Ch.416Episode 16 – The Six Million Dollar Man

A keffiyeh headdress and a loose-fitting kandura.

A man wearing a brown coat over traditional attire resembling a white dress passes through the crowd of citizens.

Behind him follows another man.

A local with an unkempt beard was trailing the first man.

In Hasan’s warlord city, there was no distinction between the old town and the new town.

In the maze-like city, a traditional market.

The two men are there.

Episode 16 – The Six Million Dollar Man

The traditional market was as chaotic as the turbulent political situation.

Merchants hawking their wares on the streets, citizens naturally weaving between passing vehicles.

Walking past streets littered with all manner of goods, there were stalls and stands at every corner. The sounds of televisions, people’s conversations, and blaring horns created a cacophony.

The man doesn’t stop.

“……”

With the agal removed from his keffiyeh and wrapped around his face, he looked as if he were wearing a shemagh. The loose one-piece dress concealed his physique, making it impossible to determine his gender.

Dressed in traditional attire, the man blended easily among the locals. His steps were unhurried, and his gaze naturally swept over the stalls.

The other man carefully observed him as he leisurely browsed the market.

With one hand in his pocket, the man examining the stalls pulled out his hand to pick up an item.

His manner of turning the object over, as if assessing its usefulness like a merchant, was infinitely leisurely.

The merchant who greeted the customer exchanged a few words with him, and the man chattered away, mixing in hand gestures.

The observer missed not a single gesture or movement.

What prompted the observer to move was the moment when the man handed over money and received the item.

After paying cash and purchasing the item, he walked toward an alley, away from the bustling traditional market. The observer followed him.

Passing by low walls and walking along yellowish outer walls. There was quite a distance between the two men, but it wasn’t too far either.

In the distance, the observer saw the figure disappearing into a side street. With his hand in his pocket and fist clenched, the observer turned the corner with a tense expression.

At that moment.

“Kuh!”

A groan escapes from the observer’s mouth as he turns his body along the curve of the building.

The man who had been waiting at the corner grabbed the observer by the collar, pulled him forcefully, and kicked his knee and ankle with his boot.

Having lost his center of gravity, the local man sat down on the spot. The man twisted the observer’s limp arm and subdued him with his knee.

The seated observer and the man on top of him. In a split second, a fist flew. After striking the local man’s face, the attacker grabbed his hair and forcibly tilted his head back.

And a sharp knife pressed against his Adam’s apple.

Trembling eyes scanned the sharp blade. Rough breaths brushed against the blade and collar. The grip on the combat knife began to tighten.

A combat knife so dangerous that it could tear skin just by touching it.

The man holding the knife murmured in fluent common language of the Mauritanian continent.

“Who sent you?”

*

The local man who examined the combat knife pressed against him exhaled rough breaths through his flaring nostrils.

I pressed the blade against his Adam’s apple and asked a question.

“Who are you?”

The local man had been following me. From the moment I was walking on the street until I reached the traditional market. This man had been persistently trailing me.

I detected the surveillance when I was walking on the street. While wandering aimlessly to clear my thoughts after meeting with an informant, I noticed I had picked up a tail.

“Who sent you?”

Harsh words and an oppressive atmosphere. I threatened the subdued man while questioning him. Even as I did so, my mind was assessing the man’s identity and who might be behind him.

For intelligence officers deployed overseas, surveillance is a shadow that’s hard to shake off even if you want to. This is due to the eyes of counterintelligence agencies and monitors sent by third-country intelligence agencies.

“Keuuk…”

When I applied pressure with my knee, I heard a deflating sound. The observer, with his abdomen and solar plexus compressed, let out a painful groan.

“Who ordered you to follow me? Tell me the name.”

I pressed the combat knife harder and barked. At that moment, the observer pinned to the ground began glancing back at the path he had come from.

As soon as I noticed his gaze, I drew a straight line with the knife and stood up.

And before even two seconds had passed, I heard a shout in the local dialect.

“!عبدل(Abdul!)”

It was a scream from a man who had run into the alley.

He called out the name of the man collapsed on the ground. However, the fallen man couldn’t hear that voice.

Abdul. That was the name of the man who had been following me. It was also quite a common name in the Middle East and Mauritania.

The fallen man and me standing. Blood stains and a combat knife.

It didn’t take long for the newcomer to understand the situation as he rolled his eyes left and right. He let out a scream-like howl and drew his knife.

I dodged the swinging knife and grabbed the joint inside his arm. Though the man tried to swing the knife by moving his wrist, the blade only grazed my clothes without touching me.

Having subdued the most threatening part, I kicked up at his abdomen.

“Keok…!”

My body moved before I could even think.

The combat knife began to pierce the assailant. The blade, easily exceeding 7cm, tore through skin, cut the carotid artery, and ground through bone.

The familiar sensation flowing through the handle was like cutting lotus root. After stabbing the combat knife into his neck, I quickly stabbed his neck a couple more times.

The assailant, with his carotid artery butchered, fell forward. Thus, I escaped the threat of murder.

However, I couldn’t completely relax because I could hear numerous footsteps coming from the entrance of the alley. The sound of additional attackers rushing in.

I didn’t know who had set these men on me.

But there was one thing I could be certain of.

“…Assassination.”

Someone had sent assassins.

*

The chase began.

It was a game of tag.

“!عبدل او صیر مړه دي(Abdul and Sair are dead!)”

“!زه په چاقو ووهلم. هغه سړی ومومئ چې هغه یې وژلی دی(Stabbed with a knife. Find the man who killed them!)”

The assailants who appeared late at the scene conversed in an unintelligible language. It wasn’t the standard common language of the Mauritanian continent, but a regional dialect used only in rural areas of this country.

The assailants, confronted with their two comrades who had just been people moments ago, shouted and expressed their anger. Though I couldn’t understand the meaning, the message was clearly conveyed.

I hid at a corner and observed the assailants.

“……”

There were four local men communicating in the regional dialect. They seemed to be acquainted, as their conversation was quite lengthy.

Like butchers stripping meat and bones, the men prowled around with knives. Judging by their knife-holding stance, they seemed to be quite skilled knife wielders.

Adjusting my grip on the combat knife, I carefully assessed the situation.

I had picked up a tail on my way back to my lodging. The observer who followed me into the alley immediately tried to pull out a knife from his pocket and fight back when ambushed.

In regions with unstable security, contract killing is a profession with considerable demand. It was true in Latin America, Southeast Asia, the Middle East, and Africa.

In my more than ten years of service in the intelligence agency, I had encountered contract killers countless times. I often commissioned them for killings, and when I was unlucky, assassins who had received contracts came looking for me.

I estimated the assailants’ identity as contract killers. Assassins.

The reason was extremely simple.

Because intelligence agencies prefer direct assassination over contract killing when they want to eliminate someone.

Intelligence agencies typically instruct their officers to carry out assassinations when they want to increase the probability of success.

In a neighborhood like this, where outdated firearms openly circulate in the black market, intelligence officers would unhesitatingly eliminate targets with firearms. Because firearms are more effective weapons for killing people than blades.

So it was hard to consider the men who came after me with knives as assassins belonging to an intelligence agency.

Who could have sent the assassins?

The Reconnaissance Command? The Royal Guard? Or a warlord? If the culprit is among these three, the warlord is most likely. Because contract killing isn’t the method of imperial intelligence agencies. This is the typical method warlords use when they want to kill someone.

Whose doing could it be? Asen? Sanya?

I continued my speculation while adjusting my grip on the combat knife.

But to get answers, I first had to survive.

“!هلته دی(There he is!)”

One of the assassins pointed to where I was hiding. He shouted to alert his comrades about the situation.

The knife-wielding assassins swarming in was instantaneous.

I quickly rose from my position and stabbed the knife into the abdomen of an assassin who was turning the corner.

Typically, intelligence officers prefer to target the neck rather than the chest or limbs when handling knives. This is because vital points like the carotid artery, spinal cord, and trachea are all concentrated there. That’s why instructors emphasize quickly stabbing the neck with short distances and quick hand movements.

However, some instructors described the abdomen as a good area to attack in emergencies, because the liver, one of the vital points of the human body, is located there. If hit there, a person goes down in one shot.

However, to attack the liver, several prerequisites are needed.

A blade of sufficient length, the strength to stab the liver, and the knowledge to locate its exact position.

Unfortunately, I possessed all three conditions.

Pook! The sound of piercing cloth and flesh is followed by a short death cry. The heavy combat knife tore through the skin and shattered the liver.

I rotated the combat knife that had penetrated up to the handle. The blade pushed through the flesh, and the sensation of tearing skin traveled up the handle, striking the brainstem connected to the spine.

After retrieving the combat knife, I faced the pursuing assassins. Despite losing a comrade right before their eyes, the assassins rushed at me without hesitation.

A massive assassin swings his knife. A huge knife befitting his massive body.

A shout erupts, hair is cut off, and I drop my drawn pistol and hold up the combat knife.

The military combat knife grazes the upper arm. The Kiyen Imperial Army’s combat knife, designed to cut through barbed wire, easily sliced through the fabric. It was the power of high-carbon steel.

The large assassin swung his knife a few times before getting the combat knife lodged in his neck. As I adjusted my grip on the combat knife to ensure I cut off his breathing, the assassin’s knife grazed my shoulder in a split second.

One strike, then another. The high-carbon steel blade pierces through the thick neck, the tip peeking out, cutting through blood vessels with a feeling like cutting lotus root.

Another assassin comes in, looking for an opening. The one with his face covered by a shemagh was so small in stature that he could be mistaken for a goblin.

Goblin-like in stature, but with movements like a beastkin. A small blade like a carving knife stabs into my side. Pook.

I grab his wrist. The assassin, unable to pull out his knife, is momentarily flustered. I twist his hand and start to damage my side. As the small blade tears through my skin, the combat knife lodges into the assassin’s forehead.

The military combat knife is a more powerful weapon than it appears. Axes, machetes, Japanese swords. Bladed weapons that leave not just stab wounds but chop wounds due to their power. The combat knife, belonging to that category, penetrates the forehead and pierces the skull in an instant.

It’s difficult to retrieve a blade stuck in bone. I let go of the handle and abandon the combat knife. Instead, I unfasten my belt to face the last assassin.

The last assassin was an ordinary-looking man who could be seen anywhere. With an appearance suggesting he had just entered his 40s. Given the local custom of early marriage, it wouldn’t be strange if he had several grown children.

He was holding a uniquely shaped knife. A wavy pattern. A knife that can easily cut meat.

Whether the meat that knife can cut is livestock or human is unknown. However, it’s currently being used to cut humans.

The assassin with the knife and the spy with the belt face each other.

One for the forearm. Two for the collarbone. Three for the chest. Four for the collar.

I dodge the knife blade that rushes like a dance from the shadows, and I hook the belt around his wrist. I cross the line and pull it down hard.

With the sudden force applied, the knife drops. Seeing him raise his arm to defend, I kick him in the groin.

The painful scream rings out only briefly, as I wrap the belt around the assassin’s neck and pull hard. With our backs against each other, I straighten my bent knee and lift him up.

The assassin being strangled let out choppy breaths. Struggling limbs and nails scratching at the neck. The more painful the movements, the more I tightened my grip on the belt.

The assassin, who had been hitting my face by throwing his hands backward, gradually began to lose strength. Occasionally, he would kick out his legs and struggle violently, but the belt around his neck didn’t loosen.

Keuik, keuik. The death throes at the edge of life.

The fingers that had been desperately scratching at the neck gradually loosened, and the sound of grinding teeth subsided.

Still, I didn’t release the belt. Staggering like someone carrying a sack, I approached the dropped pistol.

Finally, the cool and familiar grip sensation in my palm. With the pistol in hand, I pressed the muzzle against the assassin’s side and pulled the trigger.

Bang! With a single gunshot, silence fell.

After throwing away what had once been a person, I sat down against the alley wall, holding the pistol.

“……”

Looking up at the sky while sitting among the corpses, I saw quite a few stars. As I was putting the pistol in my pocket with trembling hands and getting up while covering my side, it happened.

-Rumble!

The wall collapses. The wall I was leaning on.

Sprawled on the ground, I was covered in dust. As I was raising my head to see what had happened, it was at that moment.

“Hello?”

A voice much thinner than a thick shout.

At the place where the voice came from, a familiar woman was standing.

“I rushed here thinking I might be late, but it seems someone else already had all the fun?”

A local woman with tanned skin grins.

“But the lottery is mine, right?”

A face hidden by a cloak, the traditional attire of the Mauritanian continent.

The only exposed part of her body was her lower face, but it didn’t take much effort to identify the woman.

“By the way, it seems your bodyguard is absent. You used to have him by your side every day.”

“……”

“You should always have an escort. I told you.”

The sorceress, Fatima.

She emerged from the collapsed building and gave a slight smile.

“In a neighborhood like this, it wouldn’t be strange to die at any moment.”

It was a cruel smile.

*

Six assassins who followed and attacked simultaneously. After dealing with all the assassins, another assailant appeared.

Fatima.

“Lucky day, huh? Getting stabbed while walking down the street.”

She chattered with a frivolous attitude, grinning. It was clear mockery.

Why had the sorceress come here? She’s a sorceress contracted with Hasan. Could it be that Hasan…

I immediately denied the hypothesis as I continued my speculation.

Hasan has no reason to kill a foreign intelligence officer he’s dealing with smoothly. If Hasan wants to gain the upper hand in the three-way conflict after the dispute between Asen and Sanya ends, he definitely needs my help.

Nasir and I are already in the same boat, and at the point where we’ve instigated the conflict between Asen and Sanya, we’ve become inseparably linked.

If I fall here, Hasan is screwed too. Knowing this, Nasir wouldn’t have commissioned an assassination.

This means there’s another force behind the assassination. The culprit is probably Asen or Sanya.

Though I don’t have clear evidence, the only ones with a reason to commission an assassination right now are these two warlords.

“…Is it Asen? Or Sanya?”

“Oh, you’re quick! That’s right. The request came from Sanya.”

Damn. Where did the information leak?

As I was turning over thoughts in my head, assuming the worst-case scenario, the sorceress made a significant remark.

“A bounty has been placed on foreigners operating in the provinces. What did they say? That they’re deeply concerned about the war correspondents?”

“……”

It meant that the Group 2 warlord had put a bounty on the heads of war correspondents.

It wasn’t an incomprehensible decision. War correspondents are the natural enemies of warlords. From a warlord’s perspective, they wouldn’t want foreign journalists freely poking around their territory.

There’s a good example not far off: Hasan. When I visited Al Bas tribe’s territory and requested coverage as a war correspondent, the warlord’s officials consistently viewed me with suspicion.

If Nayan, a powerful figure in Hasan’s financial affairs, hadn’t shown goodwill, I might have been locked up in Hasan’s police station for days.

“……”

However, what’s important now isn’t the warlord’s attitude toward war correspondents. What’s important is that Sanya has put a bounty on foreign journalists.

And my cover identity is a war correspondent.

“…Shit.”

If I had known this would happen, I should have approached as an arms dealer. This is screwed up.

The sorceress of the Hasan warlord, no, the sorceress who had accepted a contract from Sanya, smiled coldly.

“So you’ve betrayed us in the end?”

“Don’t say it like that. It makes me sound like a bad person.”

Fatima, who had shamelessly admitted to betraying Hasan, began to chatter as if it were natural.

“It’s good for me. Recently, both Asen and Sanya have been recruiting soldiers because they’re short on manpower. They pay well too.”

“……”

“They say they’ll give 3 million to a sorceress from the start. The bounty on a foreigner’s head is 5 million.”

The sorceress, calculating her annual salary, raised the corners of her mouth.

“And there’s a journalist right in front of me?”

I knew exactly what that meant.

I threw sand at the sorceress. And drew my pistol.

But she was a step faster.

-Kung!

Debris scattered on the alley began to fly at me. It was as if the ground had gained elasticity, trembling and sending fragments flying upward.

It was the sorceress’s doing.

Amid the chaos of falling stone fragments and swirling dust, the sorceress was laughing.

She didn’t form a beast-hand seal before casting the sorcery, nor did she utter an incantation infused with magical power. Skilled mages and sorcerers can use simple magic or sorcery without preparation.

But Fatima remained unaffected even after using such sorcery.

This bitch, she’s more skilled than she appears.

“Shit…!”

I rolled on the ground to avoid the debris.

Unlike mages, sorcerers have a range within which they can attack. That’s why the first principle in the engagement protocol for police and military facing sorcerers is to get out of the sorcerer’s attack range.

After avoiding the debris, I quickly escaped the alley. The hazy dust was somewhat concealing my escaping figure.

My judgment was that if it wasn’t a deserted alley but a place with many civilians, she would find it difficult to use sorcery easily.

However,

-Kwang!!

Fatima continued to pursue me and cast sorcery.

“Kyaaaak!!”

“It’s a sorceress! A sorceress is killing people!”

The locals gathered in the traditional market began to scream at the sudden rampage of the sorceress.

Some came out to assess the situation only to be trampled by evacuating citizens, while others carried children and ran frantically.

Given the sudden nature of the disturbance, the residents’ responses were inevitably varied. Most people ran in the opposite direction of the explosions, but some ran against the crowd, desperately calling out for someone.

Into the sorceress’s attack range.

A woman searching for her child was split in two. Not that her lower body separated from her upper body, but literally split from the crown of her head.

Next to her was someone screaming while holding a severed wrist, and there was an old man sitting in front of a collapsed store, tearing at his hair. Inside that store, there had been people who were enthusiastically watching a sports broadcast on a CRT TV just moments ago.

Beside the old man with despair in his eyes, the sorceress passed by, her cloak fluttering.

“…You crazy bitch!”

I shouted at the sorceress.

“Are you planning to kill all these people?!”

“People die anyway.”

The sorceress twisted her lips and added.

“And you’ll die soon too.”

I started running towards the security office to avoid the oncoming sorcery. That’s where Hasan warlord’s security detail was located.

Even as I dodged this way and that to avoid the sorcery and debris while fleeing, the sorceress was still in hot pursuit.

Her fingers bent and palms met, completing the sorcery. The sorcery born in the sorceress’s hands spread an ominous color and seeped into the ground.

Earth-element sorcery.

In terms of magic, it corresponds to “earth” among the four elements.

-!!

As the ominous light seeped into the ground, the earth began to twist. As if a small earthquake had occurred, the road bulged and utility poles fell.

Amid the precariously swaying shop lights casting unstable shadows, abandoned cars surged towards me.

I crouched down, dodging the approaching massive shadow.

At that moment, sirens began to sound nearby.

It’s natural for the police to arrive when a disturbance occurs in a downtown area with a large crowd. Even in a neighborhood dominated by corrupt officials, there are elite forces, including special police units specialized in dealing with mages and sorcerers.

A pickup truck full of police arrived at the scene. After identifying the sorceress who had massacred civilians amid the chaos, the truck pushed through the debris, firing a machine gun.

“How dare you.”

The sorceress, who had hidden behind a solid concrete outer wall, formed a beast-hand seal. She joined her thumbs and crossed her index, middle, and ring fingers.

Colors began to gather in Fatima’s palm as she busily moved her fingers except for the firmly fixed thumbs, and recognizing that the sorcery was complete, she struck the building with her palm.

-Urrrung!!

The building collapses.

“Huaaaak!!”

“Kuaaaak!!”

Residents’ screams flowed from the building as the collapsing structure poured down on the police officers’ heads.

The gunner firing the machine gun, the police officer aiming a revolver while taking cover behind the police car, the special forces jumping out of the pickup truck. More than twenty police officers were buried under the debris in the blink of an eye.

Kuwoong! As the building toppled like dominoes, an enormous cloud of dust rose. The silence that came with death made the area as quiet as a grave.

“…Haa.”

The sorceress spoke, slowly treading on the debris like a leisurely hiker.

“If you had just stayed put, I wouldn’t have had to go this far. I don’t know why people always do foolish things.”

“……”

“How about it.”

Standing on the debris and corpses, the sorceress gave an eye-smile.

“Can you still tear my mouth apart like this?”

I fumbled on the ground and spoke.

“Is that why? Because you were insulted?”

“Yes. Insult. If someone is insulted, isn’t it right to pay them back?”

“……”

I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. She massacred dozens of civilians and buried police officers alive just to return an insult.

“You’re a fucking bitch.”

The sorceress’s eyebrows twitched. Anger mixed into her voice.

“If I tear that mouth apart, maybe you’ll be a bit qui-“

A gunshot rang out, and the sorceress’s body staggered. Fatima, who had been standing straight, fell onto the debris pile with a painful scream.

Lowering the smoking muzzle, I looked at the sorceress crawling on the ground, still aiming the pistol.

Gunshots rang out in succession. The bullets embedded in the debris raised dust and scattered fragments in all directions.

“Keuk…!”

Perhaps not expecting a gun to appear here, the sorceress hastily hid among the debris. I reloaded the magazine and waited for the sorceress to show herself.

At that moment, the sorceress hiding in the debris shouted.

“…F, uck. All of you come out! Don’t just watch, hurry!”

As her shout spread across the scene, figures began to emerge from the shadows of the city.

Locals dressed in traditional attire of the Mauritanian continent. They walked through the chaos swept by sorcery as if they were accustomed to it.

They were sorcerers.

I fired my pistol at the sorcerers. But it seems they had prepared sorcery in advance.

As a sorcerer extended his arm, a sewer pipe buried underground rose up. Water was gushing through the cross-section and cracks that looked as if they had been forcibly torn out. As he quickly formed a beast-hand seal, the liquid that had been spouting like a fountain began to spread out in a large circle, forming a curtain.

River-type sorcery. It was a sorcery corresponding to “water,” one of the four elements that form the basis of elemental magic.

Bullets, though dangerous even when small-caliber, don’t exert much power underwater.

This is because water resistance is 800 times higher than air, making it impossible for bullets to rotate.

The reduction in rotational force causes unstable ballistics, and the high resistance dampens propulsion. Bullets meeting river-type sorcery rapidly lose power and are sucked into the liquid.

After blocking the gunfire by drawing up groundwater, another sorcerer, presumed to be a colleague, stepped forward. While forming a beast-hand seal and chanting an incantation, the sorcerer raised a strong wind.

I was helplessly slammed into a nearby stall by the wind as strong as a typhoon. Breaking through the crudely made wooden stall, I rolled on the ground.

While I was being scratched here and there by sharp glass fragments and debris, the sorcerers found Fatima who was crouched behind the debris. Fatima, who was stopping the bleeding from her lower abdomen with her hand, snapped at her colleagues irritably.

“If you were here, you should have come out without delay!”

“Who was it that wanted to eat the bounty alone? It’s strange for you to say that when you refused when we suggested splitting it three ways.”

“Is it easy to divide 5 million exactly into three? If you hadn’t blown your money on gambling and borrowed from dark elves, this wouldn’t have happened.”

While the sorcerers were chattering away.

I managed to get up and leaned against a vehicle.

Terrible pain pounded through my entire body, and a headache rang in my head, when suddenly such a thought occurred to me. A trivial thought.

The first thought that came to mind was what would happen after my death.

If I die here, what will the company tell my family? Will they truthfully report that I died in the line of duty, or will they reassure them by saying I died in a traffic accident somewhere?

I wonder what Jerry and Adela would say if I died. Would they reveal that I wasn’t actually a defense attaché but a military intelligence officer? The elders of the Nostrum family would be shocked.

Is the cry of a cat beastkin “aong” or “meong”? Why does Caer go “meong” anyway?

Right. I still haven’t gotten money from Aila. She said she got a job, but she hasn’t even bought gifts for her family. Her character is messed up. These days, kids are…

The next thing that came to mind were the faces of people. Colleagues, juniors, and seniors I met at the Military Intelligence Bureau. Clebins and Leoni who were my superiors.

What will happen to Pippin and Jake? Will they return to their original positions if the department is disbanded? I’m not sure about Charnoi. The Inspection Office is also a department with a term. Maybe he’ll be rotated to another place. The Royal Intelligence Department’s dispatch team will return to their main unit.

Lucia. She just became a saint, I wonder if she’ll be safe.

Francesca. She’s someone who can take care of herself anywhere, but honestly, I’m a bit worried. The National Security Bureau is quite intense.

Veronica. She’s just, well…

I also thought of my parents. Dad and Mom. Are they doing well? Having lost her husband and now her child before her. They shouldn’t have to live so hard.

If Dad were alive, would it have been a bit better? I don’t know. I hope he wouldn’t just drink soju at the funeral home like Grandpa did.

The last person I thought of was,

“……”

I was half out of it. I don’t know if this is a universal psychological phenomenon that happens to humans facing death, or if I’m in this state because I’m not in my right mind.

I feel the slide with my fingers. Inside the firmly closed slide, in the chamber, was a live round ready to be fired at any time.

Covering my bleeding side with my hand, I gradually gather my wits. With one magazine, I could probably take at least one of them with me.

As I was raising myself up, leaning against the car door with trembling hands, someone approached from the side. I had my thumb on the safety and finger on the trigger when I saw the legs of the figure that appeared beside me.

At a glance, they were well-maintained pretty legs. The skin is white and fair. White people have white legs too, huh.

While I was muttering nonsense to myself, I suddenly had this thought. Why are these legs white? There aren’t even white people here.

Looking closely, these legs seem familiar. As I was briefly trying to remember where I had seen these legs before, I suddenly came to my senses and raised my head.

Only then did my eyes meet the blue eyes that were staring at me. Eyes that shone as clear and blue as a cloudless sky.

Camilla speaks.

“What are you doing here?”

“…Uh.”

She was looking down at me with a composed expression.

With the backpack she had packed for me slung over one shoulder, she was wearing traditional Mauritanian attire from who knows where. She was also wearing a headdress that looked like a hijab.

For someone who isn’t even Muslim, well, there aren’t Muslims here to begin with.

As I was following my disjointed thoughts, Camilla looked around.

“Hmm…”

The devastated street unfolded before her. Human fragments buried under the debris of collapsed buildings, distorted cars. Even the livelihoods of local residents swept away by strong winds and flooded by groundwater.

After taking in the dismal scene, Camilla dropped her backpack on the ground with a thud. Then, stretching, she muttered as if for me to hear.

“I thought if I left you alone, you’d definitely get into trouble… And sure enough, it’s come to this in less than a week.”

“…Camilla.”

“Shh.”

She placed her outstretched finger on my lips. I suddenly found myself with my mouth blocked.

“Lectures can come later.”

I shouted at Camilla to stop. But because my mouth was blocked, no proper words came out. Just “eup, eureup, eup,” sounds that failed to become language.

Completely ignoring me, Camilla took off her headdress and threw it away. As her dyed hair flowed down, it swayed like cloth fluttering in the wind when she shook her head.

“So…”

Camilla, having thrown off her headdress, pointed at the sorcerers with her thumb. Then, turning her head, she asked me a question.

“Should I start by catching those people?”