“The Spiral Butcher”—Butcher.
Infamous as a battle maniac. He’d racked up heavy crimes in his early years, yet his brutal, real power still pushed the Knighthood to recruit him.
“What’s wrong? Come on, shorty, hit me. Or you want me to help by throwing the first punch?”
Faced with Butcher’s taunt, even hotheaded Lijin kept quiet. He silently stowed his battle-axe and stepped aside, opening a path.
“Hmph. Figures. Just a damn rabble.”
Butcher sneered and advanced. He merely brushed past, yet shouldered Lijin back several steps. The other members of the Knighthood shot scornful, threatening looks at the crowd and followed behind him—
“Hey, shorty.”
“…Mm?”
“Is there a hole in your head or what? You really had to clear a path for trash that doesn’t even deserve to be called trash?”
“—!?”
Butcher, already past them, heard that voice deliberately raised. He halted at once.
His men behind him turned in surprise.
Beside Lijin,
a tall woman—Cedron Heidrich—smirked and raised her hand at them.
She wore her hair long and snow-white. Her eyes were crimson. Murder flooded those eyes, yet her face still made most people stare without knowing it. Slightly lifted eyes, long lashes, a proud nose, pale skin, bloodless lips, and the sharp canines that flashed when she parted them—an aggressive beauty, like a vampiress.
Her outfit drew eyes too: a tight leather getup designed to be revealing. Large stretches of skin were bare. Her full, springy bust and lifted hips were traced to the limit by the leather, perfectly matching her vibe.
A stunning beauty.
The hand she raised gave them the finger.
“Leaving already, little pups of the Knighthood?”
“…”
“That fat pig up front—you’re called… called… what again?”
“…”
“Eh, whatever. Doesn’t matter. You’re just a piglet anyway.”
“…”
“I saw that totally unnecessary huge ass of yours, and I just had to ask.”
“…”
“So. Do you prefer to do the screwing, or to get screwed?”
…………………………………………………………“Ha.”
Butcher turned back, slow as a machine with no grease.
Veins bulged on his forehead.
“I was just bored. Di~dn’t th~ink I’d get so~ quickly an i~diot walking ri~ght up to keep me company, huh?”
“That’s my line. I was just bored. Di~dn’t th~ink I’d get so~ quickly an i~diot walking ri~ght up to keep me company, huh?”
————————————————
That day, earlier, eight in the morning—
Kasol region, in a small town under Cassol City, built along the freight road. At the town-gate inn—
“Status… perfect!”
The girl struck a weird pose at the mirror. Her sparkling orange-red eyes traced herself as she muttered.
“Face… perfect!”
She slowly stroked her cheek. The tone was odd, but yes—she had a face anyone would love.
“Hair… perfect!”
She tidied it with both hands. Smooth hair fell soft and loose, the tips curled in little spirals. Her color was unique, like ice-blue tinged with a bit of silvery gray, making you think of a keen blade flashing cold.
“Outfit… perfect!”
She spun in place, lace-and-floral hems fluttering. Her clothes were unique: like a mage’s robe tailored skin-tight, then packed with gothic lolita elements and all sorts of odd patterns and trinkets.
“Mmm-hm, hm, hm, hm~~ today, as the Princess of Endless Chaos Darkness, this consort is once again flawless! Ohohohohohoho~”
She covered her mouth and laughed. The gesture was clearly imitated, but coming from her, it was cute.
“Chumilan-chan, breakfast time. The landlady auntie prepped everything. Finish up and come down, Shul-senpai and the others are already there.”
A girl in a robe styled like a school uniform walked in, carrying a simple yet refined breakfast.
“Hey—no, this consort is named Chumila! Hmph… as expected of the commonfolk, always getting the name of the Princess of Endless Chaos Darkness wrong!”
“Sure, sure… but I’ve never heard of a princess who calls herself ‘this consort.’”
“Th-this consort wants to, okay! And doesn’t it sound, like, super cool?”
“Yep yep, super cool… The landlady sent us cookies too. Want some?”
“Cookies? Gimme gimme!”
Chumila’s eyes lit up at once, then she caught herself, paused, half-covered her face, and switched back to that weird tone.
“Hmph… hmhmhmhm… So rude, asking this consort ‘if she wants to eat.’ Laughable! You lot should present the tribute properly!”
“Not eating? I’ll take yours then.”
“Eeeek, waiiit, Clara-chan!”
…
…
…
Inn, first floor—
At a big table, seven boys and girls sat facing each other. With Chumila, that made four girls and three boys. Aside from the oddly dressed Chumila, everyone wore standard gear: modified robes made easier to move in. The collars bore crests of seven blue-and-white stars—emblems of the world’s largest mage academy: Misra Academy.
None were over twenty. The youngest, Chumila, had just turned sixteen. They were young, but the twenty-year-old senpai was already an Advanced Magician, and the others had all reached Intermediate Magician. Even at Misra Academy, they counted as solid honor students.
“Landlady, more wine~”
The short, slightly chubby boy—Shul—spoke. He was the oldest and currently an Advanced Magician.
“Coming. How many glasses?”
The landlady walked over, built dangerously sexy. Every male gaze got snagged by the bouncing curves under her black dress and those full hips. Shul needed several seconds to regain himself. He coughed, embarrassed, and swept his eyes over the group—the sturdy boy, the bookish one with glasses, the loli-sized sisters, easygoing Clara, and lastly the prettiest and strangest of all—Chumila.
“Uh… lemme think… Anyone else wants a drink?”
“Hoo~ hoo~ hoo… Base worldly liquor,” Chumila hid half her face with a strange hand sign, chuckling oddly, eyes slightly narrowed, “as the Princess of Endless Chaos Darkness, this consort only drinks century-aged vintages. Well, lowering my posture once in a while to taste a mortal beverage—”
“So you’re not drinking. Anyone else?”
“I didn’t say noooo!”
Ignoring Chumila’s puffed cheeks and sulky pouting, Shul asked the others. But everyone seemed distracted.
The sturdy boy looked steady at a glance, yet his gaze kept drifting. The bespectacled, bookish boy wore a face that wavered between nervous and excited. The loli-stature sisters leaned together, hands clenched under the table. Clara was glancing left and right.
“Eh… just give me one.”
“We only have fruit wine. No strong distilled spirits.”
“Fruit wine’s fine, fine.”
“I don’t recommend young folks drinking… Whatever. Be careful here, especially in these troubled times.”
The landlady sighed, topped his glass, and went to tend other tables.
The air sank back into gloom.
Being nervous made sense.
Because everyone else on the first floor looked like trouble.
Some wore battered gear and poured booze down their throats—grizzled mercs or adventurers at a glance. Some were shifty-eyed, scanning for angles, the kind you’d suspect of picking pockets. Some were bare-chested with vicious faces, wounds you didn’t want to even look at—like beasts newly freed from cages…
But in Barbra, this was “normal.”
By contrast, these young students were the anomaly in that normal.
“Look at those fledglings…”
“…baby chicks…”
“Wanna bet how many minutes till they get stripped outside…”
“…haha, little runts…”
A few nearby tables swept disdainful looks over them now and then, whispering nasty things. The group, already tense, tensed more.
“I’m telling you… this really isn’t our kind of place…”
“Yeah, sis, my heart’s racing…”
The sisters whispered. The bespectacled boy leaned in and hushed, “But don’t you think it’s kinda thrilling?”
“Thrilling!?”
“Yeah! That lonely vibe of nursing a drink in a dim tavern—”
“This is an inn.”
“Close enough! A dim tavern, mercs living on the blade’s edge all around, trading tales of encounters and sightings… It’s like a standard scene from an adventure novel! I’ve always wanted this, so don’t be so scared!”
“You…”
“Elwin’s not wrong,” the sturdy boy joined in. “From my observation, most folks here are just low-level magicians or Mystic Warriors. Clearly not trained by teachers. Only a few have reached Intermediate. Advanced should be no more than two, besides Shul-senpai.”
“True. Our levels should rank pretty high here. We might lack experience, but if anything happens, we won’t necessarily be at a loss. That’s probably why nobody’s picked a fight.” Clara said.
“Hoo~ hoo~ hoo~~ No doubt the villains are cowed by this consort’s majesty. Even ants of the lower realm can sense my black pressure. Of course they don’t dare approach!”
“Chumila’s saying weird stuff again.”
“N-not weird at all!”
“Whatever. Landlady, two more drinks! And some sandwiches!”
Just then—
Creak. The inn door swung open. Sunlight lanced in from outside, splitting the dim first floor in two and casting a tall shadow.
A man entered, early thirties, slim and tall. Stubble covered his face. He wore bottle-bottom-thick glasses. His back had a slight hunch. His shirt and pants were wrinkled. He looked like a walking cliché of a stiff scholar.
“Ah, sorry, sorry to keep you waiting. Nothing happened, right?”
“Teacher Rodrigo!”
