Chapter 42: City of Fanatics (3)

「Hopeless.」

「Never coming back here.」

Those were the signals they’d agreed on before entering Banyaksenir. That meant the plan had gone sideways and it was time to pull out.

‘Huh. Why?’

Rowen’s palms began to sweat, and chill ran down her spine.

Nothing had happened yet, but somewhere out of sight it already had.

The pigeon-feeding woman, the flowing river, the warm sunlight. The scenes that had looked peaceful a heartbeat ago turned bleak.

As Rowen tensed and weighed how to slip away without drawing notice, Nike squeezed her hand.

“Big sis!”

“H-Huh?”

“Meat…”

“…You want meat?”

“I’m hungry.”

Catching his intent, Rowen forced a smile and met his eyes.

“W-We scraped together a little today… Maybe not enough for meat, but we can get bread. Does bread sound good?”

“Bread’s good too!”

Nike nodded, giving her a natural pretext to leave.

If they’d moved abruptly, it would’ve looked suspicious. Thanks to his quick wits, they had a reason to go.

A doting sister not feeding a hungry kid would’ve seemed weirder after all.

Rowen gathered their things and took Nike’s hand again. Her palm was even clammy-er than before.

Nike gripped back hard, and his senses were razor sharp. The air reeked of killing intent.

They walked slowly the way Vigo had gone.

They passed the woman with the pigeons and the birds still swarmed as she cooed to them. Rowen skimmed for anything off, but nothing stood out. Even with longer watching, she didn’t see a single pigeon with a note tied to its leg.

There wasn’t time to check everything. Their pace quickened. Her heart pounded.

‘Damn it… what’s happening?’

Next, they passed the young man who’d been waiting on a date. Now he was shouting in anger.

“Damn it! What am I lacking that she would cheat on me for? I’ll curse her. Go die!”

It looked like he’d been dumped. But would anyone overact that much just for cover?

If anything, he drew too many eyes. Odds were low he was their contact. He wasn’t shouting anything that sounded like a code either.

At the far end of the bridge, the beggar still slumped against the rail.

Rowen’s breath caught when she saw him.

‘His neck…!’

The throat wrapped in rags was mottled blue, veins standing out. It looked like a poisoned needle had done him in.

‘Since when? From the start?’

She pretended not to notice and kept walking, steps growing hurried with the rising panic.

Their contact had been the “sleeping” beggar, and he hadn’t been sleeping at all. He’d been dead from the beginning.

There was no way to know who did it or when.

The moment they entered the city, their cover was blown and their lives were on the line.

An unseen blade had already crept up under their chins.

‘Damn it! When did they…’

Even now, the Golden Dawn had to be watching them from somewhere.

Her heartbeat thundered so loud she could hear it.

As the suffocating pressure mounted and Rowen hurried across the bridge—

Flutter!

Across the span, the pigeon flock exploded into the air.

With her sight cleared, someone stepped out to block their path.

Rowen and Nike recognized them at once.

“…”

It was the noblewoman and her attendant who’d crossed earlier.

The attendant held an ornate parasol over her mistress’s head. The lady’s smile was the picture of gentle grace as her eyes moved between Rowen and Nike.

And then.

The woman with the pigeons.

The young man cursing at his lost love.

Every passerby on the bridge, the shopkeepers across the way, the old man on the bench, the housewife watering her planter, the brick-hauling laborer.

All of them stopped what they were doing and looked at Rowen and Nike.

Watchers on every side.

Banyaksenir itself was the Golden Dawn.

* * *

Rowen’s instincts screamed.

Slowly, she scanned the ring of faces and forced out words.

“Nike. Sorry. Bread will have to wait.”

“Hah? But I’m hungry!”

He snapped, genuinely starving after a day of playing beggar.

But then came back a shocking response.

“Sorry. We don’t have a choice. That woman’s in the way, right?”

Rowen tried for a smile, sweat beading as her eyes never left the noblewoman.

It felt as if she would lose her head if she let down her guard for even a second. The sense of killing intent crowding in from all sides was indescribable.

“Woman. Should I kill her?”

Nike tilted his head, baring his canines.

He looked deeply offended.

He wasn’t able to eat bread because of them.

Nike became genuinely serious.

“Yeah. It’s time to hunt. Move on my signal.”

With Vigo absent, keeping Nike in check was Rowen’s job.

Morgana and Vigo had tested her again and again for exactly this moment. It was her time to prove it.

She couldn’t lean on anyone.

All she had were the throwing blades hidden under her clothes, Nike, and the knowledge that Vigo and Pierre were watching from somewhere.

In order for this mission to succeed, Vigo and Pierre couldn’t be exposed.

They’d agreed on that before they came. For the greater good, a few might have to be sacrificed.

So the two of them had to cut their own way out.

Rowen slipped a hand inside her coat and took stock.

‘Seven ahead, six behind. It’s more than possible to win.’

There were roughly fifteen surrounding them. A swordstick alone could handle that.

Even in the Golden Dawn, aside from a few real fighters, most were just untrained madmen. They weren’t in the same class as a properly trained hunter.

But that wasn’t the mission.

They weren’t here to cull numbers. They were here to infiltrate, find leadership, and pull real intel.

If they start a fight now, they’d likely lose the trail.

Rowen whispered to Nike.

“Nike. Don’t make a scene here. Focus on escaping. Got it?”

“Fight! Slaughter!”

“No. Stick to the plan. We fall back for now. Save your strength.”

“I’ve got strength to spare!”

Unhappy but obedient, Nike decided to listen to Rowen. This wasn’t the time to be stubborn.

The zealots tightened the noose. A clash felt seconds away.

Rowen swallowed and watched for the opening.

“…?”

Then, the ring of fanatics radiating killing intent suddenly turned away like nothing happened.

They went back to what they were doing, to where they were going. The river flowed, the clouds drifted, and the city reset to ordinary.

All but one.

Only the noblewoman remained.

In an old-fashioned dress, she approached with perfect posture, her attendant angling the parasol more carefully to shade her face.

On his wrist, brazenly displayed, was the Eye of Providence. He wanted it seen.

The lady glanced at Rowen and Nike in turn, then smiled.

“Pleased to meet you, both of you.”

“…”

It was not what Rowen expected. She’d braced for violence, yet what came instead was a surprisingly mild request for a conversation. The intention was surely not good, but at least the worst had been avoided for now.

The lady placed a hand at her breast.

“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Magis, Seventh Seat of the Golden Dawn’s Third Order.”

“…What?”

Rowen frowned, unable to believe her ears. The words were too unreal.

“You heard me clearly, didn’t you? I’m the one you’re looking for.”

She lowered her hand and smiled faintly, a delicate petal-thin curve with the poison well visible beneath.

‘Third Order…? No way.’

Rowen’s eyes shook.

If what she said was true, this woman ranked among the very top of the Golden Dawn. In decades of fighting zealots, they’d never once met a figure this big face to face. Humans like her were often classified as more dangerous than average witches.

Rowen’s thoughts twisted. With so much on the line, it was hard to decide how to respond, how to act.

‘How am I supposed to handle a monster like this…’

It wasn’t about fighting skill. It was about stature, and the weight of who she was.

The lady lifted a languid hand and her attendant slipped a cigarette between her fingers. She took a light and smiled through the first drag.

“They were selling a brand I’d never seen, so I bought one. Mm, what a lovely aroma. How delicious. Is this rolled with a leaf from Vilnogos? It’s very refined.”

“…You.”

Rowen’s eyes widened.

She meant Vigo.

‘She knows everything.’

Vigo, Nike, Pierre.

Every one of them sat in this woman’s palm.

They’d known it all from the start.

“Yes. We know. Plenty of little rats scurried in. Stinking up the place.”

“How… did you know?”

“You’re underestimating our intelligence network.”

She didn’t bother to elaborate. Her eyes flicked to the dead man on the bridge, then back to Rowen.

“I don’t particularly want to see blood either. It’s vulgar, all that bleeding.”

She savored the cigarette as she spoke.

“And I’m afraid of you people too. Especially… the man who smoked this excellent cigarette. He’ll cause a lot of blood to spill. It’d be a pointless sacrifice. Hardly elegant.”

Her lips tilted into a smile.

Her pupils went ice-cold as they settled on Nike.

“I have a proposal. I’ll let the rest of you little rats, including you, leave quietly and safely.”

In exchange.

“Hand over that boy. Then no one gets hurt. We’ll promise to clear out of Banyaksenir within a week. We won’t ever touch the Orders again. You can trust me on this.”

Rowen became pale after hearing the offer. The woman likely wasn’t lying. Rowen forced her breath steady and replied.

“You took this entire city just for Nike?”

“Pretty much.”

“Why… Just what do you want him for?”

“I don’t intend to tell you. Now, make your choice.”

Magis exhaled smoke in an elegant way for no reason, giving Rowen time to wrestle with it.

“Grrr. Kill. Kill. Kill!”

Nike bared his teeth, showing hostility towards her. The lady covered her mouth and laughed.

“We meet at last. I’ve been wanting to see you.”

“Not me!”

Rowen’s head spun. Heat pooled in her skull.

‘…I feel dizzy.’

They knew about Vigo and Pierre too. If she resisted, those two would be targeted as well.

Too many lives hung on her choice.

For a mere field hunter, the decision was unbearably heavy.

‘I… will never give up Nike. Master wouldn’t either.’

One thing was certain. No witch hunter handed over a comrade. Rowen would act by the creed of the Order of the Silver Blades and her own belief.

“Now, choose. I’ve given you plenty of time.”

Magis folded her arms. That kindly smiling face was truly unpleasant to look at.

“Let me ask you one question.”

“What is it?”

“What gives you the confidence to make that offer? If I decide to, we can kill you right now.”

“Hunt!”

Nike was one breath from exploding forward. At Rowen’s word, he’d rip out the lady’s throat.

Magis stared straight at Rowen. Even with death floating in front of her, her gaze did not shake once.

As a fighter, the woman herself was nothing.

What terrified Rowen was her madness, doctrine, and power. As a person, the lady looked every inch a pampered noble who’d never used her body for anything.

There was no way that Rowen was wrong about that.

“Hee-hee. You’re right, miss. I am nothing. If you throw the weapon hidden in your coat, I’ll die without a whimper.”

“…So you knew. But then why?”

“My mere life isn’t important at all. Killing me won’t change much. Someone else will take my seat and still come for the sacrifice.”

Conviction and madness in one breath.

“The Order will be carried out no matter what.”

Facing death without a blink made Rowen sick.

“If you don’t hand over the child, our next stop will be Vilnogos. You’re clever enough to grasp what that means. So let’s end this cleanly, shall we? Like nobles, with elegance.”

Then she stepped over the line.

“You’ve really got some nerve, ma’am.”

“Ma’am…? Hah. How vulgar. Is that your answer?”

“You should know your place.”

Rowen lowered her head and cut her eyes up.

“Vilnogos? Easy for you to say. Your skull’s full of dung and you don’t understand a thing, don’t you?”

“Mmm. You have no manners either.”

“You think the Orders’ hunters are that easy?”

“Frankly… yes. We serve the witches after all.”

The insult was vile.

Rowen’s lip curled and her voice turned to ice.

“I serve a belief.”

“What belief?”

“Witches, monsters, and their followers must be killed without even letting them get a chance to talk. Nike!”

“Hah!”

“Kill her.”

Thump!

“Slaughter!”

Nike launched like a cannon ball.

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