What on earth had Kly been trying to recover!?
We'd fought countless bizarre monsters and Phantoms by now.
Self-propelled, man-eating plants. Enormous spiders over ten meters tall. Swarms of hundreds of small dragons attacking from the air. And full-body armor that lunged at you with practiced movements despite being completely hollow inside.
But even Ark, with all that experience under his belt, had never fought a mask that hijacked a person.
Eclair's figure was unchanged. Her silhouette alone hadn't changed much from before. But precisely because of that, the flesh mask covering her once-refined features was utterly horrifying.
"Ugh... my head... inside my head—"
Eclair swayed heavily, bracing a small hand against the wall.
Then she pressed into that hand with so much force it went white.
With a creaking sound, a small crack spidered through the wall. Inhuman strength. Ark could do the same, but the girl standing before him wasn't even a Hunter.
She hadn't neglected her training due to her family circumstances, but she hadn't been absorbing Mana Material either—so she shouldn't have been that strong.
No, more fundamentally— The dented armor of the guard sprawled on the floor. If she'd done that with fists and kicks alone, then at minimum, Eclair currently possessed the strength of a mid-tier Hunter.
Among Treasure Weapons, there were some that temporarily boosted a user's abilities, but he'd never heard of one that could explosively strengthen a single girl to that degree.
Eclair's limbs and body bore no noticeable wounds. The only thing different was her face—and there was no sign of the flesh mask corroding the rest of her body.
He crushed the lightning gathered in his left hand, dispersing it into mist. Holding back wasn't something he was bad at, but he couldn't very well unleash lightning powerful enough to completely subdue Hunters, Monsters, and Phantoms alike on the daughter of an aristocrat he knew.
He couldn't just fry the area with a storm of lightning the way he normally would during a dungeon dive.
"She responded to her name... Does she still have consciousness...?"
He didn't want to resort to violence if he could help it. From what he'd observed, it didn't seem like she'd been completely taken over.
He needed to assess the situation carefully.
Was it possible to pry the mask off? If so, how?
Eclair wore a sword at her hip, but she hadn't drawn it. That was precisely why the guards were still alive.
Things hadn't yet reached the point of no return.
Eclair was no longer looking at the guard she'd struck down.
"Ar...k... Do...no... Ah, thank goodness you came... I—"
"Lady Eclair... Can you hear me?"
A hollow voice called Ark's name. Her small body swayed as she took several steps toward him.
His companions had scattered naturally, holding their breath so as not to provoke her, closely observing the girl afflicted with the grotesque mask.
"Ark."
"I know."
At Venetta's voice, Ark gave a small nod.
The thing he most needed to prevent right now was the mask changing hosts.
If that mask had boosted the inexperienced Eclair to mid-tier Hunter levels, how much power would it grant if it parasitized Ark or one of his companions?
If it possessed Isabella or Venetta—Ark's companions—that would still be manageable. But if it took Ark himself, it was over. There wouldn't be many in the Imperial Capital who could stop him.
A Treasure Weapon attaching itself to a person of its own accord defied common sense, but the current situation already defied common sense entirely.
Eclair didn't answer Ark's call. She just kept muttering like she was talking in her sleep.
"I'm... strong... I've gotten strong. I won't lose to anyone anymore. Not a Hunter, not a knight, not even Father—never again—"
Her words carried a dark obsession bordering on mania.
Eclair Gradius had always been driven, but she'd never been that desperate for power. At the very least, she'd never sought strength badly enough to put on a mask for it.
For better or worse, Eclair was straightforward.
"L-Lady—!? Wh-what is—that appearance—"
A guard, drawn by the commotion, rounded the corner and froze at the sight before him.
Eclair screamed in a trembling voice.
"Shut... shut up—shut up, shut up, SHUT UP! Don't look at me with those eyes!"
It was a dark roar, laced with fury and anguish.
Eclair's posture lurched, her body pivoted, and a single step sent her surging forward.
Strength. Speed. From burst acceleration to perception—every one of them far exceeded what Ark had recently confirmed as Eclair's capabilities. The way she dove in with an extreme forward lean was the hallmark of an aggressive swordsman, yet her hand held no sword.
The guard, paralyzed by the unexpected sight of the lady he was supposed to protect, had no time to react. In an instant, she was inside his guard, and a small, clenched fist drove into his solar plexus.
A devastating blow. With the sound of buckling metal, the guard folded in half and went flying.
The sword Eclair carried was a practical weapon, uncharacteristic of nobility. It was meant for self-defense and hadn't even been dulled.
If she had enough strength to dent armor with her fists, drawing her sword would have surely bisected him right through his armor.
"'Slumber's Shackles'"
The moment Eclair turned her back, a broad beam of blue light shot toward her.
Isabella's magic. A spell that acted on the mind and forced the target into sleep. It only worked on certain targets, but among status-inflicting magic that could neutralize a foe in a single hit, it was exceptionally powerful.
At the very least, it wasn't something an ordinary person who had barely absorbed any Mana Material could withstand.
Eclair took the beam, fired from outside her awareness, unguarded. Her body swayed—but her feet quickly found solid purchase on the floor.
She endured it.
Isabella, who had been certain her spell would succeed, stared in disbelief. Eclair, completely unaffected, turned to look behind her.
Her bloodshot eyes weren't looking at Isabella—they were looking at Ark.
"...I was sure... I had her off guard!"
Mental magic's success rate skyrocketed when it struck from a blind spot in the target's awareness.
The fact that Eclair—who should have had no resistance—had powered through it was proof that the mask was strongly affecting her mind and had become an antibody.
Guards continued gathering—from behind Eclair and from Ark's side.
Exposed to countless stares, Eclair took a heavy step forward and screamed.
Her expression was hidden behind the flesh mask, but the emotion packed into her voice laid bare her mental state.
"No... why... why... don't look—nngh... I'll kill you... I'll kill you all—I'll kill every last one of you!"
Those shrill, uncharacteristic words sent ripples of unease through the surrounding guards.
The guards stationed at the manor were Gradius's own handpicked and trained soldiers. Their combat ability was high, but more importantly, they knew Eclair well. Some of them trained alongside her on a regular basis.
Though still inexperienced, Eclair never missed a day of training and never looked down on the soldiers—they deeply respected and adored her.
"Anyone who mocked me... who insulted me—"
Eclair clawed violently at her head, now completely covered by the grotesque flesh mask. But no blood flowed from the pulsating mask, and there was no sign of it peeling away.
This was a bad trend. Compared to before, Eclair was clearly growing more agitated.
And the guards who had arrived—faced with a girl whose entire face was engulfed in a flesh mask, looking every bit like a monster—they were losing their nerve.
Confusion and fear spread easily.
Ark stepped forward without a word.
"Everyone, fall back! I'll negotiate."
"...Understood. You heard him? Everyone, fall back!"
Almel, who had been tensed and ready to spring into action at Ark's side, caught his intent and raised his voice.
His many visits to the manor paid off. The guards surrounding them, hearing Ark's words, visibly relaxed and withdrew to a distance.
Eclair's clawing hands slowly came to a stop. Seeing that, Ark closed the distance even more slowly.
He didn't know the Treasure Weapon's exact effects, but nine times out of ten, it was some kind of mental influence. However, Eclair's consciousness wasn't completely gone.
Based on her behavior so far—her reactions to changes in the situation—the Treasure Weapon was probably amplifying specific emotions in exchange for increased power.
Her mind was clearly quite unstable, but if her reason remained, negotiation was still possible. If he could just calm her agitation, they might find another way.
If the empowered Eclair clashed with the guards as things stood, someone would die. That was the one thing he had to prevent.
Spreading both hands wide to show he meant no harm, Ark spoke to Eclair.
"Lady Eclair, please... calm down..."
"Hah... hah... Ar...k... Do...no..."
He took a deep breath and offered a reassuring smile.
As a magic swordsman, Ark's reflexes and physical abilities were exceptional. Eclair's speed, which he'd confirmed earlier, was considerable—but even so, there was enough margin for him to dodge even a close-range lunge.
Eclair took one step, then another, closing in.
There was no malice in her movements. To Ark, her steps looked like those of a lost child wandering aimlessly.
"I obtained it... I've obtained it."
"Yes."
"Now... with this... Ark Dono can become the strongest. That's what this is for. That's why I—fought so hard—so why—"
"...Thank you, Lady Eclair."
The words called Ark's name, but they sounded almost like she was talking to herself.
Ark carefully acknowledged the hidden sorrow of what sounded like regret.
From Ark's perspective, Eclair's choice had been wrong.
Strength—victory—wasn't something given to you by others; it was something you overcame on your own. Lord Gradius probably held the same view, and under normal circumstances, Eclair would have understood that too.
She had been swept up by reputation and carried away by emotion. But Eclair's voice clearly carried regret for that.
Eclair didn't truly want the mask's power. The fact that she hadn't drawn the sword she wore when repelling the guard was probably because, on some unconscious level, the girl was repulsed by it.
If that was the case, there had to be a way to tear the mask off.
What covered Eclair's face was, at the end of the day, a Treasure Weapon. It should have been powered by magic. Even if they couldn't forcibly pry it off, the odds were high that the mask would release over time.
Alternatively, asking Thousand Transformations—the one who had sent Ark here—might be the most reliable option.
Even if he needed to use tough love, this was way over the line. It might be acceptable with a fellow Hunter and Clan member, but this wasn't something you did to an aristocratic young lady.
If Ark absolutely couldn't remove it himself, then he'd have to force the truth out of the situation one way or another.
Ark slowly lowered his outstretched right hand and offered it down to Eclair, who stood much shorter than him.
"...Will you take it?"
"..."
A long silence. Through the eye sockets of the flesh mask, Eclair's eyes gazed up at Ark.
A hand, two sizes smaller than Ark's, trembled as it slowly rose.
"Ah... ah..."
From a distance, his companions held their breath, watching.
The fingertips approached Eclair's cheek. From afar it looked like one fused surface, but up close, the boundary between flesh mask and Eclair's face was clearly distinct.
Perhaps if more time had passed—if they hadn't made it in time—the mask and her face would have fully fused?
By the common understanding of Treasure Weapons, that shouldn't have been possible. It shouldn't have been—but remembering the words spoken at the Clan House, Ark shuddered slightly.
No, more than that—if he hadn't believed those words, if Ark hadn't come here, there would have been multiple casualties.
If it was Van Gradius, he might very well have made the call to kill his own daughter.
Just how much had that man anticipated? Kly, as far as Ark knew, wasn't a bad person. If anything, he seemed utterly ordinary—but looking at the current situation, maybe Ark had underestimated him.
And then, right before Eclair's fingertips touched the mask, they stopped dead.
"...What's wrong, Lady Eclair?"
"..."
The air turned taut in an instant. Eclair's eyes were no longer looking at Ark.
Her fully dilated pupils were fixed on—Ark's hip.
Where Eclair's gaze had landed was a single sword sheathed in white.
The sword that symbolized Rodan—the Holy Sword of Evil-Slaying, Historia.
The blade Eclair had asked to see every time they met. A Treasure Weapon that could cleave mountains and cut through seas, among sword-type Treasure Weapons it boasted particularly devastating power.
He'd had no intention of drawing it against Eclair—until now, he'd barely even been aware he was wearing it at his hip.
Suddenly, the words of Thousand Transformations echoed in his mind.
—Huh...? Oh, I don't need it. Actually, I think it'd be better if you didn't bring it.
"...Ah... aaa... ah... WHY—"
Eclair screamed in despair. The white blade flashed.
Ark took one step back, barely dodging the sharp slash she'd launched as if repelled. Eclair, with a swift motion, retreated one step.
In her hand was the sword she'd never drawn against the guard. Blood tears streamed from the flesh mask's eye sockets, and screams erupted from those around them.
"WHY!! Ark Dono! Why... won't you draw the sword against me—!"
"..."
Facing Eclair in her combat stance, Ark's smile had turned into a grimace.
§ § § "Man, we're off to a great start, Arnold."
"Who woulda thought that obviously cursed piece of junk would go for over a hundred million? The people in Zebuldia are generous, I'll give 'em that."
At Ei's words, the thief among the Party members let out a hearty laugh and agreed.
At a high-end inn in the Imperial Capital. In the attached tavern, Arnold and his crew were going wild, a leather bag containing two hundred million Gil in front of them.
Two hundred million Gil was far from pocket change, even for a Level 7 like Arnold. If he wanted to earn that through Treasure Hall exploration, he'd have to either delve into high-level Treasure Halls that saw few visitors, or focus on hunting lucrative Monsters. Either way, the expenses added up. Two hundred million in pure profit was no small feat.
With two hundred million Gil, he could buy solid weapons and armor. Useful Treasure Weapons for getting out of tight spots. Good wine and lavish meals would boost morale, or he could even buy a house as a base of operations.
For the Thunder Dragon of the Mist, who had just finished a long journey and were feeling the pinch financially, selling the flesh mask at such a high price was a bolt from the blue.
"I wondered what'd happen when Thousand Transformations showed up, but turns out they were a messenger of good fortune."
"As expected, you've really got the Midas touch, Arnold."
"...Don't get cocky. We still don't know much about this Imperial Capital."
He gave his subordinate's praise a gentle rebuke. Still, it was hard not to let it go to his head.
Putting the mask—which had no takers in Nebulnes—up for auction had been nothing but a whim. And from there, everything had fallen into place.
He'd been surprised when Thousand Transformations had offered to buy it, but everything after that felt like he was dreaming.
After all, a Treasure Weapon he'd been planning to sell for ten million Gil had gone for twenty times that—two hundred million.
Ei's expression clouded slightly, and he sighed.
"Still, with all that buzz, I figured it'd go for even higher... Doesn't look like a noble getting involved worked in our favor."
"For a Treasure Weapon we wanted someone to take off our hands so badly, two hundred million is more than enough."
"Well, I guess so..."
Admittedly, he'd been slightly disappointed when the bidding stalled at two hundred million, but it was best not to be too greedy.
Arnold grinned and said in a joking tone.
"Heh heh heh... Make this much and you start feeling like treating Thousand Transformations to a drink."
"Ha ha ha, you ain't wrong!"
Only a select few merchants and high-level Hunters stayed at this kind of upscale inn.
Nobody would bother picking a fight with the Thunder Dragon of the Mist, who looked every inch the Hunter.
Even after eating and drinking to their hearts' content, their newly exchanged white coins would barely make a dent. The inn cost about three hundred thousand Gil per night for eight people—they could live it up for a while without earning a thing.
But Arnold hadn't come to the Imperial Capital to sightsee. He'd come to make a name for himself.
"Listen up, this two hundred million is just a tailwind. We're prepping for the next Treasure Hall."
"Huh!? For real!?"
At their leader's words, the crew erupted in groans.
Two hundred million Gil was a fortune, but for high-level Hunters gearing up, it could evaporate in no time.
It couldn't replace a life, but for Treasure Hunters, a mountain of gold coins was all too fleeting.
Arnold looked at his companions' reproachful expressions, twisted his cheeks into a grin, and flashed a bestial smile.
"Of course. After we rest up a bit first."
The crew erupted in explosive cheers. A high morale was essential for a successful exploration.
Envisioning their future activities and prospects in the Imperial Capital, Arnold nodded with satisfaction.
§ With the night growing late, they returned to their room in high spirits.
Arnold had rented a large room designed for Parties. Being a high-end inn, its spaciousness rivaled a standalone house.
It was a bit wasteful for an extended stay, but it was worth every coin.
Leading his thoroughly drunken companions, they shuffled to the door.
"You didn't forget the money, right?"
"Of course not... It's right here!"
Ei hoisted up a large bag bulging with white coins to show him.
Arnold and his crew still weren't used to Zebuldia. They should learn more about the city before sitting down together to decide how to spend it.
Musing on this as he unlocked and opened the door, something large suddenly came flying out from inside the room.
"—!"
Reflexively, he raised his hand, clenched his fist, and deflected it. A hard impact. The deflected ceramic vase slammed into the wall and shattered.
The other drunken members stared blankly. Arnold switched to combat mode in an instant, readied the weapon slung on his back, and took the lead as they entered.
He'd been on guard precisely because of the large sum. A little digging would reveal that Arnold was the one who'd owned that mask.
But he'd dismissed the worry. There were hardly any bandits or criminal Parties capable of taking down a Level 7 Hunter.
The room's lights were on. An expansive entryway leading into a living area. A meeting space. Paintings on the walls and potted plants.
And there, at the table they used for pre-dungeon meetings, she sat—legs crossed imperiously in the chair Arnold always occupied.
The vase she'd thrown had been one of the decorations in the living area.
Tied-back pink-blonde hair he recognized at once. A strange skeleton mask, completely hiding her expression, turned toward Arnold and his crew.
The last thing he'd expected froze his thoughts.
The intruder made no effort to hide and spoke in an arrogant, imperious voice.
"Shut the hell up, you pieces of trash! Since when did you lot become important enough to keep Lady Lise waiting, huh? Lady Lise doesn't have time to waste on the likes of you! I'll kill you!"
"...What do you want!?"
That voice brought back an ugly memory. Suppressing his rage, he leveled the greatsword gripped in his right hand.
He was sure the lock had been properly secured. A high-end inn should have equally high security.
The other members, now grasping the situation, readied their own weapons.
They'd broken into the room where they were staying. If they got killed, they had no right to complain.
Seeing Arnold and his crew, the skeleton-masked figure seated beside Lise with hands folded spoke in a reproving tone.
"Calm down, Arnold. We mean you no harm. Please don't misunderstand—we're here to discuss our rightful share."