-handedly killed six of the twenty-six bandits roaming in the warehouse showed no hint of remorse, but instead joy through her giggles. She could make as much noise as she wanted, for the area surrounding them was a battleground—there was nobody else to bother them.
The bandits took the chance between her cocking interval to take cover, likely confident in the thick walls' ability to stop the bullets.
"I should do something." With the ground covered by the One Shot, Sévir resolved to cover the air.
Dashing through the air, he arrived at a corner behind the bandits who were unaware of his presence, most likely because of the One Shot's absolute certainty to gun every single one of them down—something that would unnerve the average man, besides him flying up as high as possible.
With the open chance impossible to ignore, he launched forth yellow beams of light that pierced through the back of their heads. Immediately, they laid motionless, though without any trace of blood.
Sévir on the other hand felt nothing; not joy, sorrow, terror, or the like by killing these criminals—that's right, after all he was a criminal himself, the most feared criminal in all of Stepanburg: the [Little Gang Killer], the criminal all gangs itched to get their hands on.
He could kill without a trace of emotion.
He could manslaughter the entire assassin syndicate if he wanted to.
He could have no strings attached to Demeter.
If it was his job, he could probably even kill a divine being with a little push.
He was doing a job and even more for extra.
He was the ideal assassin.
Detached from any sentiment.
At least that's what everyone in the syndicate most likely thought. If he were asked similar questions, he would've definitely shown, not told.
Wide-eyed, he dropped immediately as a stray bullet passed by his side. There was only one person who possessed a gun—the One Shot.
She giggled from his glare, echoing through the now silent warehouse, reminding him of the concluded battle—a battle of two against twenty-six. "Didn't expect that huh, Silver-san?"
"..Definitely not." He dusted off his knees. "The captives are behind you."
She turned around, facing the last of the crate towers. "Ah." She cocked her gun and aimed at a lifeless body. "Anatolia." The body rose, while the original remained lifeless. Sévir had somewhat gotten used to this farce despite it being only the second time. Indeed, it was odd. A lot, if not all magic radiated mana when a spell was underway, yet this wasn't the case in cloning such as Percival's or the One Shot's—they were invisible. The only indication was casting out loud or when the spell had been done.
The gun locked onto the clone's head as did her eyes to his. It was silent, Sévir darted between them, clueless on what was going on between the still figures—one full of life, and one questionable.
The clone turned around and walked to the exit. Sévir raised a brow, still clueless. "Where's he going?"
"I commanded him to approach the nearest Trystan-held checkpoint and spread news of this warehouse."
He eyed the clone in scepticism. "And you're sure he won't turn your back on you? Doesn't he have the consciousness of the past?"
"I suppose that's a reasonable question. Shinpai shinai de kudasai, Silver-san. He's under my control."
His dumbfounded look attested to his ignorance of Janian, assuming it were assuring words.
"If that clone's heading towards them, then we should get out of here already."
She cocked her gun and aimed it at her heart. "Catch up by the nearby bridge. Kakusu." She and the shadows that engulfed her vanished.
.
"You're late." she commented with a smirk, gently swinging her legs back and forth as she sat on a pillar. "I arrived here in twenty seconds, you took two minutes."
He rolled his eyes, unimpressed. "Why are you so talkative?"
She giggled. "Am I? I'm just trying to buddy up."
"That's not the way in the WCO. Tell me, what are your intentions? Why did you join the syndicate?" The usual coldness in his voice transformed to a certain seriousness and scepticism. It was a good question.
The playfulness in her eyes had never been as much as that moment. "Ara, must a woman tell all her secrets? We keep them for a reason..~"
He furrowed his brows, displeased with the seductive tone growing in her voice.
"But I suppose mine isn't a secret, after all, it's the same as yours." Same as his?
"You want something from Demeter-sama, right? It isn't hard to tell. Everyone in the syndicate wants something from a powerful man like him."
His silence proved so.
"Desho~?"
The thought of asking her further crossed his mind, but he was never the type to snoop.
She cocked and pointed her gun to the right. Sévir immediately turned around to the direction and spotted a man on top of a roof, his gun aimed at Sévir. Was it a bandit they didn't kill?
The man fell off the roof as she opened fire. It all happened so quickly, fortunately he was able to grasp what just happened. Though he couldn't determine if it was a bandit from the warehouse or an assassin.
She sighed disappointingly. "It seems like my aim's gotten sloppy. I shot his forehead instead of his bridge.
"Such high standards." It was true for him. He could never have aimed so quickly yet accurately.
"Anone, what would you have done there without me~?" She pulled herself back and stood up the ledge, easily balancing herself. Her pistol merged with the shadows and disappeared as she dropped it.
"Allow me to introduce myself." She bowed down in a curtsey and gracefully raised the sides of her skirt.
He raised a brow. Why was she going to introduce herself? It was way out of syndicate policy to do so—it was silently forbidden unless they knew each other prior.
"Yasume. Rokume Yasume." She tilted her head up, her eyes meeting his.
For a moment, time stopped and the world went white, the only colours that remained being them. The silence had never been so strong, nor had the ticking been so loud and resonant.
Tick tock.. Tick tock..
He blinked and it all returned to normal. The bright moonlight that gleamed upon them was as is, the stillness and silence of the river was as is, the cold air that seeped through his skin was as is, the girl presenting herself before him was as is—everything was the same.
He had never been as willing to reply.
He had never been as eager to open his mouth and utter three words:
"Sévir van Doren."