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Allen stared at the two women collapsed on the floor, his mind utterly blank.
In his line of sight, Sylphiette shrank her head slightly, peeked up at him, then glanced around nervously before swallowing hard and letting out an awkward, "Heh-heh..."
Allen's pupils constricted to pinpricks. His expression short-circuited.
This… This can't be real.
Miss Sylphiette! Is this really the time to laugh?! What's with that micro-skirt barely hanging on your waist?! I can see your underwear! And why that design?! What are you trying to accomplish?! And since when do you have cat ears?! Wait—where did those high heels even come from?!
WHAT IS HAPPENING?!
His gaze flicked to Isolte beside her, and his pupils shrank further.
The black-haired swordswoman was already pushing herself up, one leg bent as she turned to glare at the two "catgirls" kneeling on the floor in sheer negligees—and the long-eared woman sprawled indecently across the table.
From Allen's angle, he couldn't see Isolte's face, only her outfit: a black nightgown with a slit so high that her entire leg, from ankle to thigh, was exposed as she moved. The stark contrast of pale skin against dark fabric was dizzying. Combined with her straight, ink-black hair, it reminded him of a Final Fantasy mod from his past life.
Hold on, Miss Isolte! What's with this outfit?! That neckline—why does it look like it was torn open?! And sure, the side slit's whatever, but why is there NOTHING underneath?!
WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING?!
He slapped a hand over his eyes, his usual composure crumbling into panic. The two "spicy" assassins wearing next to nothing? Fine. But Sylphiette and Isolte dressed like this? His soul was leaving his body.
"W-Wait! Fix your clothes first! Why are you dressed like this in the middle of the— Oh right, these two are actually assa—"
Before he could finish, a familiar, icy fragrance wafted past his nose—Isolte's signature perfume.
Two steps. A hand settled on his waist.
Allen froze, lowering his hand to see what she was doing—only for her palm to snap over his eyes the moment his vision cleared.
"No peeking, Shishou," her voice sang, sweet as poisoned honey, her breath tickling his ear.
Gentle.
Soft.
And utterly devoid of warmth.
Allen's goosebumps erupted.
Oh no.
That tone—the calm before the storm. She's pissed. When was the last time she sounded like this? Ah, right… When she dragged me back from the baths and swore to 'deal with' North God II someday.
From Reida's granddaughter's perspective, the Water God style's main dojo being challenged by the North God faction was an unforgivable humiliation—a matter of pride for any swordsman.
But this?
Wait, I just glanced! It wasn't on purpose!
"I didn't mean to look! It was reflexive! I was trying to warn you about the—"
Shink.
A blade slid free from his waist scabbard.
His blade.
Now in Isolte's hand.
Allen's soul withered.
"Wait! Misunderstanding!"
"Misunderstanding?" Her laugh was silk-wrapped steel. "Shishou, you call this a misunderstanding?"
Eyes still covered, Allen flooded the room with Flow Sense.
Fear.
Then—confusion.
Sound waves vibrated through the air, bouncing off every surface, painting a monochrome 3D map in his mind. Comic-like strokes outlined the figures around him.
Before him: a tall woman, her smile razor-thin, his sword in her grip.
She moved.
Fast.
A pivot—skirts flaring.
A step—her exposed leg tensing, muscles coiled.
A slash—blade cleaving air, sword pressure condensing into a vacuum arc.
Her hair fanned like ink as the strike finished, her wrist twisting—
Click.
—and sheathing the blade back at Allen's hip in one fluid motion.
Precise. Elegant. Lethal.
Without Flow Sense's hyper-perception, he'd have missed the details.
Technique: Vertical Split. A Water God-style iai strike, refined to perfection—meant to exploit an enemy's evasion. The same foundational style Allen had drilled in Buena Village.
Now, though, Allen had stripped his swordsmanship of excess, merging the three major styles into something seamless. No chanted techniques, just lethal efficiency.
Isolte, however, walked the orthodox path. The prodigy destined to lead the Water God dojo in the original timeline.
Allen gulped.
…Well. At least she's innovating. That last strike had hints of his own influence.
Clean execution.
He kept Flow Sense active.
The two bodies—one slumped on the table, one crumpled nearby—
—now headless.
Arterial blood geysered, painting the room in crimson rain.
Isolte hadn't needed to find openings. Their poses had been nothing but openings.
Thud.
The headless corpses toppled. The floor and table bore identical, surgical cleave marks.
Allen's face stiffened. He opened his eyes, staring at the bodies, then at Isolte.
She turned, smiling serenely, arms spread in a gesture eerily reminiscent of his mannerisms.
"What misunderstanding, Shishou?"
"Assassins deserve death."
"Right?"
Her grin widened, petals of blood dripping from her cheeks.
Plip. Plop.
"I did tell you not to look."
"But~"
She tilted her head, blush dusting her cheeks. "Now that they're like this, it's fine if you look. ♡"
"Though, it's only because Shishou scared them witless that I could finish them so easily. You're as amazing as ever."
Whether the corpses had been "scared" was debatable.
Sylphiette, however, was definitely terrified, her brain short-circuiting at the sight of two decapitated heads rolling.
Isolte's eyes—dark pools fixed solely on Allen—creaked open, her face flushed.
"Otherwise, I'd have had to keep your eyes shut longer. My speed and control still can't match yours… But I'll work harder."
Blood pattered onto Allen's clothes. His eyelid twitched.
Words failed him.
By now, it was obvious what Isolte had meant by "No peeking."
It wasn't about her—she stood before him unabashed.
It was about not letting him see the two "spicy" assassins before they became… unrecognizable.
Allen's throat dried. He butchered people without blinking, but watching the girls around him kill so casually? That was new.
He glanced at the corpses.
Blood still burbled from their necks.
Yeah. "Sexy" was no longer applicable.
Sylphiette finally rebooted, scrambling up while futilely tugging at her skirt. "Th-These two… from the bridge… They were assassins?!"
Allen nodded.
She fidgeted under his gaze—adjusting her skirt, stomping her heels, fiddling with her cat ears.
"B-But killing them here… Won't it cause trouble?"
"My apologies." Isolte bowed slightly, the picture of remorse—if one ignored her bloodstained lingerie and the carnage around her.
Allen looked away.
"You heard my interrogation earlier, right?"
Sylphiette stiffened. She'd heard it, but her brain had hyper-focused on "Allen talking to two half-naked women at night" and nothing else.
Allen continued, "Not killing them would've been worse. Isolte made the right call. I was just… surprised by how fast she acted. I planned to explain first, but turns out you two didn't… misunderstand much."
Sylphiette mumbled, stealing glances at Isolte, who kept smiling obliviously.
Water God stylists were information specialists. Isolte had heard every word of the interrogation. Logic and instinct agreed: Kill the assassins.
So she had.
Allen exhaled. "This is an open bounty. If we hadn't killed them, more would've—"
He flicked a sword-pressure gust, snuffing the candle.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Sylphiette sagged in relief. Now no one could see her embarrassing outfit…
Allen's eye twitched.
Flow Sense meant he saw everything.
Miss Sylphiette… You're missing the point. But fine.
Moonlight bled through the curtains, silvering Sylphiette's face as Allen spoke:
"Killing them risks alerting the city guards, cutting our time in Roa short. But Roa's night patrols cluster around the pleasure district. We're safe until dawn."
"Not killing them?"
"We wouldn't have gotten a minute's peace."
"Look."
He motioned to the window. Sylphiette blinked but let Isolte guide her forward.
Allen peeled back the curtain—
—revealing the street below.
Moonlit. Crowded.
Dozens of figures lurked in the shadows, their gazes fixed on the third-floor window.
Their window.
Allen's voice was flat. "If we'd let them leave unharmed, every assassin out there would've seen us as easy prey. No deaths? No consequences. They'd have harassed us like starving dogs."
"The guards' absence is no coincidence. This trap started the moment we stepped onto that bridge. Every 'fully booked' inn? Packed with these vultures."
"And if I'm right, the Asura Kingdom's assassin guild is based here—in this rotten 'Water Capital.'"
"Guilds need three things: people, money, and infrastructure. For an information-based assassin network? Roa's perfect. Close to the capital, a trade hub, corrupt to the core, and outside the Four Great Nobles' jurisdiction."
"The bounty's huge, and this is their turf. The guild set rules—a 'referee' to keep the chaos contained. What you see below is the result: a free-for-all, 'first kill takes all.' No riots, everyone gets a shot. Happy customers."
"The inn's 'host'? Probably the guild's overseer for tonight."
Sylphiette paled. "S-So what do we do?!"
"Do?"
Allen planted a foot on the windowsill.
And grinned.
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