Helena Blavatsky POV
If he truly believes I would follow him, he has made a mistake.
I was curious to see how his confident expression would change once he realized I didn't trail behind him but chose my own path instead.
I noticed the fog in London growing denser, suffocating my vision, making everything around me blur into obscurity.
A violent cough escaped me as small figures emerged from the thick mist, accompanied by the eerie laughter of a young girl.
This is not good...
No wonder that man was so confident; it seems that whatever choice I made was of little consequence to him.
When I attempted to chant a spell to disperse the fog, a blade suddenly plunged deep into my flesh, my eyes widening in shock.
Is this how it all ends?
The knife twisted inside me, and my body screamed in pain. Blood seeped from the wound, staining the fog with the scent of death.
The small figure of a girl drew closer, whispering words that left me utterly astonished.
"Mother..."
"Mother..."
As she prepared to deliver the final blow, the very atmosphere seemed to tremble, and a commanding voice resonated through the thick mist.
"O' Imperium Aegis!"
The fog around me pulsed, a wave of dense mana surging through it, and I felt a sudden force wrapping around my body.
The knife was forced back, the murderous intent of Jack the Ripper halted in its tracks. A golden barrier shimmered into existence around me, radiant and impenetrable.
My wound healed rapidly, and with newfound strength, I repelled the assassin's figure with the aid of Barthomeloi.
Chanting quickly, a grimoire appeared behind me, unleashing a stream of Ether towards the small figure.
Realizing that she was no match for me, or for Barthomeloi, she retreated into the thick smoke of the fog and vanished without a trace.
I inspected my wound in disbelief, then turned to Barthomeloi, my eyes filled with doubt.
"How?"
"It's like how you heal your own wounds, Helena. You may deceive the hounds with your powerful illusions, but I can reject reality itself. The shield I cast did more than just nullify her harm—it rejected the very concept of harm," he replied, his voice dripping with smug amusement.
"You should have noticed by now, Mahatma has forsaken you. A sneak attack from a mere assassin would never have been able to harm you, not with your divination. But guess what? You're no longer of use to your God."
I remained silent for a moment, then let out a long sigh in response to his words.
"I will follow you, Barthomeloi. It seems that nothing is safer than by your side."
"You were mistaken to believe that my place is the safest, Helena. I think your reliance on Mahatma has dulled your instincts. Never trust me—especially not me, among all the other scum in this cesspool called Earth." He laughed with a chilling certainty, as if he had just heard the most amusing joke when I described him as the safest option.
To his ears, my words were nothing more than a joke, but I was dead serious when I said this man was her safest bet.
Despite his warning not to trust him, I found myself drawn to him even more.
My impression of him only improved rather than decreased.
At the very least, he was honest.
From the beginning, he never claimed to have saved me out of goodwill; he did so as part of a calculated manipulation.
He never deceived me from start to finish.
Unlike the snakes and conspirators who skulk in the shadows, he made no effort to hide his intentions from me.
He wanted something from me, and he never pretended otherwise.
This honesty earned my trust; I admired it.
"Well, if you believe I shouldn't trust you, so be it," I replied firmly. "But I have my own judgment, Barthomeloi."
He blinked at my response, then simply added,
"So be it, then."
...
Lorelei Barthomeloi's POV
"Lord Zelretch, what do you think my brother intends to do with Helena Blavatsky? It is in the best interest of all magi—myself, you, and everyone else included—for her to be eliminated. Yet, my brother has chosen to intervene. Could it be that he wishes to side with her against us?"
After my subordinates reported the details of their mission, I posed my question to the venerable figure before me—Zelretch, to be precise. An immortal vampire and a wielder of the Second Magic, he is also a close friend of Brishisan, the founder of the Mage's Association.
Were it not for his reluctance to assume the mantle of Head of the Mage's Association, that position would have long been his.
However, even without the official title of leader, he commands the respect of us all, including Brishisan.
"What else could he seek, if not the knowledge and experiences she possesses concerning the Root?" Zelretch replied with a nonchalant tone.
Is that so?
"If she no longer serves any purpose, will he cease to obstruct us in eliminating her?" I asked, seeking confirmation.
"Don't ask me. You're the one who knows him best," Zelretch responded with a casual shrug.
I scrutinized him with suspicion.
I know that my brother would never act without first securing either Zelretch's neutrality or his support.
After all, no matter how powerful he is, even when combined with my own abilities, we are no match for Zelretch.
The only plausible reason for his audacity is the assumption that Zelretch is backing him.
But without concrete evidence, it would be unwise to consider Zelretch an enemy.
The question remains: what do my brother and Zelretch stand to gain from this?
Why are they intervening in that woman's affairs?
I let my thoughts delve deeply in search of an answer.
Zelretch, unperturbed, left quietly, as if he had never been there in the first place.