Meanwhile, chaos erupted in the Observation Department under the Auxiliary Division of Night Raven.
— An unforeseen situation has occurred.
All candidates for Night Raven recruitment were, without exception, placed under protection and simultaneous surveillance. It was a precaution in case their identities were exposed to the Luthien Theocracy—and also a measure against potential espionage.
— ...An unforeseen situation?
...That was why the report of Gunther’s visit to a “gambling house” was immediately forwarded to those in charge.
— Candidate Number 8 has gone missing in the Gray-Line entertainment district, Third Sector.
The air in the room seemed to freeze.
— How did this happen...?
At the supervisor’s question, the subordinate blinked in confusion before answering:
— His entry into the gambling house is confirmed. Subsequent movements are unknown. We are questioning visitors who were present at the time... There is a possibility he had a conflict with a local gang due to cheating at gambling.
The temperature dropped further.
— Damn it...
Candidate Number 8. A candidate for the Punitive Unit. According to current reports and evaluations, the unquestioned ace of this intake. ...And to think someone like that would disappear while indulging himself in a pleasure district. Over a gambling dispute with street thugs, no less.
They could not help but feel both confusion and disappointment.
.
.
.
The supervisor closed his eyes briefly, then asked again:
— Which gang? Category X group?
A short, quiet question. A faint hope lingered within it.
Night Raven classified and coded everything connected to Luthien. Category X indicated organizations tied to the Theocracy.
Perhaps the rookie had deliberately provoked a conflict in the entertainment district to flush out one of those groups?
That was their hope.
But the subordinate shook his head.
— Not yet confirmed. As you know, we’re short on manpower right now...
And it was true.
At present, Intelligence and the Auxiliary Divisions had no resources to spare investigating some minor gang not even registered in their database.
Several weeks ago, information had surfaced that a large quantity of “relics” had been smuggled into Border City. Most were quickly located and destroyed, but some remained, leaving the entire division in chaos.
“...Relics of various Evil Gods. Finding them is too difficult.”
Each had different offering methods. Different ritual reactions.
The search zones were absurdly vast. Personnel shortages were severe.
The probability that some of the remaining relics were actively “growing” somewhere was extremely high.
And the danger of that was enormous.
Even if it was a low-tier deity, once it manifested physically, everything around it would turn into a sea of blood. And the despair and terror born from that slaughter would feed directly into the power of the Luthien Theocracy.
“...And in the middle of this, we’re supposed to worry about some gambling-addicted rookie?”
At that point, Candidate Number 8’s issue felt trivial.
It wasn’t the first time a promising recruit turned out to be a fool.
In times like this, someone who got himself tangled in such nonsense likely wasn’t worth much to begin with.
“I’ll file this and be done with it.”
He sat at the terminal inside the safehouse and quickly typed:
[Candidate Number 8 — Temporarily Missing]
Location: Gray-Line entertainment district, Third Sector, Border City.
Jurisdiction: Third Sector Public Order Office.
Cause: Conflict with gang during gambling.
(further details omitted)
— ...Whatever.
If the higher-ups deemed him valuable, they would assemble a search unit or take action. Though with current manpower shortages, that was unlikely to be welcomed.
— Alright. Back to focus!
Time to redirect their remaining energy toward more constructive matters.
***
Meanwhile.
Gunther had been transported for quite some time, lying in the carriage’s baggage compartment.
The bandits were apparently so confident in their sedatives that they hadn’t bound him with special restraints or posted a guard. No blindfold. No gag. Only leather cords tying his wrists and ankles.
But—
[Alphonse of Red Street, as a master of knots, declares this knot utter trash and sneers disdainfully]
With the passive skill “Ill-Handed Trickery,” freeing himself would take no more than a moment.
Thus, Gunther traveled calmly toward his destination.
Of course, he wasn’t merely lying still.
Each time the carriage jolts settled, he focused on the sounds filtering in from the front.
— What about the day after tomorrow? Even counting this one, there are only four left.
— The higher-ups will figure it out.
Fragmented conversation became clearer when he concentrated mana into his ears.
He missed nothing important they let slip.
Thud—
After some time, the carriage stopped.
Gunther narrowed his eyes and quickly surveyed the surroundings through a slit in the curtain.
Lower City. Sparse population. An abandoned lot. A decrepit building. A bandit approaching as lookout.
Fortunately, vigilance remained low.
Instead of opening the rear door to check on Gunther, the {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} guard chatted lazily with the others on the driver’s bench.
Night work must have been unbearably dull.
— Rough job?
— Nah. Picked him up practically for free.
— Don’t lie. Didn’t you say a contractor showed up? The senior wasn’t even with you.
Gunther began slowly moving his wrists.
[“Ill-Handed Trickery” activated]
Huuu—
He twisted his wrists, nearly dislocating them.
Creating slack in the leather cord, he applied force.
Crack.
The leather snapped.
The sound was faint, but he immediately froze, glancing forward.
— He was a complete country bumpkin. So naive. Swallowed everything we gave him and passed out instantly.
— Damn. Not fair. See this eye? That bastard the other day hit me so hard, still—
The bandits remained absorbed in gossip.
“Good.”
Once his hands were free, the cords at his ankles came off in an instant.
Everything proceeded smoothly.
They had even left his equipment on him.
Both “Ladenbach’s Tenacity” and the “Robe of the Frost Specter.”
Likely planning to strip him once he was locked up.
— Anyway, talk later. Let’s check the goods.
— Yeah, and inject more sedative. Keep him out until tomorrow night.
Footsteps approached.
Gunther raised himself.
The guard’s voice now came directly behind the door.
— I’ll toss this bastard in and then go finish off that asshole.
[Art of the Pure Heart is being used]
[Status applied: “Pure Heart”]
In a second or two, the door would open.
This was the decisive moment.
Sss—
Gunther closed his eyes and visualized the interior beyond the thin partition.
[“Serpent’s Nest” Lv.1 activated]
One on the driver’s bench. Three in the cabin.
“I’ll start with the cabin.”
One sat along the left wall. Another in the right corner, leaning back. His breathing was deep and even—likely asleep.
The last sat directly behind the partition, closest to the cargo compartment.
Given proximity, he would be neutralized alongside the guard opening the door.
“Five total.”
Creak—
Just as his calculation finished, the iron door swung open.
— Huh?
Gunther moved before light even entered.
Thud.
His fingertips brushed the floor, and his body launched forward.
First. The guard.
Before the man’s eyes could register—
Shhk—
The blade sliced cleanly across his Adam’s apple.
Second. The one by the partition.
As he jolted upright—
Bang!
Gunther pivoted and slammed into the partition, using it as a shield.
The thin wall shattered into splinters, filling the cabin with debris and dust.
— What—what is this?!
In the chaos—
Crack—
He drove his elbow into the face of the man beneath him, then seized the dagger at the man’s belt.
Ssssh—
Reverse grip. Between the ribs.
In tight quarters, far more effective than a long sword.
Third. The man along the left wall screamed and lunged with his sword.
Gunther did exactly as planned.
Instead of parrying, he retreated back into the cargo compartment.
Fourth. The sleeping man took his comrade’s blade through the chest and choked on blood.
The frozen third was finished with a thrown dagger.
Fifth. The driver.
Apparently deciding calming the panicked horses was more important, he shouted outside, trusting his comrades to handle Gunther.
That trust returned to him in the form of a blade piercing from behind.
— Kh... kha—
Six seconds.
Gunther rolled out of the carriage, now a mass of blood and corpses.
He did not forget to retrieve the keyring from the dead guard hanging in the doorway.
Nor did he forget to lash the horses, sending the corpse-filled carriage racing down the alley.
Shrrk—shrrk—
He wiped his boots on the blood-spattered ground and looked ahead.
— ...Huh.
There was no moonlight in the Lower City.
The building, wrapped in cheap lighting and darkness, cast thick, wavering shadows.
Without hesitation, Gunther ran forward, scanning the structure.
“...Basement.”
An entrance set on an unnaturally steep slope. Mold-covered exterior walls. Too many iron-meshed vents high on the walls for a building of this size.
Which meant the underground space was far larger than the surface suggested.
The Lower City was full of such constructions. Above ground, an abandoned warehouse. Below, vast buried structures inexplicable by the era’s technology.
Click—
There.
Amid overgrown weeds stood a basement handle.
Gunther pulled it without hesitation.
[The Drug-Addicted Saint looks anxiously between you and the darkness ahead]
[She adds that there is no telling what kind of being may be waiting inside]
“Yes. I don’t know exactly what’s inside.”
But that wasn’t a problem.
As long as it was a “divine entity.”
And as long as this was still early in the scenario.
For someone possessing the skill “Godslayer,” it was manageable.
Even if everything went wrong, extracting Eddie and escaping would remain possible.
[Frost Concealment activated]
[Current temperature low. Stealth bonus applied]
[“Overdose” Lv.1 activated]
[Medicinal effects maximized]
Rustle—
Preparations complete, Gunther plunged into the basement.
