Free Web NovelChapter 484: Arc 6, Chapter 100: Meanwhile...
"Araaaaaa!!!"
From the corner of the barracks, Arabella came running in; only for her to realize that the princess’s yell was not out of emergency, rather it was out of petulance.
Adorned in sleek, purple-gold plates of armour in select sections of her body was Daiyu. It gleamed with enchantments and sported the symbol of Cravolta upon the pauldron and a lotus in bloom as an emblem on her chest.
As beautiful as the armour was and how good she looked in it, the one trouble was her attempting to take it off. She had her arms raised up, before she let them fall; she wriggled, trying to get the close-fitting armour off while making a cacophony of clinks and clangs.
"Took ya long enough, I’m boiling in here!" half her face pressed up against the dislodged pauldron to turn and speak.
Arabella took her hand away from the pommel of her blade and sighed. She signed with her hands, "I thought it was meant to be ’slipped on with ease’, according to you your highness."
"It hasn’t been enchanted with that yet."
She signalled again, "And you have failed to wear any sort of padding or clothing to prevent chaffing. Do you wish your skin to be pinched? At least get rid of your morning attire."
Daiyu glanced down at herself. The purple-haired princess half-closed her right eye and cocked a brow, "...I wanted to try it on, big whoop. Now help me get outta this damn thing."
Shaking her head, Arabella approached and helped Daiyu unbuckle the belts that were not adjusted to her size and finally take all of the armour pieces off.
Daiyu let out a breath and stretched her arms, "Fuck me I need to get that made lighter." Something got caught in the corner of her eye in the vicinity that made her grin. She approached it whilst rubbing her hands together.
Crystalline amethyst inlays twisted around the smooth handle of gold-hued metal. The pommel was one solid carved purple gem that looked similar to the lotus emblem on her plate armour.
The long haft of the weapon was topped with two asymmetrical chunks of some gem-metal alloy. Both ends were of smooth reflective purple, with gold patterns wrapping around.
One end of the head was bigger, blunt and cubic, while the other was more circular and was jagged at the end. As soon as her hands gripped the beautifully crafted maul, all the crystalline additions glowed dimly.
Arabella examined it with a tile of her head and then signed, "It looks a bit impractical. I told you to get some advice before finalizing on any design, this would be too heavy."
"Impractical? Oh I had some ideas," her grin grew larger.
With a tongue stuck out, Daiyu rushed with her maul in her hand towards the outside. The small head of the maul laid on the floor behind her. "HA!" "DUFF!" She stomped one foot down the second sunlight hit her face.
Earth jetted out behind her and pummelled into the maul’s one side at the same time Daiyu lifted it with all her strength. The maul went flying forward. "BASHH!!!"
The ground in front of her cratered from the impact and a second stomp from her foot burst the maul up from the ground and she swung it around.
Arabella jumped back. "DFFF!" The entire side of the barracks rumbled as she launched the hammer into the side of it. "It’s made of earth; HaahahAHAHAA!!! Ah... Jotou’s so dead the next time," she cackled.
Arabella sighed and side-eyed the damage to the barrack’s concrete that was going to need to be patched.
"Ah... Feyan’s gonna kill me," she said widely smiling as she took away the maul from the wall. The adrenaline started to die down and her smile became a lot sweeter while she gazed at the rogue blades of grass.
She swept some hair behind her ear, "Ben’s been found... He actually did it. We’re all actually gonna be here again and it’s gonna be some fuckin’ party~"
"What’ve you heard of the Blade? I hope she’s doing okay."
Daiyu shrugged and hummed, "Apparently, he’s dealing with some cult in Burnetrout. They’re on some detective noir case bs; he likes a mystery, so I’m sure they’re all having fun. You want me to put something in when I write back?"
"Just tell her I’ve taken custody of her pet. Orion’s been doing a lot better under my care and I’m sure Orion would agree." Arabella said with a slight smile, suggesting it was more in jest.
_
"Time for action," he uttered to no one in particular in the complete dark. He wore complete black attire in the dead of night, including a stretched down knitted beanie that had two holes cut open for the eyes.
Through the alleyway he lurked, hidden behind a large dumpster. He watched the backdoor of a building with intense intensity.
"The Scorching Inferno was tasked with a daunting mission; one that required the upmost stealth," he narrated- Wait, I am the one who is supposed to be doing that.
"After the incident at the clocktower, I snuck away in broad daylight. That crowd didn’t stop me. I had them all so fooled, that even the people I were with didn’t notice," or the shock of the moment and the sense of urgency made them forget—or not care for that matter.
"I stayed around for the police investigation after ditching my armour. Sneaking around every corner, I overheard their whole situation. And what I found out was!
...That the police suck ass. They chopped it up to ’the cult did it’ and moved on. Then the reporters swarmed in. There was that one chick with the mid-atlantic accent—Alicia.
I don’t know her that well, but I got the sense that she was way, peppier. She was sobbing all over the place while taking photos before running off somewhere else.
Careless, careless, careless," he smiled to himself under the ’mask’. "What no one noticed was a guy sneaking off in a car; no one but me of course!"
He exclaimed just as the door opened. "My chance has arrived," he announced under his breath and dashed for it. The alley cats hissed and ran off.
Ben slammed into some figure in a trench coat carrying a bin-bag. The figure grunted, but Ben grabbed his face before he could shout to alarm anyone. "Looks like garbage day came early."
"FWSHSH!" A roiling flame of scarlet hue blasted into his skull. All that was left was charred bone and soot marks on the bricks that began to fade away.
Ben stood up and grabbed the bag the figure was attempting to throw away. It was heavier than he expected and as he opened it up, the smell hit him before the sight.
What shined from the nearby streetlamp was the blood of a fresh corpse, cut up and tied in a bag to dispose of. "HOLY SHIT!" he dropped the open bag in a panic and the contents scattered across the other corpse.
"What’s all the fuss goin’ on out there lad?" a gruff voice echoed out the door.
Ben quickly inhaled and paused all his breath. "Eh, Nothin’ boss, just a cy-ouple of cy-ats," he rasped in reply and overdid the accent.
"...Who you callin’ boss?"
Ben muttered to himself, "Fuck."
"...Someday—someday, I will be. Glad I can count on you to watch me back," the gruff tone said in hope.
"Eh, anytime boss," Ben replied and took some deep breaths before he entered the building. "An expert in all subterfuge," he continued stating. "The guy sneaking off had an aura about him; something told me he was a gangster.
He met up with his gangster buddies at a pub; how were they his buddies you ask? There ain’t no way a buncha men go around wearing matching black ladybug tattoos all over them.
That pub; the one that I’ve been vigilantly watching till nightfall. The one I’m about to enter right now and they don’t even have a clue," an unreliable narration was one way to describe his... statements.
Certainly it was not that the man he followed carried a pistol that he pointed around corners with, or that he ruffed up someone for money, or the fact that they said the name of their organization while Ben tried desperately to hold his breath and stomach in while he was hiding.
No, it was not that at all. The vigilant watch still counts if he was at a diner across the street eating a full meal, right? Anyhow, Ben entered the building from the back.
The smell of cigarettes permeated the vicinity, seeping in through his stretched-out hat even. A corner stood before him. "Man. It must suck for her right now. That detective man seemed really cool.
Now she’s got no dad and what’s worse, they strung him up on some serial killer shit," he sighed in genuine remorse.
"And from all the people there. I just got this vibe; like a lot of hope’s lost. With Jotou gone too, and with the little dude with him; they better not do something to that sweet kid, or I fucking swear," he rounded the corner.
"You done- Who the fuck are you!?" the gangster with the gruff voice pulled out a flintlock pistol from his side. At least three doors were between them in the hallway.
Ben got low and ran forward. A door opened up- "BLST!" The bullet got halted by the thick door. Ben smiled under the mask and slammed the door shut as he went past, "All according to plan!"
He uppercutted the startled mobster who tried to kick him and grabbed his throat. Ben was just much bigger for him to easily escape; thus, he was pinned to the wall.
The mobster gritted his teeth, his legs flailed. He grabbed the arm pinning him while he looked the stranger in the eyes and asked while choking, "Who, uagh, are you?"
"Let’s just say," his fingers heated up, gripped around the gangster’s neck. Fire roiled an encased the man and burned him up in a flash of heat, "I’m here to take out the trash."
All the doors opened up and variously hued lights breached the hallway. Scantily-dressed women and some men checked the commotion and their eyes widened.
"Thanks ladies—saves me the trouble of knocking in on your private time," he posed and uttered with a low voice.
Most of the patrons and workers screamed before either locking shut the doors or running for the back exit. "They can’t handle my presence. Alas, my shining armour’s been doffed. But I don’t fight for glory tonight.
Checking my corners, I made a dash for whatever was at the front. The true pub was found—a front, no doubt." A low-lit pub it was, with a few customers that were there to actually have a drink.
Ben rushed behind the bar and grabbed the collar of a slouched old man with both his hands, "Where are they!?" he growled.
The old man shivered while the customers stood up and shouted in surprise. One broke a glass and grabbed a shard to use as a shiv. "Uh-I-Uh-I, I don’t know who you’re looking for, just, there’s gold under the private stash, please don’t hurt me!"
"I ASKED WHERE ARE THEY!?!?!" he screamed at right at the old man’s face. "ANSWER ME!!!"
The old man winced his eyes shut and panted, "Y-y-y-you looking for the ones upstairs??"
"You made the right choice tonight," Ben let go of the bartender and threw ten platinum pieces onto the bar, before he sprinted for the stairs behind dividing walls.
As his eyes got up onto the highest floor, six rifles were already pointed at him. "Alright mate, nice and slow. You’re gonna walk up here and we’re gonna have nice chat," a voice from the centre spoke.
Ben put his hands up and slowly made it up the rest of the way. Boxes of alcohol were shoved against the walls, with chairs that were loosely in a circle.
A large industrial window was covered with loose hanging fabrics, with multiple gaps where the light outside peeked through. "You’re a lot cleverer than I anticipated," Ben uttered.
Tattooed fingers and a dark green jacket—the man with short black hair spun a long dagger between his fingers. "You get one chance; who are you?"
"Hmh, someone who recognizes you," Ben answered with a smirk under the mask.
"Wrong answer," the man glared and pointed his dagger.
"Snap!"
Before the rifles could fire on command, Ben snapped his fingers in the air, pointed at the lot of them. Two beads of roiling scarlet flame blasted in two arcs around all their positions.
The fire streaked through them all and fired off the powder in their guns to blast dents into the rifles they held. The room’s brightness grew and grew, as the flames caught fire onto the curtains and burnt much of it away in an instant.
No flames remained under the night’s light beaming through the area, with six gunmen burnt and, on the floor, some of them yelled and some of them breathed inconsistently while new scars formed. The man in the middle stood still, eyes wide open.
"I recognize that jacket and nervous gaze from a mile away. You’re the one who walked away with a suspicious package from the clocktower when the detective’s body was found," Ben pointed his fingers, mimicking a gun. "You get one chance; who are you?"
He dropped the dagger and raised his hands, "You mean to tell me you don’t even know who you’re chasing? Green-Fillet Johnes of the Black Ladybug Boys."
"...You all need better names," Ben muttered to himself. "I see," he announced. Ben approached with an intimidating glare, finger still pointed at him, "Why were you there? What’s in the box Johnes? And I’ll know if you’re lying, don’t test me."
"Special delivery for the doorstep of the Deuctus Cult, made with all the love Vandlevela has to offer. It’s for one of the new Gods," he was forced to admit.
Ben grabbed the man by the collar, "So you’re working for the cult. You strung up the detective in the clocktower?"
"Easy, easy," Green-Fillet Johnes sweated. "Look, I ain’t smart enough to go about catching Kazuo Namora, he’d see me coming. Don’t get me wrong, glad he’s out of the picture, but me and my boys got nothing to do with that.
We got word that they’d be there and we... wanted to send a little gift, to show we can play nice. But by the time I got there, they were already out and some magic bubble kept me locked in. Once it popped, I skedaddled."
"That explains it then. Desperate for the cult’s attention," Ben leered down. "They burned the entire country and you’re batting for their side. Scum like you make me sick," he said in the coolest voice he could.
Johnes grinned, "The unassailable detective’s dead—strung up for his own bloody kid to find. Thunder-bitch’s been snatched up; not too long before her corpse gets found.
Cult’s proved a point. There’s a new king in these ends—either fall in line, or get fucked. And I don’t got plans to be wearing brick shoes anytime soon. So, I’m just playing the game, and betting on the highest bidder."
"Pretty sure there’s more than one detective..."
"Ain’t no one’s scared of bird-bitch and cat-boy; heard the director’s hospitalized and another’s dead. And you?" he laughed. "Some joke prowling around streets at night doing what exactly? Piss off," he spat in Ben’s face.
Ben pulled his fist back and scarlet flames crackled, burning away the gloves he wore. "Wrong move. And you better put some respect on the Thundering Blade. You can pray to her in your grave." Like a comet, the punch came rocketing down to Johnes’s face.
"They’re living breathing people." As Ben’s fist was about to connect to the man’s face, the flames were snuffed out in an instant. "Bash!"
The blow sent the mobster to the ground—immediately knocked out cold. Bruises emerged to cover the side of his face; but then bruises came to cover-
"Ah...! Ah... Gah." Ben massaged his knuckles. He moaned and groaned repeatedly between pauses, till he just hurt his knuckles more by touching them. He sighed, "Get outta my head man; even more so with that voice."
He glanced down at the unconscious body and breathed, "Guess you get to be lucky for tonight... I’m not gonna make some stupid, cliché superhero rule my code. Shit’s outdated as hell."
Ben glanced over to the middle of the room where Johnes was probably sat; and by it was the box he carried.
"Crash!" "Shtck!" An arrow pierced through the window, shot past Ben’s face and struck right into Johnes’s fallen head. His body jerked for a moment... before blood began to pool.
"What the..." Ben raised a hand, trying to defend against a second shot as he hit the deck. However, none came over the next minute... He looked over at the arrow and there was recognition in his eyes...
A small paper was attached to the crest of the arrow, that unfurled and spelled out, ’I’ll Kill Them All’.
A light breeze blew through the gap, through which no figure could be spotted outside. Ben pulled the paper out of the arrow and his eyes waned as he read it. "Ah shit... This isn’t gonna end well," he uttered sympathetically.
_
In the dead of midnight, the door to Fumeko’s room slowly creaked open. Two meek blue eyes gazed in while fingers crept along the door.
The light was still on. Fumeko was in her undershirt and boxers, sat in front of her vanity as she rolled a marble made of metal rings in one hand whilst the other hand patted the new wounds on her cheek.
She fixed it up with what little first aid she knew, but it was just at the first stages of healing. Her eyes glared to the side of her room. "...Come in," she barely whispered.
Wordlessly Hotaru entered. Her eyes were fixed on the floor as she shuffled her way towards the brunette.
Fumeko averted even looking. ’I don’t need some pathetic apology.’
The redhead gently took hold of Fumeko’s chin and tipped it to face her.
The detective’s eyes darted away, but saw Hotaru’s expression through the mirror. She was upset; her eyes a bit tearful. The redhead little by little peeled away the bandage that was taped to her cheek, revealing the four reddened slash marks.
Her hand glowed blue as a thumb grazed over the few marks. Fumeko hissed; water began to stich and mend her skin. With much care and no weight pushing from her fingers, the wolf-woman healed away the injury she caused.
Midway through, she very silently murmured, "I’m sorry."
...
...
Fumeko’s eyes relaxed. She looked from beneath her lashes and spoke, "Me too..."
Hotaru continued to heal; it was taking longer than she anticipated. "Mrs Aetherton called. They figured out the cause of death was blunt trauma to the head and chest; apparently his ribs were crushed in.
She also said the impact felt familiar. She confirmed that he wasn’t that badly injured when he was taken, but at some point... She suspects who killed him."
"Forallei killed my dad," Fumeko hushed and gripped the marble in her palm as her knuckles went white.
"...Mrs Aetherton thinks the same. She also wanted to ask you, if it would be okay to hold his funeral tomorrow."
’So quick.’ The grip on the marble dropped. Fumeko’s shoulders slumped. Through hazy vision, her mind spiralled. "Any reason we can’t wait...?"
"Well," Hotaru had healed the wound, to a point where even scarring was not a possibility. "Your father was famous. The city’s asked to hold a public funeral in a week’s time. Morgana thinks we might not get privacy if we wait longer."
"... ...Fair enough. Who cares. What difference does it make."
"I’m... so sorry Meko," the redhead cupped Fumeko’s face in her hand and held her softly.
’You know, you’ve really cheated people into thinking you’re some refined lawyer—an elite adventurer. But I see the truth; I know who you are.
You deserve a good punch to the face. But everyone would hate me for even thinking that. That’s just how good you have everyone wrapped around your finger.’
Fumeko’s chin settled into Hotaru’s palm. Her body leaned forward till her head rested against the wolf-woman’s chest.
Hotaru let out an accidental hum, but merely moved a little closer. She blushed—to be met with no malice, no awful remark. Fumeko Namora must really... need help. freewёbnoνel.com
’Why am I even thinking like that about her... I care about her. For a long while, I cared about her more than dad.’ "Can I be left alone please?" Fumeko’s voice went soft.
Hotaru petted the top of the brunette’s head, "Of course." She moved Fumeko away and took a deep breath. "A question though, if you feel up to it."
"Mhm."
"Tiffany mentioned something; and I noticed it too when you came out of the clocktower. ...What’s going on with your affinity?"
...
...
"I don’t know."
