The priest was holding the blasphemous idol he’d raged about so furiously, cradling it carefully in both hands, studying it in silence.
Watching him, Sirin felt something hovering just at the edge of recognition, almost surfacing, almost—
“…”
*Is this what they call a tsundere?*
Pretending to hate something you actually love.
What a relic.
A character type fifteen years past its expiration date.
Personality-disordered individuals who bury their true feelings and express them only through perverse, roundabout means, stubbornly clinging to the most idiotic communication style imaginable.
No wonder he’d been saying nothing but bizarre things.
Sirin clicked her tongue.
A tsundere.
Pathetic beyond words.
Before criticizing anyone else, Sirin needed to develop some objectivity about herself first.
The first step toward solving a problem is recognizing that the problem exists.
If Sirin kept projecting her self-assessments onto everyone around her, she’d never achieve Body Rebirth.
Sirin asked.
“What are you going to do with that?”
“Did I not say? I will offer it at the altar.”
“Really? Seems like you’d get divine punishment for that.”
The priest sneered from within the shadow of his hood.
“Woman. You know nothing.”
“Tch.”
Sirin clicked her tongue.
These people and their cryptic non-answers.
The priest began rummaging through his robes as if to pay her.
Sirin waved him off.
“I don’t need money. I need something else.”
“Speak.”
“Give me a divine oracle.”
When she’d stopped by a Pantheon in another city some time ago, Sirin had learned about something called “oracles” and “blessings.”
From what other adventurers had told her, if you were sufficiently devout or paid enough, you could receive blessings — things like the sprint ability Heres had demonstrated — or oracles in the form of advice and warnings about what lay ahead.
Sirin had knocked on the Pantheon’s door hoping to glean even a hint about her martial arts, and had been turned away without so much as an explanation.
No reason given.
Nothing.
But the situation was different now.
“An oracle?”
For the first time, the priest showed something that looked like a genuine emotion.
Naked contempt.
“Woman. There is no oracle for you. What can be given to you is material only.”
“These people, always with the riddles. Can’t anyone just say something a normal person can understand?”
“…”
“…”
She’d slipped up.
Sirin felt her face go awkward.
Still, wasn’t he a client?
A modern person ought to know how to respect a long-term regular customer.
“Ah, I took a hit to the head once. Sometimes words just come out wrong. My brain got a little scrambled back then. Pretend you didn’t hear that. I’ll make it up to you next time.”
“…”
A moment passed.
The priest and Sirin clicked their tongues simultaneously.
“…Tch.”
Sirin reached into her robes and pulled out a worn sheet of parchment, spreading it on the table.
A missing child search request.
“I want to find a child.”
She said.
“They were kidnapped.”
The priest closed his eyes briefly, then answered.
“…I will hear you.”
#
The night had grown deep, and only a pale moon barely lit the far end of the narrow alley.
Sirin pulled the cumbersome robe back over herself and stepped outside with the priest.
They were about to part ways without a word when a figure emerged from the darkness and blocked their path.
The deep imperial uniform, dark as night itself, and above it, golden hair catching the moonlight with startling clarity.
The longsword at the hip — an officer’s blade.
Sirin stood with a crooked posture and asked.
“Who are you?”
The man’s blue eyes fixed on her with a gaze full of conviction.
“Imperial Constabulary, Decurion Klaus.”
Klaus placed his hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist.
The friction of metal against leather rang out with an eerie rasp.
“Bounty hunter Tee — no, Sirin. I’m placing you under investigation on suspicion of collusion with the Pantheon.”
“…What?”
Imperial Constabulary, newly commissioned officer, Decurion Klaus.
A promising young talent who had graduated from the Imperial Military Academy with distinction and been posted to this frontier city.
To him, the bounty hunter Sirin was an incomprehensible existence.
Acts of cruelty that defied common sense, bizarre behavior and speech, and on top of it all, the Constabulary Captain’s tepid attitude — seemingly turning a blind eye to everything while knowing full well what was happening.
From Klaus’s perspective, all of it was abnormal.
Klaus had experienced the hollow social circles of the nobility.
The beautiful daughters of the Empire’s most distinguished houses had stumbled in front of him and grabbed his arm, tripped conveniently, dropped handkerchiefs, spilled wine.
The mistresses and widows of venerable old families would suddenly develop unplanned travel itineraries to distant estates the moment he appeared nearby — and just as suddenly find themselves in need of a personal escort.
Using beauty as a weapon.
Flattery, seduction, desire.
Klaus had seen all of it.
And so, unlike the simple soldiers who wagged their tails over a pretty face, Klaus could see through to the essence of things.
This woman called “Sirin” was dangerous.
She disregarded law and procedure, passing judgment on criminals at her own whim, and her methods were brutal beyond the bounds of any reasonable standard.
Klaus had also heard that the Constabulary Captain had summoned Pantheon priests to attempt a witch verification on Sirin.
Even so, Klaus had conducted his own investigation.
Having graduated from the Imperial Military Academy, he carried the particular confidence of youth.
Specifically: she was making periodic contact with the Pantheon.
Then the answer was clear.
That woman was undoubtedly conspiring with certain clergy of the Pantheon to carry out all manner of illegal activities.
That was why the Constabulary Captain’s verification had failed.
And this very scene — a clandestine meeting with a priest in a back alley at night — was the perfect proof.
Meanwhile, Sirin was dumbfounded.
Were all the imperial soldiers in this town either perverts or lunatics?
While Sirin stared at Klaus like he was an idiot, Klaus’s gaze shifted to the priest beside her.
“And, Reverend. I’ll need your cooperation as well. What business do you have with this woman at this hour of the night…”
“Child.”
The priest cut Klaus off.
Or rather, spoke as though Klaus’s words had never existed at all.
The priest didn’t so much as lift a finger toward Klaus.
He simply spoke.
「Step aside.」
“…!”
In that instant, Klaus’s body ceased to be his own.
His spine and muscles were issuing commands of their own accord.
His legs moved on their own.
Klaus stepped to the side of the road.
His knees buckled against his will.
—Thud.
Klaus knelt in the dirt, dust rising around him.
He couldn’t move at all.
Not a single finger, not a single eyelid, under his control.
The priest disappeared unhurriedly into the darkness as though nothing had happened.
“…”
Now only Sirin and Klaus — frozen like stone — remained.
Sirin looked at Klaus and furrowed her brow.
“Where have I seen you before.”
“…”
“Oh. Right, I remember. You’re the one who was standing next to the Constabulary Captain at the checkpoint. But why are you here…”
Sirin stopped mid-sentence and went rigid.
The realization was so staggering it nearly short-circuited her rational mind.
“So the soldiers are damp, creepy perverts who steal my hair, and the officer is a stalker pervert who followed me all the way into the back alleys.”
Sirin began to tremble.
“This… this goddamn — are there nothing but perverts in the imperial forces around here?! Huh?!”
“…”
“You absolute… uniformed stalker… don’t tell me. Did you put on that uniform specifically to stalk women?”
“…!”
Klaus wanted to say no.
But his body was locked in place, and Sirin’s words didn’t stop.
“Yeah, it’s obvious! You, you piece of work — you definitely use that uniform to get women’s home addresses and then ‘patrol’ the neighborhood to stalk them. You damp, creepy bastard. It’s because of people like you that the imperial forces are in this state. Instead of doing your job, you trail around after women trying to get somewhere with them.”
“…!!”
Sirin was certain.
Look at him.
Wasn’t he staying silent because he had nothing to say for himself?
Klaus wasn’t staying silent by choice — he’d been frozen in shock by a divine command.
But in the modern world, silence means invoking the right to remain silent — which is as good as an admission of guilt.
—….
The Mind Enlightenment system didn’t chime.
Sirin’s assumption had been wrong.
But Sirin had no attention to spare for that.
She had already, with thoroughly modern efficiency, entered the stage of confirmation bias.
Sirin felt like her head was going to explode.
“You absolute… specialist in the abuse of power for surveilling women, you absolute… enthusiastic collector of women’s hair, you absolute… eager prospective acquirer of women’s fingernail and toenail clippings, you absolute… future thief of sweat and saliva in little glass bottles!!!!”
“!!!!”
Klaus wanted her to stop.
Those words alone were enough to make his ears bleed.
But Sirin didn’t stop.
Sirin shook like an enraged Chihuahua and said:
“It’s completely obvious. You are definitely a certified appraiser of stolen undergarments, a pioneering researcher in the field of privacy violation, a dedicated collector of unwashed laundry, a perfumer specializing in the recreation of post-exercise body odor, a specialist in mining genetic information from discarded waste, a consultant for unauthorized entry into women’s residences, an honorary director of the Sustainable Stalking Committee, a special committee member for research into fringe obscene practices, a doctoral degree holder in the acquisition of stolen socks as contraband,”
“…”
“You are absolutely, a specially appointed ambassador of the Honorary Association for Lurking Under Staircases and Peeping, a special advisor to the Committee for Peering Over Garden Walls, a secretary of the Citizens’ Alliance for the Publicization of Women’s Underwear Information, a senior researcher at the Institute for the Study of Blind Spots in Public Bathhouses,”
“Ugh…”
“You are absolutely, a Level 1 certified holder of the license for stalking an ex’s social media the day after being dumped, the chairman of the Committee for the Active Acquisition of Personal Information on Former Partners, a living intangible cultural asset possessing the ability to instantly memorize personal information from delivery box labels, the president of the Laundromat Women’s Body Hair Collection Club,”
“Nngh…!”
“You are absolutely, a nutritionist who analyzes dietary habits based on the contents of trash bags, the CEO of the Association for Collecting and Classifying Discarded Single-Use Straws from Cafés by User Gender, a lifetime honorary chairman of the Alliance for the Promotion of Exchange and Friendly Relations for the Purpose of Stealing Used Pantyhose!!!!”
A merciless barrage of verbal violence crashed over Klaus.
“Kkhhrgh…!”
Klaus wanted to tear off his own ears.
Not even during hazing at the Imperial Military Academy, not even when subjected to the most unreasonable treatment, had Klaus ever experienced humiliation and verbal abuse like this.
These were not words a human being could say.
No human could say these things.
No human should say these things.
If one is human, if one respects humanity!!!!!
Klaus understood.
The rumor that Sirin had once talked a violent criminal into suicide wasn’t a rumor at all.
Whether or not Sirin was a witch, her tongue was certainly wicked.
Sirin’s tongue alone qualified her to be a witch.
Sirin was truly a Witch of the Tongue.
“#$^&!@#^$#!$^!#$!^!#$%!!!!!!!!”
Klaus couldn’t understand half of Sirin’s accusations.
But that meant, conversely, he could understand the other half.
The fact that she wasn’t using blunt, crude obscenities but rather talking around things in elaborate circumlocutions made it worse.
The vocabulary Sirin employed was strangely refined and precise.
Because of this, Klaus felt as though he were being denied the right to exist by an intellectual, an educated person, on academic grounds.
Cultivated vocabulary was annihilating a human being’s dignity.
It was an entirely wrong use of language.
Charm wasn’t simply a measure of facial appearance.
If it were, it would have been called an Appearance stat.
Charm was a composite score encompassing looks, voice, gesture, atmosphere, aura — everything.
And Sirin’s Charm was 180.
A number that, with just a little more refinement, could bring a nation to ruin.
Naturally, her voice was a supremely beautiful one.
Hearing those accusations delivered in such a voice, Klaus felt as though he were nearly falling into a trance.
Without knowing it, Sirin was spreading hypnotic ASMR to another world.
It was fortunate she didn’t know.
Had she known, she would have demanded royalties.
Sirin hadn’t used a single direct expletive.
And yet Klaus felt like nothing more than human garbage.
Klaus.
A Decurion of the Imperial Constabulary who had graduated from the military academy with distinction, once the talk of high society — a young nobleman of note.
But Klaus was no longer a glorious soldier of the Empire.
Klaus was now simply, a man who crawled along the ground searching for fallen strands of a woman’s hair, a man who loitered near women’s bathhouses collecting nail clippings, an aspiring thief of pre-laundry underwear, an enthusiastic buyer of used socks, a man unworthy of being called human, the dregs of humanity, the fringe of humanity, the crumbs of humanity, a miraculous hybrid (miracle!) transcending the boundary between garbage and human, a piece of garbage that had gained sentience and learned to walk, a man who couldn’t even be recycled and belonged in the general waste bag, a mandatory special-waste-sticker item…
“Kkhh…!”
This was sin.
Klaus was a sinner whose very existence was a disgrace.
Klaus felt wronged.
He had only been trying to investigate potential illegal activity, and yet he had become a wretch who didn’t deserve to breathe.
“Kkhrrngh…!”
“Are you crying? You’re crying?! You absolute, you absolute…!”
Sirin saw a single tear track down Klaus’s face and became an ultra-vibrating, unhinged Chihuahua.
Not even remorse — he’s crying?
Out of wounded pride?
How could something like this be a man.
Something like this doesn’t deserve to be called a man!!!
“You absolute shameless bastard, you absolute shameless crocodile-tears acting award winner!!!”
Sirin shrieked.
“The Oscar is mine!!!!”
—Thwack!
Sirin kicked Klaus square in the side.
“Kkhhrk…!”
Klaus collapsed face-down, leaking something between a groan and a sob.
“Hff, hff…”
Sirin considered kicking this idiot a few more times, but… watching him flop around pathetically, she suddenly found the whole thing exhausting.
Right, mercy.
She should show mercy.
Mercy without conditions.
Grant mercy, grant peace…
Sirin shuffled off.
Dealing with this idiot stalker was tiring, a pointless waste of energy.
Sirin was a firm believer in energy conservation.
She had already forgotten that she’d just spent considerable energy beating him with words.
Sirin had no conscience and a severe tendency toward self-distortion.
Sirin’s Body Rebirth had moved one step further away today as well.
Klaus ground his teeth in humiliation as the sound of Sirin’s footsteps receded.
His body still refused to move.
“…”
How much time passed.
“Heard some noise and came to check it out.”
New footsteps approached Klaus where he lay trembling, emerging from the darkness.
More than one set.
“Well, well, look who it is — if it isn’t a shiny imperial officer.”
“…!”
The mold that grows everywhere.
Back-alley thugs.
One of them snickered and said.
“What’s a fine gentleman doing lying alone in a dark place like this? Having a romance with the cobblestones?”
“…”
Another one spoke up.
“Didn’t you hear the woman screaming? With that flashy blond hair and that pretty face — looks like he got dumped after getting caught cheating.”
“That’s why he ended up in a place like this. Makes sense — even an imperial officer would be embarrassed to have a lover’s quarrel on the main road.”
The thugs laughed together.
At least five or six of them.
Every one with filthy eyes, hands gripping rusty daggers or clubs.
One of them grinned and patted Klaus on the cheek.
“The imperial forces have been cracking down real hard lately. Something about kidnapped kids, or whatever.”
“…”
“Because of that, we’ve been getting roughed up for no reason. Completely unfair, really. Someone ought to take responsibility for that, don’t you think? What do you say, officer — all alone out here?”
Klaus’s pupils wavered.
Worst case scenario.
This was genuinely dangerous.
“Well then, you’ve got a nice face on you — how about you teach us how to charm the ladies. Let’s have ourselves a nice, sticky little social gathering… gkhk!”
—Thud.
The thug’s words were cut off by a grotesque sound.
Something had kicked him and sent him flying through the air.
Klaus forced his stiff neck to turn toward the sound.
The woman who had just left had come back.
“Mr. Stalker.”
Eyes like cold fire flashed beneath the moonlight.
“Looks like you’re about to owe me a debt.”
“…”
Sirin smiled with a bewitching curl of her eyes and said.
“My debts run a little expensive.”
Klaus felt like he was going to hyperventilate.