There's a common misconception among those unfamiliar with magic.
It's the misconception that battles between mages are incredibly flashy and spectacular. That delusion gets crushed the moment they witness such a fight, plummeting from anticipation to the depths of mere fantasy.
Why is that?
No need to ponder deeply. It's because mage battles are neither flashy nor beautiful. If anything, they're closer to underworld assassins exchanging blows.
Mages are largely rational personalities. Their emotional shifts are minor, and they need flexible thinking to handle various situations. Mages who couldn't manage that all died. Other mages wouldn't leave them be, and mysteries clung to them just as much, so it was only natural.
Bodies wielding the mysterious power called magic apparently seemed quite appealing to aberrations. Nowadays, mages getting their bodies or souls stolen is rare, but in the past it was more common than one might think. A mage without an inflated ego was excellent prey.
Thanks to that, the surviving mages today are all composed of narcissists living for their own greatness, with egos not just inflated but as tall as Mount Everest.
Ian was no different. He wasn't arrogant, but he wasn't humble either. Not cruel, but not merciful. So he found no reason to let a defeated foe who had attacked him and fled with his tail between his legs go, nor any reason to keep him alive.
No, he didn't look for one. From the moment he first locked eyes with Eddie, he resolved to kill him. The other side would feel the same. No need for moral quandaries.
'Information can be extracted after death.'
He thought as he followed the compass.
'A chalice to contain the soul. Once I complete that, squeeze his brain into it, and interrogation will be easy.'
Ian still didn't know Eddie's name or his identity.
They were all important things. But there was no need to rush. It was a problem solved simply by killing him.
"Whoosh..."
A dark alley. Dawn before sunrise.
With a cigarette in his mouth, Ian checked the items in his bag.
Thankfully, he hadn't missed anything. The kitchen knife was still sheathed, aberration flesh for emergency use was stored in cube form. The blood-red rod recreated from a Buddha statue was also in place.
But opening and closing the bag each time was cumbersome. So Ian hid the kitchen knife on his belt hidden by his coat, and slipped the ring case containing the dying eyeball into his pocket. He shoved the rod against his side to use as a blunt weapon if needed.
Click.
He took the pistol from its holster and checked the rounds.
Three bullets. He hadn't reloaded since the Monkey Hand incident, nothing to be done. He exhaled smoke, replaced the magazine, and switched the fire selector to single shot.
'That mage won't have a gun. If he did, he would have started shooting right away.'
Maybe he didn't bring one, but coming for an ambush without a gun was laughable.
That's not disregarding the opponent, it's a matter of intelligence. No matter how much you see someone as an idiot, you should at least bring one surefire way to kill them.
Of course, a gun isn't that great, but it's lethal. Without proper defenses, even the greatest mage would lose his life. Twenty shots of the muggles' Avada Kedavra was no joke.
If you have countermeasures, the story changes, but Ian's only defense was a reverse aiming device. That leaned more toward warning than defense, so if Eddie had openly fired, Ian would have ended up a corpse rolling on the floor before he could do anything.
'It's safe to assume he has no gun. But just in case, I'll take minimal precautions.'
Ian took off his coat, laid it on the ground, and drew a magic circle on the inside using a bottle of his own blood.
The protective spell he first used at the hospital. He recast the enchantment that made the coat turn fluid like water to absorb and disperse impact.
He didn't need to take out the grimoire. For recreation magic, alchemy, and summoning magic—the grimoire's signature—it was essential, but he could now cast other ordinary spells just fine.
It was a remarkable growth. Ian nodded in satisfaction, dusted off the coat, and put it back on.
He continued following the compass.
Shortly after, Ian arrived in front of a hotel.
A famous hotel anyone would know by name, though he'd never been inside.
'He was staying at the hotel they mentioned back then.'
Ian smirked, pocketed the compass for a moment, and entered the hotel.
Whether because it was dawn or the staff had stepped away, no one was at the front desk. Only a few guests out for a stroll stood in the lobby.
Ian welcomed this. He carefully slipped past everyone's gaze toward the elevator. He took out the blood-seeping compass and muttered.
"Which floor?"
The needle spun eleven times in response.
That meant the 11th floor. Ian put the compass away, pressed the button for the 11th floor, and put the cigarette in his mouth.
"..."
The CCTV in the elevator bothered him, but he didn't bother with it now. Instead, he sent a message to the Bureau.
[Me: Sending an address. Handle whatever happens here.]
*
"Bleeeurgh!"
Eddie, having fled via the Boogeyman, crawled out from under the bed and vomited up bile.
An agonizing pain as if his insides were being turned over. A typical side effect of the Boogeyman. Being able to move to a pre-set space under a bed or inside a wardrobe was nice, but enduring the stomach-ripping pain every time was no small feat.
Still, it was better than forcing a continued fight. Eddie spent a long while catching his breath while lying flat on the floor, then slowly pushed himself up with his hands.
'...I know the bastard's residence, but he doesn't know my location. So I'll prepare as thoroughly as possible and strike again.'
An information imbalance is always a good weapon. No need to act rashly and fall into a trap. Thinking so, Eddie began sorting through the tool-type mysteries he'd brought to the corner of the room.
There was no reason not to use the dagger stained with a vampire's curse.
A blade that manipulates blood vessels to make hemostasis impossible. Essential if dragging the fight out. It had the drawback of always stabbing its owner on the third strike, but that was avoidable by not going past two.
He also gathered a swallowing cube, multiplying tadpoles, KuneKune, and more—mysteries that toyed with both body and mind. Eddie equipped the chosen mysteries in a bundle without distinction and let out a long breath.
"...Whoosh."
He drank unrefined elf blood. A method to forcibly boost sensitivity to mysteries. In exchange, he temporarily lost some of his sight, but his hearing would sharpen, so it was fine.
Eddie wiped the green blood from his lips and stroked his eyes with his hand.
His pupils dimmed slightly, and his vision turned blurry. Felt like nearsightedness, astigmatism, and farsightedness all at once. Practically no different from going blind. He could catch general outlines but not precise details.
No matter. Eddie put on his removed sunglasses and sat on the sofa to recover from the Boogeyman's side effects.
The sofa was in a straight line from the front door. With his back to the full-glass window, he leaned his head back.
At that moment.
Pfft-pfft-pfft.
Bullets flew in silently, piercing the front door and embedding into his stomach and thigh.
"...!"
Eddie's face twisted violently at the sudden gunfire. He hurriedly rose amidst the spreading agony and blood, glaring at the front door.
Clear bullet holes. Through them, someone's pitch-black eyes briefly appeared before being crushed. Simultaneously, Eddie's own eyes were crushed.
"Gyaaaaaah!"
Terrible pain raced along his optic nerves, searing his brain. An agonized scream burst from his lips, and blood dripped like tears from where his eyes had been.
That meant the eyeball had worked. Ian immediately smashed the door handle and entered the room.
In his hands were a lighter and a pistol. The lighter's flame greedily devoured the noise originating from him, and Ian thrust the gun forward within the silent zone.
Eddie didn't hear that part, but with chill crawling up the back of his head, he grit his teeth, pulled out the horn whistle from his pocket, and bit into it. He shattered it.
A mystery that, upon destruction, unleashes a thunderous roar and summons a man-eating elephant.
But though the whistle was destroyed, it made no sound. It just fell uselessly to the floor.
'A spell that devours even others' sounds?'
Only then did Eddie grasp Ian's spell. But it was already too late.
Tick-tick.
Ian pulled the trigger twice more. One of the flying bullets pierced his shoulder, and he barely defended against the other.
A spiderweb unfurled. Spun from creepy tales and faith of being harder than steel, it made an excellent bulletproof vest. But with three bullets already buried in him, his body creaked and refused his commands.
"Pathetic."
Watching that, Ian extinguished the lighter.
"Well, I didn't expect much."
"...You damned son of a bitch...!"
Ian smirked and pulled the trigger again. Eddie timed it to activate the Chekhov's Gun hanging on the wall.
Bang. With that sound, all firearms in the room were neutralized. The misfired bullet exploded inside the barrel, shredding Ian's hand.
Horrible pain raced from his fingers to his brain. The shock wasn't large, but some of his skin was torn and burned.
He was more annoyed about losing the gun than the pain. Ian tutted, tossed away the scrap metal, and drew the kitchen knife from his waist, hurling it.
Swoosh!
The flying knife sliced the air. Relying on that sensation, Eddie rolled on the floor to dodge, then shrieked and lunged at Ian. Bloody frogs crawled up from his feet.
"You are a child of man."
Ian stepped back and reached out. Then, as if by divine revelation, the Hand of Recreation summoned from the ceiling settled into his grasp.
"Why do you wish to become evil? To achieve what you seek as a demon?"
"Gaaaaah!"
"Futile. I shall personally reconstruct all of you by God's will."
Ian smacked the rushing frogs away with the grimoire and rammed his shoulder into Eddie's body. With a thud, both tumbled backward.
Already tangled inside, the added impact made Eddie vomit uncontrollably. Ian calmly chanted the final spell while lying down.
"Be born anew."
Crunch-crunch-crunch!
Eddie's body, where it had touched Ian's flesh, began contracting inward. Limbs crushed and folded toward his stomach, his waist snapped in half and crawled toward his heart.
Blood sprayed. Bones shattered. Muscles pulped.
A horrific noise filled the hotel room. Ian, grimoire in hand, picked up a fallen cigarette, put it in his mouth, and watched him.
"..."
Before long, Eddie's body was gone, leaving only the upper half.
No limbs. As if he'd been born that way, nothing existed below his chest.
"Ah."
Feeling his state, Eddie let out a sigh.
Ian didn't care. He kicked Eddie's body over, lit his cigarette.
"Gyaaaaaaah!"
Whether from the terrible pain or his ruined body, he screamed and squirmed like a worm. Ian silently watched him, then crushed the frogs underfoot and pulled out the kitchen knife.
He dropped it onto Eddie's body. The knife plummeted vertically and precisely pierced his heart.
That was the end. Eddie screamed no more, struggled no more, and died on the spot.
Only then did Ian exhale a long breath, sit on the sofa, and blow smoke.
Outside the window, the sun was rising. Ian quietly gazed at the twilight, then looked down at Eddie's corpse on the floor.
'They say a mage's body makes good material for magic. Might not be bad to experiment this time.'
If he'd known it would end like this, he would have left the eyes alone.