Ch.604Episode 22 – The Kazinsky Test

The peculiar feeling that had been present since the entrance of the bar remained vivid. Camilla blinked her eyes while clutching a shot glass.

The bartender had his back turned to the customers. His busy hands seemed focused on something, and Camilla felt a sense of discomfort.

It was a familiar discomfort, one she had felt somewhere before.

The beautifully engraved box leaning beside the Saint, the belt around her waist, and her pouch.

Statements difficult to interpret and the small alarm bell ringing with the magician’s exceptional magical sense.

After slowly pondering the meaning, Camilla instinctively reached this conclusion.

That bartender isn’t human.

-Whoosh!

Friend or foe?

It seemed premature to judge, but making him reveal his identity was the priority. So, subdue first, talk later.

Flames bloomed from her fingertips, burning bright red. Camilla aimed for the back of the bartender’s head with quick hand movements.

Before the shot glass slipping from her palm could reach the table, the magic was activated, quite literally, in the blink of an eye.

The aimed spell extended forward. With a crack! of breaking wood, the bartender’s figure shot upward.

“Grrrr…”

Good heavens. A werewolf.

Half-human, half-beast, the bartender clinging to the ceiling was grotesque. Like a scene from a 2000s horror movie.

I was imagining “Twilight,” not “Van Helsing.”

Camilla gulped dryly at the beast-like sound boiling from deep within its stomach.

“—!!”

The bartender, letting out a fierce roar, lunged from midair.

But even as sharp claws nearly grazed her hair, she stood her ground firmly.

Just as the werewolf was about to pounce on the magician after a moment’s wait—

Camilla’s form crumbled into flames.

“Now!”

Behind the scattering ashes, a silver swing-out cylinder rotated with a click.

Through the curtains draped over the night street,

A single flash of light briefly sparkled.

Episode 22 – The Kazitsky Test

There was no dramatic death. No chilling twist.

Thus, the werewolf’s death was appropriate. As is always the case with the end of mysteries that shed their veils.

The beast painted the whiskey bottles and labels on the shelf with dark red fireworks.

“Phew—”

Smoke rising from the muzzle carried the scent of gunpowder, and a short breath dispersed the smoke.

Veronica holstered her revolver, then covered the gun with her outer garment and adjusted her clothes.

“Are you hurt, Hero?”

“Fortunately not.”

She nodded with relief at the answer. Meanwhile, Camilla looked down at the dead bartender with her blue eyes.

“So this is a werewolf.”

Her gaze at the corpse was very calm. It would be a lie to say she wasn’t surprised, but that was only because of the sudden attack.

Her stare at the werewolf was far from shock or surprise.

The same went for the Saint.

There was no difference in the Saint’s demeanor after slaying the monster. More precisely, she seemed completely unconcerned with the werewolf’s death.

She went to the now-ownerless whiskey bottles, carefully wiped the blood-soaked labels, brought a bottle she liked, and filled a glass.

“Yes, a werewolf. Is this your first time seeing one in person?”

“Well, yes.”

“I suppose so, since you said you lived in a world without magic.”

Bringing the transparent glass to her lips, Veronica shrugged as if understanding.

The questions continued.

After staring at the corpse for a while, Camilla, with her hands in her pockets, casually asked the Saint.

“…Was this person—no, this werewolf the culprit?”

It was a simple question. She was asking if the bartender was the one who murdered the family.

Just as the amber liquor was about to touch her lips, Veronica, who had been examining the swirling glass, suddenly tilted her head.

“That’s something I wouldn’t know. All I know is that this creature was a werewolf, and that when his identity was exposed, he revealed his true nature and attacked us.”

That was the Saint’s answer.

In the end, she was saying she didn’t know either.

“……”

Camilla couldn’t help but look at Veronica with a somewhat sulky gaze.

According to her words, they had killed a werewolf with no connection to the case?

Of course, it was true that the bartender had attacked her and the Saint.

This was a world where human life was valued above all other races. Here, any being that harmed humans was punished according to strict laws, regardless of race. And as far as Camilla knew, werewolves were specially managed subjects under these laws, classified as “demon folk” or “hostile life forms.”

Therefore, crimes where werewolves attacked humans were treated as extremely serious matters.

Though she wasn’t sure if it was an appropriate comparison, it was similar to a worker killing a factory owner in 18th century Europe. That’s how Frederick had explained it.

Thus, a werewolf who attempted an attack and died from retaliation would not be much of a controversial issue, legally or socially in this world.

It was simply a matter of self-defense.

But Camilla’s interest was not at all in werewolf hunting.

She was neither someone with the mindset of an Industrial Revolution factory owner,

Nor a madman who would cast chain-murder curses, claiming that even the oxygen breathed by villains was wasted.

“You’re saying we killed an innocent person. That’s what it means.”

“To be precise, it was a werewolf hiding behind a human disguise. Not a person.”

I’m not in the mood for wordplay.

A somewhat reproachful gaze was directed at the cleric. Camilla tilted her head askew.

The Saint silently received that gaze. One sip, two sips. Moistening her lips with alcohol.

And at the moment when her soft tongue touched her teeth.

Veronica’s straight lips parted silently.

“I didn’t say he was innocent. I just said he wasn’t the murderer.”

“This bartender… this werewolf living as a bartender committed a crime?”

“Mmhmm.”

As Camilla pointed at the corpse with her finger, Veronica nodded as if confirming she was correct.

The situation was as follows.

“I received a tip. A kind of confession, or an informant’s report, if you will. A werewolf who had devoured quite a few humans from across the eastern sea was hiding here.”

“Who gave you this information?”

“A reliable man. Oh, not the Major, by the way. A man I’ve known since childhood… Anyway, he told me there was a werewolf hiding in Lushan and to catch it quickly. Said it was even concealing its identity through some method.”

“Concealing its identity? Like a disguise technique or something…”

In the middle of their exchange, Camilla, who had been glancing at the bartender’s corpse, suddenly trailed off.

Her gaze fell on a wristwatch. A plain watch the werewolf had been wearing until just before its death. Camilla suddenly felt there was something suspicious about that watch.

A feeling? No.

This was definitely not just a feeling. It was an alien magical power.

From the watch, made of small, intricate mechanisms, she detected a very suspicious magical energy.

It wasn’t that she had never seen a watch powered by magic. But such things were only found in special magical tools used by master magicians like her professor. It was certainly not something a werewolf owning a shabby bar in an alley would casually wear.

With a gesture from Camilla, the strap snapped with a crack! and the body floated up. The magical energy leaking through the broken crystal became more distinct as the dots on the bezel drew closer.

There seemed no need to try to understand what purpose this device served.

Though the magical power was weak, Camilla, as a magician, could understand the watch’s principles, structure, and operation method. And as a bonus, its results as well.

“……”

The girl clutching the watch looked down at the corpse again. She stepped closer until the hideous entry wound created by the close-range shot was clearly visible.

Camilla stared intently at the bartender’s face for a while in silence.

And after a long silence, she carefully opened her mouth.

“…The face has changed.”

The watch in her hand trembled once.

The bartender’s face, finally revealed, had a distinctly different form from the face she had known from the beginning. As if someone else’s face had been perfectly transplanted.

An object that concealed one’s identity and helped one live under another’s identity. A refuge for heretics of the magical world who violated the precepts, a sanctuary bestowed upon those who couldn’t live openly.

What was this called?

Camilla easily recalled the answer.

“A disguise magical tool.”

“Ah, so that’s what it was. I thought it looked suspicious.”

So that’s what it meant by hiding his identity. Camilla nodded silently as she thought.

It clearly wasn’t a magical tool purchased through normal channels. Living with such a disguise would make even a human likely to be a criminal, let alone a werewolf owner.

Though she belatedly realized there had been a misunderstanding, Camilla’s gaze toward Veronica remained far from kind.

It was a reproachful look stemming from bewilderment.

“…Why didn’t you tell me beforehand? That there was such a werewolf here.”

“Oh my.”

At Camilla’s dissatisfied expression, asking why she had concealed it, Veronica covered her lips and smiled slightly.

“If I had told you and something went wrong, what then? You might have come in firing spells from the entrance.”

“What exactly do you take me for, to worry about such things…?”

“No, it’s just that you’re quite famous in that regard…”

Setting buildings on fire, or completely burning vast fields of crops ready for harvest.

Veronica didn’t continue, but Camilla’s gaze grew even more aloof. The Saint had to avert her eyes momentarily, as if flames were pouring from those narrowed eyes.

“And the Major said not to tell you too much, as you might get scared in advance, so don’t burden you too much…”

“……”

“Well, anyway!”

The Saint’s voice, which had been mumbling while looking at the floor, rose slightly.

With a couple of taps on the bar table, she began to speak.

“I’ve been asking around about the werewolf you’re looking for.”

“I see. Any results?”

“Not yet. But the man I mentioned earlier seems to know something.”

This was welcome news amidst the conversation. Camilla’s face brightened.

“He said they’d look into it for us if we did a few favors for them. They’re experts in this field, and I was just about to request their help anyway.”

“Favors? Then perhaps this…”

“That’s right. The bartender lying there. Their first request was to deal with him.”

-Hiss…!

A spark rises. Veronica, with a cigarette in her mouth, took a few puffs, then exhaled pale smoke and added:

“Anyway, the first request is complete.”

Clunk.

After draining the last drop of whiskey, the Saint placed a bundle she had leaned against the barrier onto the table.

Thus, an antique wooden box was placed between the two.

“Shall we move on to the next one?”

Veronica clapped her hands and smiled as brightly as a child. Camilla, who had been staring blankly at her for a moment, suddenly spoke with an uneasy voice.

“…What’s next?”

Veronica grinned.

“The night is deep, the moon has risen, and dawn is still far away.”

Clink, clink, clatter.

A parade of brass casings and silver bullets. Countless bullets spilled from a leather pouch, rolling across the table.

“We have plenty of time, and fortunately, ample ammunition…”

Click. A single bullet extracted from the opened swing-out cylinder.

Placing it in a double shot glass filled with liquor.

Downing the whiskey in one gulp, she flips the bullet caught between her pearly white teeth like a coin.

“Hero, you know how to shoot a gun, right?”

“Hunting was my hobby.”

“Oh, how perfect!”

A single bullet spinning in midair.

The Saint catches it and offers a proposal to the girl with a picture-perfect smile.

“Then, shall we have an exciting night together?”

*

The next day.

Frederick, who had been anxiously waiting for someone who hadn’t returned until dawn, hijacked the oatmeal Arkande was eating and watched the morning news.

The report stated that shotgun sounds had echoed throughout the night in the outskirts of Bahar, compounded by an unexplained fire.

And around noon that day,

News was prominently reported that a famous foreigner, Mr. F, had caused a suicide commotion on a coastal cliff overlooking Bahar Bay, shouting, “Damn it, I’ll just die, let go of me, you tattooed pig!”