“What on earth are you doing, showing up at this hour of the night and saying all this?”
The security chief wanted nothing more than to throw them both out, but he couldn’t.
The woman was the problem.
Seemed unhinged, but never quite crossed the line — a bounty hunter.
And a stupid noble greenhorn.
Watching that insufferably smug Klaus standing there in guilty silence, the chief didn’t need to ask who’d caused the trouble.
“…”
That said, he couldn’t actually not ask.
The security chief spoke through a pounding migraine.
“…Stop talking nonsense and explain yourself coherently.”
The life was draining from the security chief’s voice in real time.
“Tch.”
Sirin clicked her tongue.
The man had aged thirty years in the span of a few seconds.
Her original plan had been to flip a desk or two.
But watching the security chief crumple before her eyes like that, something in a corner of Sirin’s heart grew distinctly uncomfortable.
This was because a deeply DNA-encoded algorithm — the Korean peninsula’s Winter Soldier-grade, forced-injection hypno-brainwashing-brainwashing-brainwashing respect-your-elders protocol — had immediately executed its subroutine.
The product of profoundly Confucian K-brainwashing.
The reason Sirin felt uncomfortable was absolutely, categorically not because she was reminded of some meddlesome old geezer she’d met before.
Sirin let out a long sigh and shot a glare at the stalker standing beside her.
“Chief.”
Sirin spoke with what she considered reasonable politeness.
The chief had a different opinion.
“This uniform fetishist has been stalking me. The kind of thing that ought to send the Imperial Army’s dignity and honor soaring straight to the heavens. So I came to hear your official position on the matter.”
The security chief was dumbfounded.
Soldiers stealing hair — that he could understand.
Soldiers were always doing pathetic things.
But an officer, someone who was supposed to set an example, chasing after a woman’s backside?
The discipline of this security unit was an absolute disgrace.
The chief forced his mouth open and turned on Klaus.
“Klaus. Explain yourself. What in the world is going on here.”
“Chief, I…”
Klaus hesitated.
His eyes wavered.
Could he explain everything?
The inexplicable words the priest had spoken that paralyzed his body, the ambush by thugs that followed, and then finding himself indebted to this bounty hunter for his life once again.
Klaus’s pride wouldn’t let him say all of it.
So he decided to speak only to what he’d originally intended to address — the suspicion that had set all of this in motion.
Klaus had his own logic.
The strange consistency in the testimonies of captured criminals.
His own independent investigation.
The irregular contact with the Pantheon.
That left only one possibility.
The theory that this woman called Sirin was colluding with certain Pantheon priests, operating freely under their protection.
“…I personally confirmed the scene where—”
“Ha, so that’s what this was about?”
Sirin cut him off with a derisive laugh.
“Chief.”
Sirin’s eyes were on the security chief, not Klaus.
Her manner said she had no further need to look at the greenhorn beside her.
The chief responded not with words but with a twitch of his eyebrow.
“That whole witch, witch, witch business… are you planning to run that verification every time a new recruit shows up?”
“…What are you talking about?”
“You already held me for days and checked me over yourself. Wasn’t that enough?”
“…”
The memory surfaced sharp and clear in Sirin’s mind.
She’d been living well as a bounty hunter in this city, and then out of nowhere she’d been held for days under the pretense of being a ‘witness.’
Polite, but not letting her leave the security office — that air of suspicion.
At first she’d thought it was just some bizarre local custom.
Sirin’s credentials were impeccable.
That was the whole point of a Travel Pass guaranteed by an Imperial Army officer.
Not a single problem in every city and village she’d passed through until now.
On top of that, her bounty hunter license had been issued by an Imperial-certified guild.
Sirin’s identity was verified twice over.
So why was it only in Lutecia that things got complicated?
Thinking about it that way, the questions they’d asked her as a witness were peculiar.
How had she been able to capture criminals?
How had she done it without taking any damage?
Relentless questions about Sirin’s abilities.
And then, decisively, the day she happened to see Pantheon priests.
That was when Sirin understood.
‘Ah.
Is this that witch-hunt thing?
They’re trying to verify whether I’m a witch or not?’
—Ding!
[ Your understanding of others has increased! ]
[ Deepen your understanding to gain Mind Enlightenment! ]
Sirin was furious, but she held it in for the moment.
What these people were doing was actually more sophisticated than she’d expected.
They’d brought in priests, kept the questions polite, fed her meals.
In the movies and novels she’d seen back in the homeland, the verification method was usually: throw them in the fire, burns to death means human, doesn’t burn means witch.
Of course, if anyone had tried that on Sirin, she’d have been brimming with murderous intent to retaliate ×20.
She would have shown them exactly what kind of calamity the immortal mode could unleash.
Anyway, she could put up with a nuisance once.
The city was fairly large, and Sirin had planned to stay for a while.
She had no desire to make enemies of the security force.
But then…
“…You knew.”
“Of course. If you lock someone up for no good reason and they can’t figure out why, that makes them the idiot. I may lack common sense, but I’m not that dense.”
“…”
“Well, whatever. I wasn’t going to make a big deal of it. But…”
Sirin jerked her chin toward Klaus.
“Now there’s another stalker attached to me?”
“…”
The security chief closed his eyes.
He wanted to escape reality.
But Sirin wasn’t about to let him.
“Chief. You already owe me one for that pointless business you put me through. I was going to let it go, but this stalker you failed to manage caused another incident today.”
“…”
“Are you planning to keep this up? Harassing me every time a new recruit arrives?”
The chief spoke like a man exhaling his last breath.
“…What do you want.”
Sirin jerked her chin toward Klaus, who was still standing with his head bowed.
“Custody of this pervert stalker. I have a use for him.”
The chief was genuinely puzzled.
“What use could you possibly have for this one?”
Sirin smiled coldly.
“This uniform fetishist clearly has time to spare if he’s wandering around stalking me — I should put that wicked talent to work for humanity.”
“…”
“He’s clearly gifted at stalking, so he must be an expert at finding people, right? Taking a horrifying, anti-social talent and deploying it where it’s actually needed so it contributes to society — isn’t that exactly what progressive, efficient policy looks like?”
Sirin nodded, visibly pleased with herself.
“A blade is only as good as how you use it. Same goes for this women’s-sock enthusiast. I’m so thoughtful, really.”
The security chief frowned.
“…That won’t do. Whatever the circumstances, he is an officer of the Imperial Army. He is not someone you can simply order around. This is a matter of…”
“Jurisdiction?”
“Authority as well. I trust you understand what I mean.”
Sirin snorted.
“Well, if authority is the issue, the Imperial Army should be throwing him out. Dishonorable discharge. He was never fit for the position.”
“If it’s about the surveillance of you—”
“That’s not what I mean. He nearly got stabbed by some worthless back-alley thugs. I’m the one who saved him. This women’s-underwear enthusiast has now gone and racked up a personal debt to me as well.”
The security chief’s eyes went cold.
“What do you mean by that? He may be a fool, but he’s not the type to get bested by common street trash.”
“And yet he was. Isn’t that right, Mr. Stalker? Go ahead and defend yourself.”
Sirin jerked her chin toward Klaus, who had been standing off to the side.
“Go on, plead your case with those adorable cherry-blossom lips of yours. Mr. Women’s-Toenail Connoisseur.”
The security chief fixed Klaus with a hard stare.
An Imperial Army officer, bested by common thugs?
How was something this absurd possible?
Klaus said nothing.
Silence.
Then the woman’s words were true.
This wasn’t something that could simply be overlooked.
The security chief spoke in a frigid tone.
“Klaus. Tell me what happened.”
Klaus forced the words out.
“…The priest who was with that woman said something to me. Something I couldn’t understand. After that, I lost control of my body.”
Sirin added with a mocking snort.
“‘Move aside’ — one sentence, and he actually moved aside. Not satisfied with that, he went and dropped to his knees too.”
“…Enough. That will do.”
The security chief closed his eyes.
The greenhorn didn’t know.
The woman didn’t seem to understand the significance either.
Who could bring a highly trained Imperial Army officer to his knees with a single word?
Who could render a person unable to move their own body?
Divine Word.
The voice of a god.
The Pantheon’s representative had been, in that moment, truly acting as the proxy of one of the gods.
No — it would be more accurate to say one of the gods had descended.
To meet this woman.
This woman was….
The security chief closed his eyes and rubbed his face dry.
Exhaustion crashed over him.
Watching the security chief age what looked like a century in an instant, Sirin thought to herself:
‘Does this neighborhood have some kind of rapid-aging disease going around?
Then again, with no proper foundation, I suppose it’s possible.’
“…”
Sirin was suddenly, inexplicably melancholy.
‘…I’ll have to make him a gravestone out of solid gold.’
It was the security chief who broke the silence.
“…I understand your request. There is much to consider, so please come back later.”
“Hmph.”
Sirin gave a satisfied snort and turned away without a backward glance.
Once Sirin was gone, the security chief sank deep into the back of his chair.
“…”
Some time passed.
The security chief rose from his seat and walked toward Klaus.
“Guh—!”
The security chief said nothing.
He simply drove his boot into Klaus’s shin.
Caught completely off guard, Klaus staggered and went down.
“Stand up straight, Klaus.”
“Yes, Chief, ugh—!”
The other shin this time.
Klaus crumpled again.
“Get up, Klaus.”
“Ngh, yes, Ch— guh—!”
—Crack!
“Who told you to fall down. Get up. Klaus.”
“Yes, ugh—!”
The security chief worked on Klaus’s shins as he spoke.
“This is exactly why I can’t stand noble greenhorns. Do you have any idea what the Pantheon might demand later because of your petty, presumptuous little stunt?”
“I’ll correct my—ugh!”
Just another ordinary day in the army.
It was summer.
#
Two days passed.
Sirin, who had declared she would be taking custody of Klaus, never came.
The security office was peaceful.
Klaus found that peace unsettling.
The calm before the storm.
The eye of the typhoon.
Had the woman forgotten?
He felt simultaneously hopeful that she had and convinced that she shouldn’t have — a contradiction that sat uneasily in his chest.
On the third day, the disaster he’d been waiting for returned.
Sirin spoke privately with the security chief for a while, then walked out looking satisfied.
Shortly after, the security chief called for Klaus, his face set like stone.
“That woman says she’s going to search for a missing child and wants to use you.”
“Understood.”
“Go with her. Do what she tells you.”
An order.
Klaus had no choice but to comply.
“…Understood.”
What on earth was she planning to make him do?
Klaus walked out of the security office lost in thought.
What was the essential nature of a woman?
An arrogant creature that wielded the crude weapon of appearance, judging the world by nothing more than her own capricious emotions.
Klaus had seen more than enough of that type at noble social gatherings.
But Sirin was different.
She seemed impulsive, yet there was a cold edge to her; she’d flare up like fire and then turn glacial in an instant.
Her motives seemed entirely personal, and yet somehow they weren’t.
She looked ready to kill every serious criminal she encountered, yet spared them for reasons he couldn’t fathom.
Incomprehensible.
A being outside the bounds of Klaus’s understanding.
And therefore irritating.
And alongside the irritation, something else was stirring — a far more subtle emotion he couldn’t quite name.
What was that, exactly?
Lost in thought, Klaus nearly walked into something Sirin had tossed at him.
A cheap robe that covered the whole body.
“Put this on.”
He pulled the ragged thing over his uniform, and Sirin yanked the hood down deep over his head, obscuring his identity.
Sirin did the same.
She left barely her eyes visible.
The two of them, covered head to toe, began walking in silence.
Klaus followed quietly behind Sirin.
He had plenty of questions, but asking first felt like it would cost him something — some point of pride he couldn’t afford to surrender.
Sirin was once again regressing the Imperial Army’s collective mental age to that of a middle schooler.
Sirin was truly the enemy of evolution.
Where Sirin led Klaus was a grey zone — the kind of place that existed on the boundary between the respectable and the disreputable.
Where adventurers traded goods that had bypassed the guild, where information of uncertain origin changed hands.
Where thugs drifted in and out, spreading rot and occasionally getting scraped away.
Sirin descended into the basement of a run-down building with practiced ease.
A space thick with tobacco smoke and the reek of alcohol, filled with the mingled sounds of cursing and laughter.
A gambling den.
“Just stand there, Mr. Stalker. I know your body’s itching from not being able to stalk anyone, but a person needs to learn patience.”
“……”
“I’m not joking. Stay still. Don’t forget what your chief told you.”
Sirin positioned Klaus behind her and approached the loudest table.
The thugs running the game shot curious glances at the woman who’d walked in, but when they spotted Klaus standing behind her, they dropped their eyes and focused back on the table.
Sirin exchanged a few words and wedged herself into the game.
And then….
“…”
Klaus was speechless.
This woman — gambling?
He’d wondered what she was up to, and it turned out she’d dragged him all the way here just to gamble?
Klaus began to feel a slow burn of irritation.
She’d caused all that commotion just to use him as a gambling bodyguard?
“…”
But something was off.
This woman was losing.
Not just one or two rounds.
Sirin was losing money steadily.
The composed air she’d started with was nowhere to be seen.
The hand slamming the table was clearly carrying real frustration, and even through the mask he could hear her breathing turn ragged.
That wasn’t an act.
That was real.
This unhinged woman was genuinely trembling with rage because she was losing money!
Sirin shot to her feet and shouted.
“You rotten bastards! You cheated!”
The thugs running the table snickered and looked up at her.
“Hey, sweetheart. Can’t go crying foul just because you lost. You got proof?”
“Maybe if you bat those pretty eyes at us, we could toss you a little something back. What do you say?”
“Y-you, you damn, damn—!”
Sirin choked on her fury and spun around.
She stormed toward Klaus with eyes that said she was about to die of rage.
“!”
And then she suddenly grabbed his robe and ripped it off him.
The gleaming golden hair and Imperial Army officer’s uniform that had been hidden in the shadows were exposed in an instant.
“Imperial Army Security Force, newly appointed Decurion Klaus is speaking! You cheating sons of bitches, you’re all under arrest!!!!”
“…!”
“!!!!!!”
“!!!!!!!!!”
Sirin had started poking a hornet’s nest using Klaus’s name.