She walked briskly down the wide corridor, being careful not to let her yukata become disheveled.
Having been at the inn for over a week now, she knew its layout. Nearly all the staff were familiar faces.
The floor-length yukata made running extremely difficult, but she decided to treat it as training.
She couldn't imagine what benefit lounging around on tatami mats and eating sweets with tea could possibly hold for Tinno—of course, she meant benefits other than "happiness"—but she set that question aside.
Tinno was merely a Level 4 Hunter. She couldn't possibly comprehend Mastaa's deeper reasoning, and all she could do was faithfully follow instructions.
That was how it had always been, and how it would continue to be. Tinno didn't fully understand Mastaa's words, but she trusted Mastaa.
She passed through the empty wood-paneled corridor and headed toward the front desk. A corner of her mind had been counting the whole time.
She'd been told ten minutes, so she had to be back within ten minutes. Mastaa probably wouldn't scold her even if she went over, but this was a matter of Tinno's pride.
Just as she reached the lobby, a staff member in a yukata was emerging from behind the reception counter.
It was a female staff member wearing the establishment's distinctive grey yukata. Heavy makeup, short-cut hair. With that unfamiliar face and bearing, Tinno's eyes widened for an instant.
The staff member seemed surprised by Tinno's appearance too—her perfectly groomed eyebrows twitched slightly.
There were no other guests in the lobby. The security guard who was always stationed at the entrance was nowhere to be seen, nor was there a single familiar face of the staff members who normally directed respectful gazes toward Tinno for having slain a dragon.
The scene itself was perfectly peaceful, yet for some reason Tinno sensed something off about the situation.
The female staff member facing her approached with a pleasant smile.
"Well now... Is there something I can help you with, miss?"
"...I'd like some sweets and tea. Something sweet."
"Certainly. I'll bring them to your room right away."
"That would be helpful."
The quality of service at such a high-end inn was reliable, as expected. They'd be delivered promptly.
She let out a quiet breath of relief and turned around.
—And then, without breaking stride, she checked behind her in a fluid motion.
It must have been an unexpected move, because the pleasant expression on the female staff member's face hardened. In her right hand was a small knife that hadn't been there moments ago.
"!"
The knife came slashing down, but Tinno wasn't sluggish enough to take the blade to the face. She took a single step back, easily evading the roughly ten-centimeter blade. The blade was painted black, the handle was short, and it had virtually no reach.
The weapon was clearly not designed for close-quarters combat. It wasn't the kind of thing used against Phantoms or Monsters, but Hunters—Tinno and her kind—called knives with short blades, excellent portability, and that weren't meant for throwing "assassin knives."
It was an assassination weapon, not meant for defeating Monsters or Phantoms, but for ambushing and killing humans.
The woman's face twisted in shock.
Tinno felt no agitation. Simply as she'd been trained, she unconsciously channeled the spirit of a war cry, stepped forward, and threw a punch.
The staff member's eyebrows twitched for an instant upon taking the blow to the chest. Tinno bit her lip at her own inadequacy.
Too shallow. She'd failed.
The "enemy," who had jumped back a step to cushion the impact, clutched her chest and reset her stance.
There was almost no damage. The restrictive yukata had made her step-in too soft. In her usual outfit, she would have dealt at least some meaningful damage. But if Tinno were her sister, she would have incapacitated the opponent in a single breath even in the same outfit, in the same position.
The enemy before her hadn't changed in appearance at all. There was no killing intent or fighting spirit visible in her likeable features, yet her bearing was far too refined for any ordinary person.
"Oh my, oh my—however did you figure it out?"
"I was told to be back in ten minutes. I don't have time for idle chatter."
The reason she'd figured it out went without saying—it was the fruit of her education. Tinno was constantly trained to remain vigilant, ready to fight at any moment, even if those around her turned hostile.
And in truth, it was also drawn from the firsthand experience of her sister, Liliz Smart.
She'd been genuinely surprised when a dragon appeared at the hot springs, but an invisible security guard, unfamiliar staff—if this many red flags accumulated, even the inexperienced Tinno would be on her guard.
Fortunately, the woman before her didn't seem that strong. At the very least, if Tinno fought her one-on-one, even without being able to unleash her full power, Tinno would have the advantage.
The ability to conceal killing intent was impressive, but assassins were fundamentally suited to taking down stronger opponents in a single blow—they were poorly suited to head-on combat. Against a Hunter not accustomed to fighting humans, it might catch them off guard, but Tinno had been beaten senseless by her sister and was well-practiced in person-to-person combat.
The woman let out a small sigh as Tinno settled into her fighting stance, regulated her breathing, and glared.
"I give up... I never thought there'd be such a small bodyguard—if I'd realized, I could have spared myself that pointless pain..."
"..."
"Hey, if you don't mind, could you tell me? You're... the Mourning Specter, right? Which one—Liliz or Citry?"
"I have no intention of telling you my name."
The wildly off-target words hit her with a measure of shock, though she didn't let it show. There was no reason to give the opponent unnecessary information.
The woman sighed softly at Tinno, who continued to glare with sharp eyes.
"Well, fine. This is still within the expected range... Hey, you guys!"
Her brows furrowed as reinforcements appeared one by one from behind the counter.
There were ten of them. Ages and genders varied, but few had particularly intimidating faces. If you removed Hunters from the people walking the streets of the Imperial Capital and randomly grabbed ten, you'd end up with roughly this kind of lineup.
They were a large organization. Tinno suppressed her battle excitement and turned her mind to strategy.
Their individual abilities weren't high compared to Tinno's, but their bearing was natural and refined. Without training, that wasn't possible.
Their relatively low abilities were probably deliberate—a means of deceiving others' perceptions. They were limiting their Mana Material output and channeling what remained into disguise. Without that, this level of camouflage would be impossible. She didn't believe these people possessed Thousand Transformations-level disguise ability.
They weren't amateurs. They'd assembled people who could blend into their surroundings without raising anyone's suspicion. But the fact that they'd mistaken Tinno for the Mourning Specter suggested their intelligence was incomplete.
One of the reinforcements—a boy who looked younger than Tinno—looked up at the woman with a surprised expression.
"It's a failure?"
"As expected of the Mourning Specter. She has incredible... instincts. Nothing like those peace-rotted knights. No—was it 'be back in ten minutes'?"
"Knowing the name of the Mourning Specter and still attacking—"
How reckless.
Even opponents who could defeat Tinno would be subdued by a single finger from Mastaa.
True, there were many of them. But compared to the despair she'd felt the instant she saw the City of Ten Thousand Demons, what were a mere handful of humans?
Tinno had already made it through the Thousand Trials.
She steeled her resolve. She had no experience fighting this many opponents at once, but even with ten people, not all ten would attack simultaneously. If she was Tinno Shade, she could do this.
Her preparations were complete. She slipped her right hand through the opening of her yukata and drew the short sword from the belt wound around her torso. She hadn't been carrying it until now, but the battle in the large bath had made Tinno grow.
Tinno was skilled in hand-to-hand combat, but she'd also trained in short swordsmanship. When facing numbers, sharpness was essential.
She had no intention of interrogating them. Mastaa would already know their true identities anyway. The only task Tinno had been given was to obtain the tea and sweets and return within ten minutes.
Those who had appeared before her were nothing more than obstacles in the trial set before Tinno.
The unidentified "enemies" surrounding her didn't so much as change their expressions at the sight of her weapon. The woman who'd been playing the part of staff spoke as if mocking her.
"How sad, knowing nothing at all—this suggests Thousand Transformations' foresight isn't all that impressive either."
"..."
Pathetic provocation. She had no intention of taking the bait.
As Tinno lowered her brows in irritation while focusing her mental energy, the woman said something unbelievable.
"Listen here—we've already captured two members of the Mourning Specter. No matter how famous your Party is, with all of you scattered, you don't stand a cha—"
Her extreme concentration sharpened her senses. She could see the others behind the woman moving their arms with the slightest, most minimal of movements.
"None."
That word shook Tinno for a fraction of a moment, but it quickly turned to noise.
Of the knives thrown from all four directions, she dodged four by stepping back, deflected one with her short sword, and then Tinno charged hard at the insolent group before her.
§ "Whoa, whoa... Dodging from that position— The ambush was perfect, but Hunters really are monsters, huh. Good call targeting the strongest one first."
"...Who are you?"
The man twisted his lips into a grin. Though Tinno glared at him, his expression didn't waver in the slightest.
He was an average-built man. He carried few belongings and didn't look like a Hunter, but his movements were far from ordinary. Grimacing at the pain in his back, he drew the sword at his waist. The man's companions had spread out, surrounding the Thunder Dragon of the Mist's carriage, smirking all the while.
It was fortunate that Arnold had instinctively twisted his body at the last moment, deflecting the blade from his vital points. The wound on his back was by no means shallow, but Arnold too was a seasoned Hunter. Losing blood for too long would be bad, but a wound of this degree wouldn't hinder him in combat.
His golden greatsword was already in hand. The man's movements were certainly nimble, but not enough to trouble a Level 7 Hunter.
Ei and the others had already entered combat formation. Drawing their weapons and readying themselves, they stared down the man—but his nonchalant attitude remained unchanged.
His identity was unknown. Arnold had no memory of making enemies in Zebuldia.
"You're not Thousand Transformations, are you? I heard he was a handsome guy— damn it, what lousy luck... I can't believe a high-level Hunter was in this town... But our rule is not to send everyone out when we raid a town..."
Thousand Transformations?! Could that man's schemes be behind this again? Anger burned away the dull ache in his body.
But even through that rage, Arnold felt a powerful sense of unease.
Something was wrong. An attack in broad daylight was wrong, but attacking Arnold's group in the first place was idiotic.
The man and his companions were reasonably skilled, but they were outclassed by the Thunder Dragon of the Mist. They shouldn't be so inexperienced that they couldn't tell the difference in power— He'd gotten that far in his thoughts when his vision suddenly lurched violently.
For a moment, he thought it was an earthquake. It wasn't.
He drove the greatsword downward into the ground, bracing himself, barely managing to stay upright. An indescribable tremor swept through his entire body, and all his strength drained away.
"Arnold!"
"Whoa, whoa—finally kicked in, huh— It's a potent one made for magical beasts, but you're really tough."
Poison. And not just any poison—one powerful enough to work on a Level 7 Hunter like Arnold.
Treasure Hunters easily enhanced their physical abilities through the power of Mana Material, but the trade-off was that their resistance-type capabilities often suffered.
Arnold could neutralize any poison available on the market designed for humans, but what he'd been hit with was no half-measured thing.
The heat drained from his body. There was no pain, which made it all the more unsettling.
What had he hit him? —They'd been acting all relaxed... just waiting for the poison to take effect on me.
Gritting his teeth, he gathered every ounce of strength and lifted his head. The man stared at him with the expression one might reserve for a strange wild beast.
At some point, tourists who had been nearby had gathered around Arnold's carriage.
Not ten or twenty—more than that. Most carried no conspicuous weapons, and among them were some dressed like merchants.
Every one of them was directing curious gazes at Arnold's group.
Why wasn't anyone making a sound? For an instant, the question flashed through his mind, but he quickly realized the answer.
It wasn't that they were choosing to remain silent. All of them— "Allow me to introduce ourselves. It won't make a difference, but we live in the shadows—though every now and then, we'd like to make a name for ourselves, just like you Hunters."
The man bared his teeth in a grin. His eyes looked down on Arnold with insolent arrogance.
Those surrounding them each drew weapons from beneath their clothes. The city guards who should have been protecting the town showed no sign of coming.
"We are—Barrel. We slip through the shadows like ghosts and steal everything—people, possessions, all of it—like flames. The strongest Thief guild, and the ones who are about to kill the strongest."