Ch.54Request Log #007 – The Weight of Life (4)

Sitting against the alley wall, I begin by assessing the situation. If I don’t understand what happened, I’ll fall victim to the same trick again, and that’s something I refuse to let happen.

First, the magic that Frenchman uses kills people. It extinguishes life like snuffing out a candle with your hand. I could at least resist it, which is why I only felt pain.

I suppose I have the curse to thank for that, but that’s not important right now. I can regret it or feel conflicted about it on my own time.

After resting for about three minutes, I grab the wall and stand up again. That’s enough rest. Someone who can fight on just two hours of sleep per day can’t afford to sit around for an hour.

I leave the alley and walk out to the street where the blood trail ends. I should have gone straight after that mixed-blood mage since I already knew where he was staying.

“No, no. That stupid patriot woman wouldn’t run away so easily. If I go kill her now, I can still salvage this…”

I calm myself as things start going sideways for the first time in a while. I should first check if I’m in any condition to run.

I force my muscles to move from my upper arms and thighs all the way to my fingertips and toes. My muscles respond. I can run. I start sprinting through the street where cars have stopped, leaving the dead behind.

I pull out a rifle from my duffel bag. If they fled straight to the docks, they would have seen the traces I left there. They’ll realize I’ve already found where they’re staying.

In that case, they might be preparing rather than running away. They wouldn’t make the stupid choice of fleeing with a walking trench line, so logically, they’d be hiding in the warehouse building.

I run toward the docks. I know which warehouse it is, and to avoid any encumbrances, I throw off my coat and duffel bag far from the warehouse, taking only spare ammunition as I run.

Fueled by rage, I climb up the wall, grab the warehouse window frame, quietly open it, and pull myself up just enough to peek inside with my right eye and a bit of my head showing.

It was quiet. There was no sign of anyone, and the floor was messy as if they had hastily packed the contents of the boxes we’d opened earlier and left.

They really ran away despite having a War Spirit? They might be hiding their presence well or using some kind of magic, so I check the surroundings again.

It’s probably an illusion spell. They might be waiting for me to poke my head in while using magic that distorts direction and interferes with senses.

No, that can’t be. Even if they could distort senses, they couldn’t eliminate the smell of mana reacting with air, and I don’t sense anything. They really did run away.

After checking for smells again, I climb through the window into the warehouse. The warehouse door seems to have been opened from the outside. They didn’t use the War Spirit, or the door would have been bent.

If they were going to run, they should have had the War Spirit break down the door. I jump down from the iron railing and search through the luggage they left behind.

Mostly clothes. They took all the books without leaving a single one, but left clothes and even a gun. So books were more important than guns they probably never fired?

A detective needs to know their target to track them, just like firefighters need to learn about fire. You need to understand what they’re thinking.

I examine the clothes left on the floor. They’re ordinary. A woman’s hat with a narrow brim, a plain dress without a cinched waist. The material doesn’t seem expensive either.

There’s also an old black, long garment with a white collar, like a student uniform. It’s older than the other clothes, seemingly worn for years with patches sewn twice on the inside where the knees would touch.

I didn’t count how many sets of clothes they brought, but bringing such old clothes suggests they don’t have much money. Truly here just because of some stupid belief.

They can’t walk around New York in blood-stained clothes, so they’ll need to buy new ones. They can’t take the War Spirit or a madman to a clothing store.

As I continue searching through the luggage, I hear a voice from outside the half-open warehouse door. It’s an angel’s voice, but not Yehoel.

“You in there! Whoever you are, take your hands off those items and come out! An Archangel has arrived, so it would be better not to resist! I’ll say it again!”

The voice sounds inexperienced. The emotional tone suggests a fallen angel, and unknown fallen angels were to be treated with caution.

“I’m a detective here for the same reason as you. Are you after that human-dwarf mixed-blood woman? You must have received a support request from Inspector Yehoel.”

After I casually mention knowing another police officer, the angel outside seems somewhat relieved. I hear a sigh-mixed voice.

“Damn, I thought I was going to die in the line of duty again… Yes, I did receive a support request from Inspector Yehoel. Are you a civilian collaborator?”

Angels could always return to duty if they died, as the God-President would create a new body for them. Yehoel must have died in the line of duty twice. First out of a sense of justice, and the second time because the compensation was quite substantial.

“Yes, I’m your civilian collaborator, so open the door properly. Don’t use magic, and show me your face first. Understand?”

I wait for the door to open while checking for any smell of magic. The door opens slowly. A female-form angel with long blonde hair over her police uniform stands there, gritting her teeth and holding only a pistol.

There’s no metallic smell of mana. I lower my gun that was aimed at the angel’s head height and gesture with my chin for her to come in.

“They’ve already fled. You must have seen the mess outside, and I think I know what kind of magic they’re using…”

“How did you survive? About fifty… or forty people died at once in the nearby streets. Have you been here the whole time?”

That many died? Even though I came to kill this mixed-blood mage rather than worry about the dead, I didn’t expect that many casualties. I click my tongue and shake my head.

“No, I was nearby the second time. The mixed-blood mage doesn’t seem able to use that death magic… It was the human she’s traveling with. Seems like a war veteran…”

“Wait, wait. You survived that magic? What kind of magic is it exactly…?”

What excuse should I give? I know… I’ll just talk about mental strength. I nod briefly.

“Yes, when I went out to investigate after being here, they used it again to see if anyone had survived. Listen. The human seems to be a war veteran still suffering from trauma. He amplifies the sensations he felt during the Great War with mana and shouts. ‘Remember the Somme and Verdun,’ he says.”

The angel quietly writes down my testimony. I didn’t put a price on this information since I didn’t want to see more people dying pointlessly in my city.

“Someone who fought in those places would certainly have death filling their mind. So, how did you endure it? All the people… they died peacefully, as if they just collapsed.”

“Those people were exposed to the magic without knowing what was happening. I felt something was wrong and was looking for them when I was hit. I was prepared. My vision blurred, my heart nearly stopped, and my mind went numb, but I could somehow endure it. Then, after resting a bit, I got up and came here.”

The angel officer wrote down everything. Seeing her expression grow more solemn, she seemed to take her job quite seriously. She has more of a police spirit than Yehoel.

Talking to someone else gives me a chance to slowly review what happened to me. Come to think of it, that mixed-blood mage wasn’t affected by the death magic.

She didn’t resist like I did. She seemed completely unaffected by the magic, speaking and acting naturally before running away. And while there were three people in the photo, I only saw two.

I need to find out where the orc is and what he’s doing. Lucky me. If I had known this would happen, I would have… No, no.

It’s still a hundred times better to experience this than to die without even having a chance to resist if that mage woman used the same magic near my home without me knowing what was happening.

“I’ve told you this much without charging a penny. You can investigate if you want, or not. Can I go now?”

“J-just wait a moment. My partner will be here soon…”

“Is it the police’s job to detain citizens without reason? If there was something suspicious about me, that would be different. Didn’t Inspector Yehoel say anything?”

The blonde angel shakes her head. She seems to have just realized I’m not her fish to catch.

“He did mention there would be a human civilian collaborator. Still, if your identity can’t be verified, we should go to the station together…”

I throw her my business card from my wallet. There’s no reason to detain me now. An equally emotional fallen angel wouldn’t drag in her colleague’s civilian collaborator and create an awkward situation.

The angel sighs. Her fiery eyes glare at me briefly, but she steps aside without further objection. I walk out of the warehouse with my gun slung over my shoulder.

I pick up my duffel bag that I had left far from the warehouse, hide the gun, and put on my coat to look normal again as I leave the docks. I should find The Morrígan first.

On my way to the car, I see an Archangel descending from the sky—a giant eyeball surrounded by several intersecting rings covered with eyes and wings.

They won’t casually resurrect the dead. Death is death.

They say the God-President used to resurrect even decaying corpses from graves, but these days he doesn’t do such things, bound by principles he set himself.

I start the car before hearing the sad sound from the Archangel sent for investigation. As far as I know, only poets are the type of people who listen to others whining. I drive toward Little Eire.

As soon as I arrive at The Morrígan’s bar, I show my invitation to the surprised doorkeepers who smell the gunpowder on me, and enter. I still have the duffel bag with two guns on my back.

I hadn’t been gone long, but I wasn’t sure if The Morrígan would be pleased with the information I was bringing back. I enter her office and casually throw the duffel bag on the floor.

The Morrígan never looks surprised. She just smirks as I sit down irritably on the sofa.

“So you’ve figured out why I care about those stowaways, haven’t you? Ah, wait… Yes. It’s sweet, too. Makes me remember my prime.”

She approaches me as if entranced by the strong gunpowder smell on my clothes and body. With her tall, slender figure that was quite beautiful, I didn’t particularly stop her.

She approaches me as I sit with my legs crossed, looking up at her. She sits on the armrest of the sofa, leans down, and buries her face in my neck, inhaling the unpleasant gunpowder smell as if it were sugar.

Unworshipped gods often obsess over what used to be their domain. Yes, The Morrígan must have been a goddess of war.

I look down at her as she wraps her corpse-pale hand around my neck, as if the smell after firing a gun into the air differs from the smell after shooting someone to kill them.

I thought Selkie was the only one going crazy in Little Eire. But if this street is rotting with deficiency beneath its glittering surface, there’s no reason the goddess of this street wouldn’t be the same.

“You didn’t send me into danger just to smell gunpowder. Were you originally a goddess of war and death?”

It seemed she used someone because she was displeased that someone was trying to encroach on what was once her domain. Desire drives us all. Truly, all of us.

The Morrígan, who had been breathing cold breath with her face buried in my neck, raises her head. She smiles with her eyes curved more gently than usual, looking almost high.

“Yes, even if that tiny mixed-blood has abandoned it, I can’t just watch someone invade my territory. Even if it’s just a shabby recreation, I can’t bear to see them doing that in my Little Eire… Ah, I’ve never not expected such entertainment. It’s hard to say whether my anger or this desire is greater.”

She gets off the armrest and climbs onto my lap. Her face looking down at me was as disgusting as it was beautiful, as if even the fact that hundreds of people were dying outside only excited her more.

“You’re a child who has received plenty of my grace. All I ever brought to the battlefield was tracking, destruction, and suppression… And what you bring to people is similar, isn’t it? So, I sent you into danger.”

I came to talk about work, but The Morrígan’s expression was filled only with excitement. Unworshipped gods become this shabby in front of people who remind them of their time as deities.

Even for someone who just nearly died and came here, I needed some… comfort. Anyway, The Morrígan would be useless for work until she satisfied her desire to return to when she was a revered goddess.

Relaxing a bit, I smirk at her statement that she sent me into danger because she liked me.

“How many men have you sent into danger because you liked them? If you were a goddess who gave blessings, that is. I imagine all the men who received your ‘blessing’ didn’t end well.”

“Not at all. I was a goddess who made people choose between love and hatred. Didn’t I tell you I was more human than that? If I must answer… They either died impaled on spears, or fought until their dying moment, tying themselves to tall standing stones. Well, that’s how it was. Every single one of them.”

“I wonder what I’d do if I knew why they all chose to be hated?”

She still has that grinning expression as she brings her face close to mine. Her black hair, which originally seemed to reach her waist, had grown long enough to flow on the floor, and her thin lips had turned red with vitality.

In her endlessly deep black eyes, I could see the landscape of the Argonne Forest. When I blinked once, I saw myself when I was hit by the death magic. She exhaled as if trying to close my eyes.

The breath she exhaled over my face while lifting my chin had a chill mixed in that gave me goosebumps, but it didn’t stop my heart like the death magic that French guy used.

The sound of ravens echoed from somewhere. A vision appeared and faded of ravens with red eyes filling the sofa backrest, office desk, and lanterns.

“I could curse you to bring misfortune for those irreverent words. Still, I’m not sure if it would truly bring misfortune. I’m just an unworshipped goddess without even that ability now. Still, I won’t have to wash your armor. How much time do you have until we talk about work?”

“One hour. Not a minute more, because I don’t want to sleep with death for a whole day. And I’ll be disgusted by you that entire hour.”

“Ah, you’re the same. But what can you do? If you want to get something from a god, you must give something in return.”