CHAPTER 319: CHAPTER 309: FUTURE TROUBLE

[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Outskirts]

[Retorta Guild Outpost]

The light in Legatus Conroy’s office wavered against the walls, its glow flickering across a clutter of parchment, wax seals, and half-dried ink. The storm outside clawed at the windows, a patter that made the silence nonexistent.

He sat behind his desk, fingers pressed together beneath his chin, his posture straight yet weary. Dozens of reports were strewn across the surface before him—each detailing the same thing in different ink: failure, death, and unexplainable magic.

Across from him stood a Retorta Guild officer, posture straight and boots damp from the rain outside. His attire bore the mark of the Guild—a three head serpent coiled around a scepter held by a bony hand—still glistening from the drizzle. The man’s hands were clasped neatly behind his back, three rolled papers gripped tightly within them.

Conroy’s gaze was fixed downward, eyes skimming the disorder of his table before settling on the man before him. His voice broke the quiet.

"Continue your report."

The guildsman nodded once, his tone low and respectful.

"Of course, Legatus. As previously confirmed—our search teams have located the aftermath at the mines. The alchemist girl... has escaped."

The word escaped lingered.

"All twenty personnel we sent to secure the area are confirmed dead," the guildsman continued. "Our arcane specialist detected her mana traces throughout the tunnels. It’s conclusive that she was responsible."

Conroy’s expression hardened, the lines beside his eyes deepening. "All twenty," he repeated, softly. "That mine was warded to contain even more powerful magic wielders." He leaned back slightly, his chair creaking under the weight. "She broke through that?"

The officer hesitated. "Not... exactly, sir. That’s the oddity of it."

Conroy’s brow arched slightly, the glint in his eyes sharpening.

"The wards remain intact," the guildsman explained, "as if untouched. There’s no disruption in the mana structure at all. But she’s gone. Simply... gone."

A pause followed.

"I see," Conroy murmured at last. "So she didn’t break the seal. She slipped through it."He glanced aside, fingers tapping idly against the table’s edge. "Such precision would require near-perfect knowledge of the ward’s foundation... or intervention from outside." He looked up. "She was bound by suppressor chains, was she not?"

The guildsman nodded grimly. "We found them shattered, sir. But here’s the strange part—the chains still held their own mana residue, yet hers wasn’t present on them. It’s as though she wasn’t the one who broke them."

Conroy leaned forward, elbows resting atop scattered parchment. His voice lowered, more to himself than to the man.

"Another party, then..." He exhaled slowly through his nose. "Of course. There’s always someone willing to play the hero."

For a moment, he simply stared at the light above him. Then, with a sigh, he straightened and gestured dismissively.

"No matter. She can’t have gotten far. Dispatch search units across Rumpelstadt and the outlying outskirts. Seal the main trade roads leading east. If she’s still within our reach, I want her alive."

The guildsman nodded crisply. "Understood, Legatus."

He hesitated, though, as if something weighed on his tongue.

"Sir... there’s one other matter."

Conroy’s eyes lifted. "Speak."

The officer stepped forward, extending the three sheets he’d held. Conroy took them in silence, unrolling the first.

A sketched portrait. A ’girl’. Strong and extremely beautiful features, her hair pulled into a tight, elegant bun, eyes cold but sharp, framed by long lashes. She was drawn wearing heavy armor that bore no crest—a mercenary’s design, perhaps, but well-made.

He moved to the second. A woman, this one with horns rising from her brow, sharp and curved, her lips pulled in a grin that revealed fangs. Her attire was foreign—flowing robes with traditional ornamentation that spoke of eastern lands.

And the third... a girl, simpler by far, with her hair in a long ponytail and her clothing plain.

"Ah," Conroy murmured, his thumb brushing the edge of the paper. "So these are the three additional threats Lady Snow reported about. The ones tied to the stolen artifact."

"Indeed, sir," the guildsman replied, his tone sharpening as he gestured to each in turn. "The armored girl and the horned one are registered as S-Class threats. Their power levels exceed conventional measures. The third is categorized as C-Class, a Nil."

Conroy frowned, his gaze lingering on the armored one. "Two S-Class? That’s absurd."

"Reports confirm it," the guildsman said gravely. "The armored girl—our intel suggested that she defeated Lord Lindworm in single combat."

At that, Conroy’s composure faltered slightly. "Lord Lindworm?" he echoed. "Defeated? A Mortifer, yes he is ranked the lowest, but still..." He let out a slow, controlled breath. "That isn’t something a mere girl should have managed."

He shifted his gaze to the second drawing—the horned woman.

"And her?"

"She annihilated an entire Heart Kingdom scouting company, including their new Divine Golem prototypes."

The light sputtered between them, as if recoiling from the statement.

Conroy’s fingers drummed once against the edge of the desk. "Those golems were forged with special cores..." He muttered, half to himself. "If even they fell, then..."

He closed his eyes briefly, collecting his thoughts. When he spoke again, his tone was low but decisive.

"This bodes ill. Two S-Class threats aligned—unconfirmed intentions—and a third of unknown nature. Whether they act independently or together, it cannot be ignored."

The guildsman nodded. "Your orders, sir?"

Conroy folded the portraits neatly, setting them aside atop the other reports. He rose from his chair, the motion slow, his attire shifting as he turned toward the rain-blurred window.

"For now," he said, "we follow protocol. Circulate their likenesses throughout the central provinces—post them in every trade post, every Guild branch, every town square from here to the Heart Kingdom. Offer bounty incentives for credible information."

He glanced over his shoulder.

"And as for the alchemist girl... bring her back. Alive if possible. Dead only if necessary. Our Lady’s patience is not infinite."

The guildsman gave a firm nod. "Understood, Legatus."

Conroy’s gaze lingered on the window as he spoke quietly, almost to himself.

"Two S-Class threats and a fugitive alchemist in a decaying borderland. It seems fate has a cruel sense of humor."

Then, louder:

"Go. Carry out your orders. And have the archives send me Lord Lindworm’s last report—I want to know exactly how he lost."

"Yes, sir."

The guildsman saluted, turned sharply, and left—his footsteps echoing down the long corridor outside, fading into the rhythm of the storm.

Conroy remained still for a long moment after. Only the sound of rain filled the silence.

His eyes traced the three drawings once more—the armored ’girl’, the horned woman, the plain one—and beneath his calm exterior, a thought pressed:

"More monsters."

--------------------

[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Rumpelstadt]

The rain had faded into a weary drizzle, the kind that left the air heavy. Gretchen didn’t mind it. The drops clung to her hair and slid down her neck, but after so many years—perhaps decades—buried beneath the choking dark of the mines, even the cold was a comfort. It was proof that she was free, breathing and alive.

The scent of wet cobblestone and burning oil lamps filled the cracked streets of Rumpelstadt. It may have been a small, aging town—its walls fractured and uneven, its lanterns dim—but compared to the claustrophobic staleness she’d endured, it felt like heaven.

Her eyes lifted briefly to the dark sky. "Even this place feels cleaner than the air down there..." she murmured to herself.

A light, teasing voice broke the quiet beside her.

"My, my, you look positively radiant for someone who’s just escaped a death pit. You’re allowed to smile, you know?"

Gretchen turned her head slightly. There, strolling with grace and an infuriating smirk, was Tamamo-no-Mae—nine tails gently waving, their ends shimmering even under the gray drizzle. Her fur looked untouched by the rain, as though it parted around her.

"Must you truly follow me?" Gretchen asked, her tone flat but carrying the faintest edge of annoyance.

Tamamo hummed, her emerald eyes turning up playfully. "Dante’s request. I can’t very well disappoint him, now can I?"

Gretchen gave a faint scoff. "So you’re his personal little slave, then?"

"Oh, I wish," Tamamo purred dramatically, her tails curling. "Sadly, no. We’re just—" she tilted her head, flashing a mischievous grin, "—very good friends. If you catch my drift."

"I’d rather not catch anything you’re implying," Gretchen muttered dryly.

"Wise woman," Tamamo said, amused. "Still... you seem lighter than before. Almost happy."

"Happy?" Gretchen echoed, letting out a small, humorless chuckle. "That’s not the word I’d use." She folded her arms across her chest, gaze drifting over the broken buildings and puddled streets. "I’d call it... relief. Contentment, maybe. The world might be crumbling, but I’d rather breathe this dying air freely than rot in chains underground."

Tamamo’s tails slowed their motion. "Mhm. Captivity is rather cumbersome," she mused softly, her gaze drifting to the horizon. Her tone, while light, carried a distant melancholy.

Gretchen studied her for a moment. "Still," she began carefully, "what are you exactly? I thought you were some kind of Deseruit Beast, but your energy feels different. Not mana. Not even close."

Tamamo smiled faintly, her fangs glinting. "Just a spirit."

"Spirit?" Gretchen tilted her head. "I’ve heard the term, but I don’t know much beyond that."

"Well, explaining would take ages, and honestly, it’s a tedious story," Tamamo said, stretching her form lazily as her tails fanned behind her. "I come from long, long ago. My origins are... let’s just say, complicated."

"Just say you’re too lazy to explain," Gretchen replied flatly.

Tamamo stuck her tongue out. "You’re no fun. Fine then, a little peek. The form you see before you—this cute little fox—isn’t my true form. Most yokai can change appearances a bit, you see."

"Then why not use your true form?" Gretchen asked, genuinely curious now.

"Because it’s too beautiful," Tamamo sighed dramatically, one paw over her chest as if lamenting some grand tragedy. "Men would fall in love at a mere glance, women would grow hopelessly jealous, and kingdoms would crumble under the weight of envy."

"Right," Gretchen said flatly. "How very noble of you."

"Besides," Tamamo continued, grinning, "in this form I get to ride on Dante’s shoulder. It’s the only way I’ll ever get to ride him, anyway."

Gretchen paused, her expression blank. "I’m pretending I didn’t hear that."

"Most people do," Tamamo said cheerfully.

They walked in silence for a moment, the drizzle pattering softly around them. The sound of distant activity echoed through the crooked streets. Then Gretchen spoke again. "Speaking of your masked friend, what exactly is his goal in all this? He doesn’t strike me as the selfless type."

Tamamo’s ears twitched. "Shouldn’t you ask him that yourself?"

"I rather not try," Gretchen said simply. "He’d ignore me no doubt. He doesn’t seem the sort to share much with anyone."

Tamamo chuckled quietly, her tails swaying with each step. "You’re not wrong. Dante has a habit of keeping things close to the chest. Even after all this time, I still can’t say I fully understand him."

"You’ve known him long, then?" Gretchen asked.

Tamamo nodded, a soft, nostalgic smile crossing her face. "Long enough to know that he’s not as cruel as he seems. He has his walls, sure, but beneath them? There’s something else. He’s tired. But still kind, in his own way."

Gretchen frowned slightly. "He threatened me, remember? I’m supposed to trust that?"

"Threats are easy words," Tamamo replied gently. "Actions tell you more. If he truly meant you harm, you wouldn’t be walking beside me now. He gives people chances—rarely, and sometimes begrudgingly—but once he does, he means it. Prove to him that you have no ill will, and he’ll move realms to protect you."

"Am I supposed to take your word for that?" Gretchen asked, skeptical but quieter now.

Tamamo grinned slyly. "Of course. I never lie."

Gretchen arched a brow. "Never?"

Tamamo chuckled. "Well... almost never. But maybe use that pretty face of yours to sway him, hm?"

"I somehow doubt that would work," Gretchen murmured.

"True enough," Tamamo sighed. "He’s never once given me the time of day. Not even to that Ancestor—what was her name again? Rhiannon? Yes, even her charm didn’t crack that mask."

Gretchen gave a low hum. "So he’s that disciplined?"

"Disciplined?" Tamamo laughed. "More like... haunted." Her tone softened. "But you’ll see soon enough. Just don’t let his silence fool you. He notices more than he lets on."

Gretchen didn’t answer immediately. The rain had started to thin, and the sky lightened just enough for the faintest hue to stretch through the clouds. She drew her arms tighter around herself. "I’ll take your advice under consideration. For now, I’ll focus on surviving."

"Fair enough," Tamamo said, her tone suddenly gentler. "You’ll find that surviving around him is both easier and harder than it sounds."

"Wonderful," Gretchen muttered. "Exactly what I needed to hear."

Tamamo laughed softly, her nine tails swaying behind her. "Oh, you’ll do just fine, little alchemist. Just don’t lose that spark."

"I already did," Gretchen said under her breath, though the fox spirit only smiled knowingly, as if she’d heard every word.