Chapter 43: Nail Clippers
The morning light grew, burning away the last of the forest mist, and the fields in the distance became clear in it.
About a quarter of an hour passed.
The carriage door finally opened.
Sebas stepped out.
His movement was exactly as it had been going in — steady, unhurried. But Lucian noticed that Sebas's lips were pressed fractionally tighter than before.
A very small change. Nearly invisible.
Sebas settled back onto the driver's bench and took up the reins. His movements were as smooth as ever, not a wasted beat.
"My apologies for keeping Mr. Lucian waiting." His voice was as even as it always was, nothing in it to read.
But Lucian could feel it — beneath that evenness, something held carefully down.
The hands gripping the reins had a little more tension in them. The leather was pulled just slightly straighter than before.
He had succeeded.
Lucian let out a long, quiet breath inside himself, his face showing nothing.
"Not at all." He turned his gaze back to the road ahead, his tone easy. "As long as Mr. Sebas has concluded his business."
Sebas didn't respond.
He kept his eyes forward, watching the road unroll through the morning light.
Lucian noticed that the questions about the capital had stopped. No more gentle probing about lords and guild activity.
Everything was proceeding as planned.
The Theocracy's side had come through.
Everything was perfect.
The corner of Lucian's mouth curved, and the smile that formed in the morning light was quiet and genuinely warm.
"Mr. Sebas."
"Yes?"
"We're coming up on the capital." Lucian raised a hand and gestured ahead. "The road from here is considerably safer — and my cavalry can't conveniently go further."
He stepped down from the driver's bench, his boots settling softly on grass still damp with the morning's dew.
"One moment — I'll go give the order."
He turned toward the formation. He had taken a few steps when Sebas's voice reached him from behind.
"Mr. Lucian."
Lucian stopped and turned back.
"This road," Sebas's voice was unhurried, carrying the particular weight that belongs to someone older, "I wasn't able to help you draw out those bandits. I apologize for that."
Lucian laughed. The expression it produced in the morning light was open and bright. He raised a hand and waved the remark aside, his tone as easy as if he were putting away something that had never mattered.
"Mr. Sebas needn't give it a second thought."
He came back two steps and looked up at the old man on the bench, his expression warm.
"As it happens, I'll be spending some time in the capital myself. Which means I'd be glad to show Mr. Sebas and Miss Solution some proper hospitality while we're both there."
He gave Sebas a small nod, turned, and walked back toward his cavalry at a long, easy stride.
---
Shalltear stood in the cave. At her feet were several bodies, what remained of a mercenary company. She glanced at the vampire attendant beside her, then at the passage that went deeper in.
"Is anyone else coming?"
Her fingertip played idly with a strand of her silver hair. The blood sphere still turned slowly overhead, and the cave's lantern light pulled her shadow long across the stone.
The attendant stepped aside. Footsteps came from the passage.
Shalltear tilted her head. The figure who emerged was a man in chainmail with a sword at his hip, moving with a walk that said he thought very well of himself — the specific variety of confidence that belonged to someone who believed themselves strong. She had seen it many times.
"You all seem to be enjoying yourselves."
She threw out the comment without much effort. The man asked whether they were spellcasters. Shalltear invoked the name of the Divine Ancestor Kain Abel; the man showed no reaction, and she didn't bother to explain.
He took up his stance. Shalltear raised her chin and sent her attendant in first.
The result was predictable. His sword found the attendant's shoulder, but the wound sealed itself before he'd finished the swing. He identified her as a vampire, ran through their immunities in a murmur — null this, null that — and finished with "none of it matters."
Moderately interesting. At least slightly better than the ones before him who'd only been good for screaming.
The attendant's charm eyes had no effect. The magic was evaded. Shalltear watched the two of them stall and began, gradually, to lose patience.
"Oh, swap out."
She snapped her fingers. The attendant stepped back at once.
The man gave his name. Brain Unglaus.
Shalltear paused for a moment, then understood — he was asking for hers. She lifted her skirt in a light curtsy. "My name is Shalltear Bloodfallen. Please allow me to enjoy this one-sidedly."
Brain didn't charge immediately. He sheathed his sword, dropped into a low stance, and let his breathing become slow and measured.
Shalltear waited for him to prepare. However much he prepared, the outcome wouldn't change.
She stepped forward — easy, unhurried, the pace of an afternoon walk. Three steps. Two. One —
A white flash.
The sword was out, driving for her throat.
Shalltear extended two fingers and pinched the flat of the blade.
Brain went perfectly still.
She lifted the sword to examine it at eye level, remarked briefly that it fell rather short of Cocytus's standard, then released her grip and stepped back to her original position.
"Clear enough? You won't be touching me without a Martial Art."
Brain called her a monster.
Shalltear smiled. Coming from him, the word sounded rather like a compliment.
She stepped forward again. This time Brain aimed low — at her ankle — and was faster than before. The blade swung down and she put her foot on it, pinning it to the cave floor.
The expression on Brain's face was pure disbelief.
Shalltear lifted her foot and stepped back.
"Are you about ready?"
Brain was past words.
The third time she asked the question, something close to pity had settled into her voice. Could this man genuinely not use Martial Arts? Or had what she'd just seen actually been everything he had?
Brain picked up his sword and charged with a shout.
Shalltear yawned. She turned his swing aside with the nail of her little finger. Once. Twice. Three times. Every stroke deflected by the same finger. She let her gaze drift to the ceiling of the cave, raised her right hand to cover a second yawn, and handled his attacks with only her left.
His sword never reached her.
"My, you've tired out already? Though I'll admit — these nail clippers really aren't sharp enough."
Brain stopped. He said something about having tried as hard as he could.
"Tried? What an empty thing to say. I was simply born this way. I've never had to work to be strong, so I wouldn't know what that means."
Brain laughed — but his face was wet.
Shalltear tilted her head at him, not quite understanding why he was crying. They'd only had a fight.
"...Satisfied? Shall we call it done?"
She was extending her little finger when Brain suddenly turned and ran, his retreating figure as panicked as a startled rabbit.
Shalltear blinked.
Then she broke into a laugh.
"Oh, are we playing tag? You're willing to play all sorts of games with me? Then I'll make sure to enjoy myself properly — hahahahahaha."
She set off after him, unhurried, at an easy walk.
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