A deathly silence hung in the air of the tunnels beneath London. The gray brick walls bore the scars of a century's passing.
Compared to the bustling metropolis above, this dust-choked corridor felt worlds away from the mortal realm. The drainage channels and walkways were almost unnaturally clean, bearing none of the filth one would associate with a sewer; it was, quite literally, a "hell" for rats and mosquitoes.
At this moment, a peculiar trio was making its way along a maintenance crawlspace designed for repair workers.
The man leading the group was exceptionally burly. He wore a bespoke suit that fit him perfectly, though the massive contours of his muscles were still clearly visible with every swing of his arms. Following him was a blonde girl with her hair swept up in a bun. She wore a burgundy off-the-shoulder evening gown. She lacked flashy jewelry, carrying only a small, elegant red-and-gold clutch bag.
Compared to them, the youth in the navy-blue suit looked entirely out of place. The synthetic fabric of his suit gave off an unnaturally stiff sheen under the emergency lights. The jacket was far too tight across the shoulders, and the padding sat at a sharp, awkward angle.
The already poor silhouette of his trousers was further ruined by his right hand, which he kept shoved in his pocket. Between his lopsided collar, a poorly-proportioned tie, a black face mask, and the briefcase clutched in his left hand, he didn't look like he was heading to a gala. If he'd been carrying a black umbrella, he would have looked exactly like a professional mourner who had wandered into the wrong building.
"According to intel, our target will appear as the penultimate item of the auction."
The man's voice was dry and stiff, his tone slightly warped by long periods of silence. He slowed his pace, dropping back to walk beside the listless youth.
"Stay sharp. Don't let your eyes fail you when the time comes..."
Clearly, the remark was aimed at a specific person, but the target seemed oblivious, offering no reply.
(Tch. I know this guy is an indispensable appraiser, but what is with this attitude...)
The man glanced at the boy's slouching posture. There wasn't a hint of urgency in him, no sign that they were on a mission. The man's voice sharpened.
"Vesper? Are you even listening?"
"Hmm..."
The one called Vesper gave a casual grunt of acknowledgement. However, his eyes were wandering aimlessly, making it hard to believe he'd actually processed a word the man said.
The man sighed, catching a look of equal exasperation from the girl. He looked at Vesper's black briefcase and felt a headache coming on. Given the nature of this mission, both he and the girl were the type to fight with small, concealable tools. Vesper was clearly the opposite extreme.
(I guess he's the type who likes to lug his weapons around in the open...)
He hadn't worked with Vesper before, but he'd heard the reputation of this "outsourced contractor." As a freelance spiritual item artisan, Vesper provided customization and maintenance services for many magicians belonging to Necessarius. Compared to the staff at the "Sword Sanctuary," who were often stifled by bureaucracy and moved at a glacial pace, Vesper's "pay me and I'll handle the rest" attitude made him quite popular among the younger magicians.
(Is there a wand in there? Or a ritual dagger?)
He knew spiritual item artisans were generally "indoorsy" types—much like alchemists or feng shui masters—the kind of people who couldn't step onto a front line without carrying a hundred different items. Considering their job was to bid on a specific item, carrying a briefcase to an auction gala wasn't entirely suspicious.
(I am definitely not going to get along with this guy. Not in any sense of the word...)
Watching Vesper stare blankly at a stray piece of debris floating in the clear water channel, the man felt his temples throb. But since they hadn't entered the auction venue yet, he didn't want to lecture him about "staying focused." Ultimately, security and handling potential conflict was their job, not the artisan's.
"Let the professionals handle the professional work. We'll deal with any complications..." The man forced a friendly—or at least non-hostile—expression for the sake of the mission. "You just need to verify the state of the item. Understand?"
The underlying message was clear: they were magicians of the "Church of Necessary Evil," the combat specialists of the English Puritan Church—the "Regulars." Vesper, as an artisan, was merely a non-combatant brought in for a specific technical need. His only job was to confirm the item's authenticity on-site and seal it once the transaction was complete.
"Relax. This isn't a combat mission. Just make sure the target doesn't act up before we deliver it safely to the Sword Sanctuary."
"So, I don't need to worry about the thing in the water?"
"!!??"
Almost the second Vesper spoke, the crystal-clear water in the channel began to churn like thick syrup. Several pillars of water erupted with a sound like machine-gun fire, hurtling toward the trio on the walkway.
In that same instant, the girl reacted with instinctual speed, flicking something from a hidden compartment in her clutch.
They were two thumb-sized test tubes filled with a purplish-red powder. They spun through the air and collided perfectly above the water channel. With the crisp sound of shattering glass, the powder cascaded down like fine silk under the warm glow of the emergency lights. The moment the erupting water pillars touched the "powdered silk," they collapsed, dissolving back into harmless droplets.
It happened so fast that the first exchange was over in less than a single breath.
"What a sharp little boy~"
"Get back!"
The man stepped in front of Vesper, shielding him while slamming two oddly shaped objects toward the water.
(Dice?)
Vesper caught a glimpse of them—two bronze dice. One was a tetrahedron (a four-sided die), and the other had an unusual shape that made its face-count hard to discern at a glance. They didn't sink; instead, they hovered briefly on the surface. In that split second, Vesper saw the engravings on their faces.
(Two dice. One determines the suit, the other the number... they form a Minor Arcana set? But how does he retrieve them?)
The face of the four-sided die pointing toward Vesper showed a small sword. The other showed the Roman numeral IX. The combination was...
"Some awakenings are destined to pierce the skull, the throat, and the heart. To think is pain, to speak is pain, to feel is a deeper pain. This is the Trial of the Principle of Thorns!"
The moment the man finished his incantation, the fog in the sewer seemed to vanish like steam wiped from a mirror. Near a drainage grate in the distance, a figure in a nun's habit coalesced out of the mist. Her features were blurred, but her silhouette was unmistakable.
"As expected of—"
The girl didn't let her finish. Before the purple "curtain" of powder had even settled, she plucked another slender tube from her bag and hurled it with a snap of her wrist at the mottled stone ceiling above.
Ting!
The glass shattered, releasing a fine, ash-gray powder this time. It bloomed like a cloud, and the moment it touched the lingering purple silk in the air...
BOOM!
It wasn't a deafening blast, but a heavy, oppressive roar of combustion. Where the gray and purple met, a blinding silver-white flame erupted. The light was so intense it bleached the texture of the bricks, and the rising heat warped the air, as if a miniature sun had been awakened underground. The light turned into a wall of surging fire, lunging toward the misty figure.
"Necessarius elites..."
Before that cloyingly sweet voice could finish, several silver lines cut through the air, piercing through the wall of fire toward the mist-woman's vitals.
Pong! Pong! Boom!
The steel balls tore through where the figure's heart and throat should be, slamming into the stone wall behind with heavy thuds. The wall of fire followed, swallowing everything in an orange-red inferno.
"Is it over?"
"Not yet."
Whether out of trust in her comrade or professional habit, the girl didn't look back to ask Vesper why. She immediately reset her stance, a new test tube in hand, and stepped back to guard Vesper, leaving the front to the man with the steel balls.
The light from the explosion didn't last long. Within a few breaths, the wall of fire flickered out, leaving only drifting sparks. Before they could confirm the kill, a provocative voice rang out again.
"Mmm It doesn't seem to have had much effect"
"Some fulfillments are destined to build high walls, golden crowns, and silent feasts. Celebration is a cage, satisfaction is a cage, those eight empty cups are the deepest cage. This is the Coronation of the Principle of Gold!"
"?"
The water in the channel, "contaminated" by the purple and gray powders, suddenly transformed into several tentacles of molten gold. They slammed down from all directions toward the misty figure and the surrounding area, creating a series of deafening booms that echoed through the tunnel.
(I see. He intentionally threw the dice into the water channel...)
Vesper watched the man as he kept a side-eye on the water, instantly deducing the strategy.
(As long as the fourteen-sided die rolls with the current, he can't choose the 'number,' but the 'suit' will always be one of the three non-contact faces of the tetrahedron. This way, he doesn't need to retrieve the dice and can maximize the avoidance of 'symbolic conflict'...)
Compared to the two in the heat of battle, Vesper looked like a casual bystander, leisurely analyzing their techniques.
"Mmm Still a miss? I wonder why"
(Tch. Is she the type that uses mist to create illusions or clones?)
The man gripped several more steel balls, staring at the misty figure that remained unscathed. That wasn't a physical body, but his attacks hadn't been targeting physical matter. Those golden tentacles should have disrupted the mana flow of anything they hit. Whether that figure was the magician herself or a construct, it should have been affected.
(Neither Claire nor I have true 'true-sight' capabilities. If large-scale attacks can't flush her out, we should retreat... !!??)
Just as the man was about to signal Claire and Vesper to pull back to open ground, Vesper suddenly stepped past him. He walked toward the misty figure at a leisurely pace.
"Vesper? Get back—"
Before the warning could leave his lips, several "water jets" erupted without warning from a nearby drain, aimed straight for Vesper's neck.
(The number is Five. Swords—no, Pentacles... Dammit, too late!)
The man tried to use his spell to intercept, but the attack was too close to Vesper. He couldn't react in time.
"Merciful Father, we thank Thee, for Thy only begotten Son Jesus Christ was baptized in the Jordan, setting for us an example of obedience..."
"!?"
The destructive water jets shattered the moment they touched Vesper's skin, turning into harmless splashes at his feet. Forget being wounded—not even the hem of his suit was wet.
"Oh?"
The misty figure seemed to find this interesting. With a soft "Oh," the water in the channel began to churn unnaturally again. A new wave of attacks was brewing.
(Dammit, the brief didn't say we'd run into someone this troublesome! Jack and I aren't built for this!)
Claire didn't care about her elegant appearance anymore. She scrambled to find usable tubes in her clutch, but the bag was too small. She'd already used three, leaving her in an awkward position with no more immediate options.
Suddenly, a massive water serpent surged from the channel. This time, it didn't aim for Vesper directly; it slammed into the stone ceiling right above him. A massive torrent of water, carrying jagged shards of broken stone, came crashing down with unstoppable force.
(Oh no, the powder was washed away...)
Thrown into a panic by Vesper's erratic behavior, Jack tried to seize control of the water with his magic, but he realized too late that Claire's powders had been carried downstream by the current. He could only scream a warning.
"Vesper, move!!!!"
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