Felt couldn't fathom how Emilia had tracked her down. She glanced at the boy beside the silver-haired girl—Kiyotaka Ayanokoji. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place him. In her line of work, she saw hundreds of faces a day. Aside from being somewhat handsome, he was simply too ordinary, possessing no memorable traits.
"Old Man Rom, are you okay?!" Felt asked anxiously.
"I'm fine..." the giant grunted.
Emilia recognized Felt instantly. Though the theft had happened in a blur, the girl's distinctive gear and petite frame were unmistakable. "Return it!" Emilia commanded.
"Is one cheap badge really worth this much trouble?" Felt huffed. "I thought people like you didn't care about trinkets."
"It is everything to me!" Emilia's amethyst eyes flashed with a rare, sharp anger. Without that insignia, her future was forfeit.
Ayanokoji watched Felt's hand drift toward the small of her back. He recalled the dagger she'd been carrying that morning. It was clear she had no intention of surrendering. "Felt, I suggest you don't move," Ayanokoji said calmly. "The person you've robbed is a powerful mage. She could kill you before you blink."
"Oh? Is that so?" Felt didn't look afraid; she bared a snaggletooth in a defiant grin. Her Divine Protection made her confident she could dodge any spell. But Ayanokoji wasn't finished.
"Even if you can dodge her, your companion Rom cannot. If you make a move, I guarantee Rom will be dead within seconds." Ayanokoji had gathered enough intel to know Rom was Felt's only weakness.
'Valuing those close to you—the universal vulnerability,' Ayanokoji noted.
Emilia blinked. She had no intention of killing anyone over a theft, but she followed Ayanokoji's lead, pivoting her ice spears to hover inches from Rom's throat.
Felt searched Ayanokoji's face for a bluff. She found only a terrifying void. She suddenly remembered seeing him earlier that day, held by three thugs. How had he gone from a victim to this cold-eyed strategist? Her instincts—usually sharp as a blade—screamed that this boy was the most dangerous thing in the room. She couldn't gamble with Rom's life. She sighed and tossed the insignia to Emilia.
As the metal left Felt's hand, Ayanokoji noticed a faint, momentary glow emanate from the gem. It vanished instantly. He filed the anomaly away.
"Fine, I forgive you this once!" Emilia checked the insignia, her relief palpable. Puck yawned. "Glad that's sorted. Keep a better grip on it next time, Lia. I'm hitting the hay."
Puck's form dissolved into motes of light, retreating into the green crystal at Emilia's neck. He was now in a deep sleep, unavailable until morning. Felt rushed to Rom's side, checking him for wounds.
"No more stealing, okay?" Emilia lectured them with the earnestness of a schoolteacher. "I'm letting you go because you gave it back. Don't let there be a next time!" She waved her hand, and the ice spears evaporated into mist.
"Wait, she's just... letting us go?"
In the real slums, Felt stared at the sky. She had expected a bloodbath or a dungeon. This "Emilia" was unlike any noble she'd ever met. "I'm calling off the deal, Rom. I'm not handing that thing over to the client."
Rom nodded, looking at the screen with a grim expression. "We should get out of the capital. If that vision is the future, we're in the center of a storm."
Ayanokoji looked at Felt. He had caught a critical detail. "Why did you steal it in the first place? You clearly didn't know what it was."
"I wasn't looking for a political headache," Felt muttered. "It was a commission."
"Someone hired you to steal from me?" Emilia's eyes widened. "Who?"
"I don't sell out my clients!" Felt snapped.
Ice shards instantly manifested around Emilia again. "Try again."
"...Alright, fine! It was a woman in a black cloak. Very beautiful, but I don't know her name."
'She's telling the truth,' Ayanokoji observed. Felt wouldn't target a Royal Candidate on her own. Someone was orchestrating Emilia's disqualification. But before he could process the 'who,' a sudden chill raced down his spine.
He lunged backward by instinct. A flash of silver streaked past his throat—the tip of a curved blade.
Ayanokoji dodged, but the attack didn't stop. Before he could shout a warning, a second blade, glowing with an unholy light, tore through Emilia's midsection. Blood erupted, painting the air in crimson. The Half-Elf fell like a puppet with its strings cut. She hit the floor, a massive pool of blood spreading across the dirt, the metallic scent of iron filling the room.
EMILIA DECEASED.
In the classroom, screams erupted. Students who had never seen a dead body, let alone a brutal disembowelment, turned away in horror. Several began to vomit.
Chabashira-sensei rushed to the front, her face pale. She hammered at the controls to shut off the screen, but it was useless. The broadcast was beyond their control.
Horikita covered her mouth, her eyes welling with tears as she looked toward Ayanokoji for some kind of reassurance. Ayanokoji, however, was staring at his terminal, his eyes scanning the frame for every detail of the killer.
In Lugunica, the silence was deafening. Even those who hated the "Witch" felt a jolt of horror. To see a candidate for the throne slaughtered like livestock was a nightmare beyond politics.
"I... I died?" Emilia whispered, her purple eyes glazed with shock.
"THEY DARE!" Puck's voice roared from her shoulder. The temperature in the street plummeted instantly. Frost began to climb the walls of the surrounding buildings as the Great Spirit's rage threatened to manifest his true, world-ending form.
"Puck, stop! It's just a vision!" Emilia grabbed the small spirit, her hands shaking. She needed to know who it was. She needed to know how to stop it.
"What just happened?!" Felt was frozen, her eyes wide with terror as she stared at the cooling corpse of the girl who had just forgiven her. The warmth was leaving the room, replaced by the stench of death.
"I intended to kill you both in one sweep. I'm impressed you avoided it," a sultry, melodic voice purred.
A woman stood in the center of the room. She was breathtakingly beautiful, dressed in a revealing black outfit that accentuated every curve. A dark cloak billowed behind her like a shroud. A mole beneath her left eye gave her a predatory, seductive charm. Her long black hair was tied in a complex braid that reached her waist.
She licked a drop of blood off her blade. This was the Bowel Hunter, Elsa Granhiert.