By this point, Sofia's attitude was exactly the same as when she'd been his apprentice.
A nameless dread crept over him. She showed no intention of drawing a weapon.
A member of the Mourning Specter. That alone should have made her an enemy, yet her demeanor was something Not had never seen before, even after witnessing the madness of countless mages over the years.
More than anything, her objective was... unclear.
For starters, Citry's actions couldn't be justified even if infiltration had been the goal. Sofia had become his apprentice nearly three years ago. She wasn't on the same level as Not or the other disciples, but her hands were certainly dirty enough to warrant the most severe punishment.
If her past deeds ever came to light, she'd be thrown into prison without so much as a chance to argue.
Yes. The very prison where that hunter had once been framed — South Isteria Great Prison, an impregnable fortress where convicted hunters and criminals who had absorbed so much Mana Material they'd become uncontrollable were locked away.
Even now, most of the ones who'd escaped hadn't been found. Security had only tightened since that incident. Once you were inside, you were never coming out.
"Your motive is... revenge against the Guild, for framing you and tarnishing your name!?"
Revenge against the Imperial Capital. He could at least understand that kind of motive. Blazing fury sometimes drove people regardless of personal interest.
To his strained, barely-audible question, Citry lowered her gaze and spoke in a voice close to tears.
"Can't you understand, Master? My motive was... the pursuit of knowledge, nothing more. To unravel the laws of the world and obtain the truth, sometimes you must use methods that aren't sanctioned. I learned a great deal from your willingness to use any means necessary without hesitation. Master and I — we might be... a little alike."
Alike. At that word, Not understood everything.
Everything this woman said was the truth. She hadn't become his apprentice for infiltration or anything of the sort — she'd done it to satisfy her insatiable thirst for knowledge, her drive to explore.
The fact that someone was a high-level hunter, or that something was forbidden by law, or that it was a taboo that could destroy the world — none of it mattered. This woman before him had descended into the Tower of Akasha purely for her own sake.
"Revenge... don't you think it brings nothing but ruin? And besides — framed?"
— And the "Worst of the Worst" before him was now trying to clean up that mess.
"I really needed excellent materials. Master, I've been thinking about this for a long time, but golems are just too expensive. Akasha is a masterpiece, but even with all that time, money, and effort poured into creating it, if it still requires human hands to operate, it can't handle the traps of high-level Treasure Halls or..."
Phantom Her tone was as though she were simply presenting research findings.
Overwhelmed, Not backed away step by step, putting distance between them.
"You think... you can escape from me!? From me, who stood before you!?"
"Master, you're a first-rate mage. If I could have improved you — I might have been able to brag to Lucia-chan. But I can't very well let you go. And Akasha too... I really wanted it. It's probably already been confiscated by the Empire by now. That's a real shame."
There wasn't a trace of malice in her words.
Even with a staff pointed at her, she didn't flinch — she just sighed with genuine regret.
Her deep blue eyes, a different shade from what he'd heard in prior intelligence reports, reflected the tip of his staff.
"Actually, within the Mourning Specter, I'm the weakest. As Master knows, I don't seem to have any talent for face-to-face combat. I know it's a strange thing to say, but — I might actually lose. If possible, I'd like you to surrender..."
Hearing those timidly spoken words, Not ignored them entirely and assembled the magic he'd cast countless times before.
Flame Shot — the most basic spell in any ordinary mage's arsenal.
Fast to cast, high in威力 — a spell where the practitioner's skill was heavily reflected, and in the hands of a master like Not, it could turn two or three people to ash in an instant without so much as an incantation.
A low-difficulty attack spell. The formula was ready in a heartbeat.
Citry still hadn't even stood up. At this distance, dodging was impossible.
He let his guard down not at all. This was not the kind of opponent you could afford to be careless around.
He was about to release the magic power assembled within his body without hesitation when — a searing, electric pain suddenly shot through his entire body.
The sudden shock made his hand go limp. His staff clattered to the floor with a sharp ring. But he didn't have the composure to care about that.
He crumpled to the ground, a muffled scream escaping his lips as something seemed to writhed through his insides. From above, he heard Citry's voice — relieved.
"It worked...
Sage , it seems to affect you just fine, too..."
"Wha... t... did you... do!?"
Citry plucked another piece of remaining chocolate, popped it into her mouth, and spoke.
"It's a potion that suppresses the activation of magic. If you disrupt the mind with pain, the constructed spell dissipates before it can be released. Hunters are used to pain, but Master isn't."
"!? So... from the very beginning — you planned to betray me!?"
She'd drugged him!? But when she'd offered the chocolate, the conversation hadn't even progressed that far yet.
Citry watched Not glare at her through twisted agony, and her face wrinkled slightly.
"It's just preparation. Master should know this. What matters most for an Alchemist is... preparation and cleanup. I'm weak, and Master is not someone you can afford to be careless around, so even without any intention of betraying you, I'd still take precautions like this."
This woman was a mage. An archetypal mage. She trusted no one — not even the teacher she'd studied under for years. A slave to knowledge. A seeker of truth.
And she felt utterly natural about trampling others underfoot. No one was more suited to the Tower of Akasha.
Enduring the lingering pain, Not used his staff to rise unsteadily to his feet. Only then did Citry finally place a hand on the table and stand.
"We should be finishing up soon. There are things I need to evacuate before the Empire confiscates them... this was so sudden that my preparations aren't nearly complete... I'll be more careful next time."
She was probably telling the truth.
Alchemists were far weaker in combat compared to mages. In battle, the standard approach was to deploy golems or artificial lifeforms, but Citry had no allies behind her.
If she could overpower him in direct combat, there would have been no need to drug him in the first place.
True to that reasoning, Citry's movements were cautious as she slowly approached him.
There was no using magic now. Trying again would be pointless. Even if he'd known in advance — amid pain like being struck by lightning, he couldn't focus his mind.
He clung to consciousness through the remnants of agony.
But he still had options. Just as Citry had prepared for suppression before a fight had even broken out, Not too had survived countless battles over the years.
He slipped his right hand inside his coat. He pulled a ring from an inner pocket and slid it onto his finger. Citry saw this and spoke in a gentle voice.
"It's all right. There's no need to worry about anything. I won't kill you. I will — erase all your memories, but... I've been learning from Thousand Transformations, and I too aspire to Philanthropism."
"Don't — underestimate me, Sofia!!"
Citry's eyes widened, her gaze snapping to Not's hand.
On his withered-branch-like index finger sat a ring adorned with crystal. But unlike an ordinary gemstone, deep within its colorless transparency, a green flame flickered.
It was a Treasure Weapon. The trump card chosen by Not Koclea, who held absolute confidence in his magical prowess and saw no need for any other weapon.
It was a Treasure Weapon that could — at the cost of tremendous strain — stock a single spell and release it at will.
What it held was an original spell of Not's own creation.
The trump card that had sent his powerful students, all possessing formidable magic resistance, straight to the underworld.
Silent Death.
The spell previously loaded within it was released, and the crystal returned to colorless transparency. There was no dramatic sound or flash of light.
Citry's eyes went wide. She swayed dramatically, taking the table with her as she crashed to the floor.
A poisonous mist synthesized through mana — it lacked spectacle, but it was silent, colorless, and crept in to claim its victim in a single blow.
A trump card designed for use against people. It left no opening for antidote spells or potions.
The pain that had lingered was now gone. He didn't know what drug she'd used, but it was unlikely to have permanent effects.
More important now was to hide his tracks. Citry had said she hadn't told anyone, but there was no proof that was true.
He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and called out to Sofia, who lay face down on the floor.
Strangely, the anger he'd felt moments ago had subsided. Filled with a kind of pity, he spoke to the girl.
"You fool... Sofia. If you'd stuck with Akasha, you could have achieved so much..."
"That's... not possible. We're... friends, after all."
"What!?"
— Why is she still alive!?
Not took a step back toward the exit. But before him, pressing her hands to the floor, Citry rose with the movements of something undead.
She swayed but managed to stand on both legs, coughed several times, and looked at him.
Peering through the gaps in her pink-blonde hair, her eyes watched Not. Her voice was trembling, but the emotion behind it hadn't changed from before.
"Mana poison... impressive. Haa haa... I've built up resistance to this type, but it's been a while, so... it still worked a little."
"That's... impossible. There's no way you could still move..."
"Before, in a Treasure Hall, I once had my consciousness taken all at once... so I learned my lesson. I had everyone build up resistance gradually by being poisoned in small doses..."
In all his time, Not had only used this spell a handful of times. But every single time, it had unerringly killed his target.
It might be less effective sometimes, but there was no way someone could stand up again this quickly.
Citry shook her head vigorously, slapped her pale cheeks, and then — incredibly — smiled at him.
"Is this the end, Master? Will you surrender? That Treasure Weapon of yours — I'll keep it as a souvenir for Klye. He was the only one who slipped away, so... it felt wrong to go back empty-handed."
"Damn... it!"
"Oh..."
When Not suddenly broke into a sprint, a small voice rose behind him.
Her attitude was absolutely not one you'd direct at an enemy. That unguarded, innocent smile — overlapped with the Thousand Transformations' own.
He still had a card to play. Silent Death hadn't been ineffective. Citry's footing was unsteady, like a drunkard's.
Now was the time to — run. Run, and wait for the potion's effects to wear off.
He still had hideouts. Places no one but Not knew about. And if he could rendezvous with other members of the Tower of Akasha, a comeback was possible.
If he was caught here — Citry would "deal with" him in the most mage-like way imaginable.
Perhaps in a way even more terrifying than death.
"I've been spending all this time telling you everything, trying earnestly to persuade you — and this is my final request. I don't want to have to solve things with my fists like big sister! I'm not the Worst of the Worst anymore!"
Those absurd words of genuine persuasion struck his back.
He could think of nothing but escape. No — it didn't matter if he couldn't escape. He could be captured by the Empire. That was a hundred times better than being caught by Citry.
He grabbed the doorknob and threw his body against it, bursting through the door.
Outside. If he could reach people, at worst that woman wouldn't dare make a move.
He cursed his stumbling legs and started up the stairs to the surface when —.
Something cold fell from above.
Rain? Before he could even form that question, his strength drained away as if it had been sucked out of him.
He didn't know why he was here. What he was doing.
He had to run. The command his brain fired off was interrupted midway and never reached his body.
His consciousness warped as if dissolving.
The last thing Not heard was a muffled scream, as if filtered through something thick.