Wraith of Damascus.
The name of a summoning magic created by an old necromancer after nearly twenty years of research.
A summoned entity of both offensive and defensive magic, which gathers the souls of warriors who died in Damascus into one place and forges them into a blade solely for slaughter, rips apart every mercenary in sight.
Shhhhk!
The horizontally swung blade separates the mercenary's body.
Blood and organs scatter. The mercenary's corpse, reduced to chunks of meat, soaks the floor.
"Shoot! I'm telling you to shoot, damn it...!"
"Protect Peacher! Victor! Victor, please help us! Firearms are no match against—"
Sshhk!
The chattering mercenary's head flew through the air. The spectral warrior snatched the falling head and swung it like a blunt weapon. Two heads were crushed with a sickening crunch.
[Gruaaaargh!!]
Not even a fragment of reason remained in its form. The warrior rampaging indiscriminately, unable to distinguish friend from foe, smiled as it drank the blood entering its mouth.
"...Damn it."
In the end, even Victor threw himself forward to stop the warrior.
It wouldn't matter much if he died right now, but Laura and Maia were currently on the move in a vehicle. Unless a message arrived saying they had reached the hideout, restoration would inevitably take time.
That meant a moment of vulnerability was bound to occur. If they were ambushed then and either Maia or Laura died, the mercenary band would no longer be able to restore biometric data. Death would become true death.
He had to prevent that at all costs. It didn't matter if a few died, but they needed to save at least the superhumans or more than half to send them back to handle emergencies. Annihilation here would mean too great a loss of fighting strength.
Kill Amelia? The girl wielding an unidentified grimoire that had appeared out of nowhere, all alone without support from others?
Impossible. Therefore, the only target he needed to capture was that black figure.
"Aaaaack!"
His judgment was swift, and his action even swifter. Victor took out the Cartel's special recovery potion he had kept in his pocket, chewed it, and charged at the warrior's back, swinging his machete. The warrior, which had just pierced a mercenary's heart, stretched one leg straight back and slammed Victor's abdomen.
"Guh!"
He endured. Victor vomited a mouthful of blood, grabbed the leg lodged in his abdomen, and threw it aside. The warrior, lighter than expected, flew without resistance and crashed into the wall.
Kwaaaang!!
With a thunderous roar, one wall of the house collapsed. Pouring rainwater infiltrated the living room on the wind. The warrior sprawled in the yard began to rise again with a crunching sound.
Peacher stared at the sight and turned to Victor.
"Victor. I'm afraid we..."
"Yeah, I think we're fucked. If I'd known this would happen, I'd have run from the start. I underestimated her because she's just a brat."
"Enough. There's little point in regretting the past. Let's think about what to do now."
"We run. It's not that we can't fight it, but it's still very strong. I'd say it's about two, no, three knights of considerable skill."
Victor spat out blood. Peacher nodded without hesitation.
"What a monstrous bastard. Very well, let's run."
She immediately dashed toward the front door. The mercenaries followed behind her. Victor deflected the blade of the charging warrior and rolled to the side. The table shattered, and wooden splinters scattered through the air.
"...Amelia!"
At that moment, Eric began to move as well. He sprang up from his spot, scooped up Amelia who was still trembling violently, and ran like mad in the opposite direction the mercenaries were heading. Victor glanced at them but couldn't react due to the warrior charging at him again.
Chaeng! Kadeudeudeuk!
Sparks flew inside the living room. Blades clashed with thunderous roars, and the sound of flesh being severed seeped between the sounds of the torrential rain.
He ignored it.
Eric forcibly moved his shattered bones and penetrated arm that had withstood the impact of bullets, sprinting down the alley. Amelia felt the warrior's gaze seeming to fix upon her and let out a trembling breath.
"Amelia!"
"...!"
Eric called her name again. Only then did Amelia come to her senses and look back at Eric.
"G-Grandfather..."
"You, what in the world is that grimoire? Were you hiding something like that?"
"N-no, Grandfather! I-I went up to my room crying, and suddenly this appeared out of thin air...!"
Amelia, her eyes brimming with tears, thrust the grimoire toward Eric. He looked down at the black grimoire whose title he couldn't even read and clicked his tongue.
It would be a lie to say he didn't find it unpleasant that his granddaughter, who couldn't even become a mage, had received the grimoire's choice, but he had no intention of forcibly taking the grimoire from Amelia.
Whatever the case, wasn't it true that he had survived thanks to her? Even if that weren't so, Eric wasn't so desperate as to steal his granddaughter's belongings. He had already built up as much reputation as he needed. There was no need to be greedier here.
"All right, I believe you. Thank you for helping me, Amelia."
Enduring the sharp pain rising from his half-limp wrist, Eric patted Amelia's back. Amelia shed tears drop by drop.
"Grandfather..."
"I'm afraid we won't be able to return home today. It seems we'll have to spend the night out, unavoidably."
"...I'm fine. I'm just grateful to have survived."
Amelia wiped away her tears and forced a smile. Eric held Amelia tightly with a bitter smile. His trembling legs shook as if they would collapse at any moment, but he gritted his teeth and ignored it.
"More importantly, Amelia, how in the world did you use magic? No matter how much of a grimoire you have, you shouldn't be able to use it if you haven't become a mage."
"I-I think it's this grimoire's own ability. It says I have to pay the price for the magic later."
"...That sounds ominous, but it can't be helped. What magic did you use?"
"U-um... just a moment..."
Amelia turned the grimoire's cover with trembling hands.
At that moment, the grimoire turned its own pages and opened to a blank page. Letters were engraved upon it.
[The situation has concluded. Pay the price.]
Letters visible only to Amelia were etched into her mind. At the same time, blood trickled from the corners of her mouth.
"...Huh."
Amelia blinked at the unexpected bleeding. Eric, who was holding her, contorted his face at the warmth of blood he felt from his arm and chest.
"Amelia...!"
Eric's voice grew faint, and conversely, her vision looking down at the grimoire grew clear.
[Grace period: 2 days. The price to be paid for the magic is 250g of Damascus steel, 1L of holy water made from running river water, 1 lantern, and 1L of oil.]
[...]
[Judging that the current owner lacks the ability to pay the price. Changing the price.]
[The owner of this grimoire, Amelia, shall be granted minor internal injuries, approximately 400mL of blood loss, and a two-day coma.]
"Ah."
The moment she finished reading all the sentences written on the page, blood gushed from her mouth along with pain as if her organs were severed. The grimoire devoured the blood pouring down like a waterfall, and her consciousness slowly sank.
"Amelia? Amelia! Why all of a sudden—"
Eric's voice grew faint and disappeared.
Feeling the heaviness of her increasingly closing eyelids, Amelia hugged the grimoire tight.
'...Just what.'
She closed her eyes as blood streamed from her nose and mouth.
'What kind of person wrote a grimoire with such a price...'
Thud.
Her consciousness cut away.
*
...Grrrrrk.
With a bizarre sound, the figure of the warrior swinging its sword melted away like water before Victor's eyes.
Victor stared warily at the spot where it had stood for a moment, then let out a sigh and lowered the machete blade he had held up like a shield.
"Hooo... shiiiiit. My body's completely fucked up."
Thanks to chewing the recovery potion, his burns had been treated to some extent, but his left forearm sliced by the warrior, two fingers on his right hand, and organs melted by the potion's side effects were still gnawing away at his body.
Honestly, it was a miracle he was even standing. His trembling legs screamed with each step he took.
If he hadn't given up his sense of smell to increase his agility and his sense of taste to increase his strength, his head would probably have flown off long ago. It was a miracle it had only amounted to this much.
"Kak, ptoo."
He spat out blood-mixed phlegm and hobbled out of the burning house.
Fortunately, crowds hadn't gathered yet, so no onlookers were visible. It didn't seem necessary to silence anyone separately.
"Tch."
Victor sheathed his machete and barely took out a cigarette with his only remaining hand. He tried to light it while shielding it from the rain, but the already wet cigarette wouldn't ignite easily. The lighter was also dead.
In the end, he threw away the cigarette and lighter in annoyance.
"Victor! Are you all right?"
Just then, one of the mercenaries who had fled came running. Victor checked his face.
"...Ben, is it."
"Yes, it's Ben. Thanks to you, Victor, we could escape safely. Thank you so much for buying us time."
"It was nothing. Where are all the others?"
"Everyone is already in the vehicles. We're ready to depart as soon as you arrive, Victor."
"Hoo... thank goodness. Let's go, we need to get out of here quickly."
"Let me help you."
Ben hurriedly supported Victor.
The two hobbled without hesitation toward the vehicles waiting in the alley. The mercenaries in the car opened the door to receive them when Ben and Victor had almost arrived.
"Victor, are you all right?"
Peacher, who was sitting in the passenger seat, asked. Victor let out a short laugh and shook his head.
"No, it hurts like hell. I feel like passing out right now."
"You cannot. Something urgent has come up."
Victor's face crumpled at the reply that came without a hint of change in expression.
"What?"
"The hideout we were using. Three of the five mercenaries stationed there as guards died simultaneously. The CCTV cameras are all destroyed. The footage captured just before they were destroyed only showed a fluttering black coat hem and something like red tentacles wriggling."
Guuk.
Peacher rubbed her wrist wrapped in bandages and continued.
"It seems someone has begun tracking us. I am just as bewildered, having received the report only moments ago."
"...Wait, don't tell me."
"It is probably correct."
A bead of cold sweat rolled down her face.
"It seems the monster living in the officetel has moved."
*
Splish, splash.
Ian trudged through puddles of blood without a care and descended the stairs to the basement.
[Kkieek!]
A Messenger brushed past him and scuttled down the wall quickly. The moment it set foot in the basement, it twitched its sharp red tentacles. The mercenaries waiting in front of the door screamed.
"W-what the fuck...! What is thissss!"
"Why is a monster in a place like thi— kehehek!"
Puoook, jjeoeok.
The sound of flesh being pierced and torn reverberated through the enclosed walls. Ian descended the remaining stairs with a cigarette in his mouth, without a hint of expression.
Splish.
Two horrifically slaughtered corpses lay at the basement door entrance, unable to even close their eyes. None of them were still breathing.
"Good job."
Ian stroked the head of the Messenger that had begun tearing into the corpses, then roughly opened the firmly shut basement door.
'No one is here.'
Inside the basement where not even light could penetrate.
There were no people. Only traces of some kind of ritual and a chair in the corner of the room devoid of dust.
"..."
Several wet footprints remained on the floor.
Evidence that someone had stepped here after treading through rainwater. Judging by the fact that they hadn't completely evaporated yet, it seemed they hadn't left long ago.
"I was hoping they'd all be gathered here, but it's a shame."
No, perhaps I should take comfort in the fact that I'm not too late, at least.
Ian let out a deep sigh and surveyed every corner of the basement with his phone light.
Traces of a corpse being dragged in. Footprints. Slashes, as if someone had scored the wall with a blade. Melted candle wax. A corpse crushed as though smashed down with a hammer.
And blood.
“……Hmm.”
Ian bent his knees and crouched, poking a finger into the blood that had yet to coagulate. At that, the drop of blood, quivering with surface tension, twitched as if it were wary of him.
Needless to say, human blood could not react like that.
To begin with, human blood left unattended dried quickly. No matter how little time had passed since the mercenaries left, an ordinary person’s blood could not have remained in liquid form, retaining such a vivid crimson hue.
So this was not human blood.
It belonged to a clan of the night far richer than that.
It was the blood of monsters that drank and controlled blood—the blood of a vampire. Ian grinned and laid the compass over the blood pooled on the floor.
……Kiiing.
The needle of the compass, having absorbed the blood, spun madly clockwise. Then it stopped with a click and began pointing east.
The distance was roughly fifty kilometers.
Far, perhaps, but if he began tracking them right away, it was not impossible to catch up.
No—since he had no idea what means of transportation they were using, he needed to move even a second faster. Ian immediately took the compass in hand and left the basement.
[Kieeek.]
The Messenger shook the blood from its body and clung to his back as he hurried along, opening the zipper of his bag. Then it wriggled its way inside.
Ziiip.
After even closing the zipper by itself, the Messenger squirmed inside the bag. Ian adjusted the straps, then mounted the bike he had parked and pulled his helmet down firmly.
[Welcome. Please set your destination.]
The voice of the artificial intelligence flowed from the Bluetooth device connected to the bike. Ian answered as he took double-sided tape from his pocket.
“No exact destination. For now, disengage every safety device. I’ll drive, so just assist with the ride.”
Riiip.
He stuck tape to the underside of the compass and pressed it over the speed display on the dashboard. After confirming that the compass was fixed in place, Ian lowered the visor of his helmet.
[Warning. Disengaging all safety devices will greatly increase the probability of an accident. Are you certain you wish to disengage them?]
“There won’t be any accident, so don’t worry. We’re going.”
Tak.
Ian slipped the pistol he had looted from the mercenaries into the holster inside his coat and kicked up the stand.
“I’m going full throttle. Assist me.”
[When the safety devices are disengaged, this vehicle’s maximum speed is approximately 450 kilometers per hour. Withstanding the gravitational acceleration at that speed is extremely difficult. I judge that it would be better to regulate it somewhat.]
“I’m a mage.”
[Maximum speed limit released. Ready to run at any time, Master.]
Vroooooom!
The bike’s throttle turned on its own and let out a roar.
An output so powerful it drowned out even the performance of the muffler.
Ian gave a small laugh and shifted gears.
Vraaaaaaam!!!
In a single second, the bike surpassed 100 kilometers per hour and began to shoot out of the alleyway.
“Let’s go. Handle the wind noise yourself.”
[I will provide the optimal environment.]
Ian burst onto the main road in an instant. At the strangely rapid acceleration, Lemegeton’s magic activated, and the bike drifted on its own as it sped down the wide-open road.
[Condition optimal. Master, may I play a recommended track?]
“Play it.”
[( ˘▽˘)っ♡]
Along with the emoticon that appeared on the dashboard, music flowed from the Bluetooth device connected to the bike. The booming sound unique to EDM pounded against Ian’s ears.
A song in a style similar to the club music he had heard during the vampire hunt.
Ian let out a quiet laugh and twisted the throttle even harder.
Kwaaaaaaaa!
Before anyone could even register the bike’s form, Ian and the bike vanished rapidly down the road.