When I get back to my room in the West Wing, it’s already on fire.
The ceiling I wake to every morning, the walls, the training dummy, my old workbench, the closet—everything’s burning.
And it doesn’t faze me anymore.
I drop to one knee, reach under the bed, and pull out the handle.
A hard black case. Resin shell. Waterproof, dustproof, shockproof.
Inside, cushioned in urethane foam, is a P90 submachine gun.
Standard estate-raid protocol: trainees and Coral Terminators are to be combat-ready in an instant. This is the contingency.
I grab the gun and slam in a 50-round mag from the case.
I’ve got four total. My belt holster’s already slotted to carry extras.
I load up.
Another case under the bed. More Soulgear.
First: a metal cylinder marked Holy Water. A spray grenade—200 milliliters of 1D concentration. Basic anti-Demon gear.
I slip five into my belt.
Next: white coins. Solidified blessed salt. Soulgear that takes advantage of how Demons can’t cross sanctified ground. Nail them with these, and they go flying.
Then: a polymer tube packed with 800 grams of loose blessed salt. Perfect for sketching emergency barriers.
Last: a small black box, smartphone-sized, engraved with a cross.
Inside, two syringes. Ichor. God’s own blood—emergency healing straight from heaven. Nothing shady about it.
I hesitate, then pocket the box.
Fifty-seven seconds, and I’m all geared up.
Gun in hand, I head out, moving fast for the main building.
The West Wing connects via corridor. I take it.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
Gunfire. P90. Close range.
I sprint across and break into the main building—into the grand front hall.
This place screams Akai authority. Statues of former family heads line the walls.
Twin staircases arc out wide like arms welcoming guests. Center landing where both stairs merge. A fifteen-step climb to the next level.
That’s where I see him.
My heart leaps.
“Hayate!”
Hayate Akayanagi. My cohort. A Coral Terminator.
A partner I’ve trained beside for years. Someone I trust and respect.
He snaps his head toward me, eyes going wide.
“Ikaku? Shit, you’re alive?”
“I was outside.”
“Ah, right. That checks out.”
“I just got back. Hell of a mess. You alright? You’re soaked in blood.”
Black coat, shirt, tie—formal, functional. All stained red.
“Hmm? Oh, this? Took a hit. Already healed up.”
“Good. Glad to hear it… Who’s that?”
There’s a body at his feet, blood pooling beneath it. Torso’s a mess—riddled with holes. The P90 in Hayate’s hand is still smoking.
He glances down, then looks at me, face hard.
“A traitor. He let the Demons in.”
“A traitor? Him?”
That lines up. Instructor Kisame’s dying words pointed to a mole.
This scum... he’s why I lost the Director. The instructors. Master.
I look at his face. I know him. A Coral Terminator.
We’ve talked. I never sensed anything off.
One of ours, causing all this?
A cold shiver slides down my back.
“You sure?”
“Dead sure. Unfortunate, but yeah.”
“But Kisame thought it was a magic noble who slipped in during the party. No reason to hit today unless someone tipped them off.”
“Right. Probably a decoy. No matter how you look at it, this guy’s just a regular person—there’s no way he could single-handedly bring down the Akai family. This has to be a coordinated attack. Carefully planned.
By the way, was Instructor Kisame okay too? That’s good.”
“...He didn’t make it.”
“I see... Damn shame.”
“What’s the current status? Any other survivors?”
“Well, I cleared out most of the Demons, but some stragglers might be left. And more traitors, possibly. Stay sharp.”
“What about the Akai family?”
“I don’t know what happened to the other nobles, but many probably escaped, right? Most of the Akai family members are safe. They’re over there.”
He grins and thumbs over his shoulder.
Hope flares in my chest. The Akai are alive?
Good. Damn good. I thought we were too late. That it was all over.
Relieved, I look down at the corpse again. The bastard’s face is frozen in shock.
That’s when it hits me—something doesn’t add up.
“Hayate.”
“Hm? What is it?”
“How do you know he was a traitor?”
“...Because he tried to kill me?”
“And what were you doing here? Shouldn’t you have been in the dance hall?”
“What’s with this tone? You suspecting me now?”
“The traitor came from inside. That includes you. I need proof.”
“We’re cohort mates. We’ve known each other for twelve years. Isn’t that enough?”
“I want to believe it is.”
We lock eyes. Both 190 centimeters tall by coincidence. Same eye level.
I search his gaze for the truth. Then point at the body’s hands.
“He never drew his gun. So how was he trying to kill you?”
“Cut it out with the amateur detective act. You know we Coral Terminators have spell codes on loan from the Akai family, right? A mage’s weapons aren’t just guns.”
“Then show me. Spell codes burn mana. If he used one, it’ll show signs. Roll up his right sleeve.”
“You gonna shoot me while I’m bent over?”
“If I wanted you dead, I would’ve pulled the trigger the moment I saw you—from the corridor.”
I nod toward the passage I came through. Clear line of fire from the second-floor gallery.
Hayate clicks his tongue, then crouches and rolls the corpse’s sleeve up.
“There. Knock yourself out.”
Spell code. A Mage’s truth carved in script. Nobles lend this power to commoners.
Coral Terminators usually get fire-based spells.
The corpse’s right forearm bears glowing letters. Unguis Ardens—Latin. “Burning Claws.”
The engraving’s faintly lit, like dying embers. Just-used spell, huh?
I almost fell for it.
“Unguis Ardens, Incende Viam—!”
The letters ignite.
The skin bursts.
Blazing claws erupt from the corpse’s forearm, tearing open fresh flesh and slicing toward me.
I jerk back instinctively. The claws graze my chin.
I kick off the floor and dive away.
A spiked pillar of claws explodes through the area I just vacated.
Only gut instinct and unease saved me. One blink slower and I’d be skewered and sizzling.
I land on the lower steps and snap my aim up at Hayate.
That fucker. He triggered the corpse.
He’s smiling wide. Too wide.
Eyes shining.
“Freaky~ You dodged it without a single spell boost. Hah! You really are the best… Aah, the absolute best—the perfect partner!”
“You son of a bitch… What the hell is this?!”
He stands tall, then stomps the corpse’s elbow. The arm snaps off.
He grabs it, claws still burning, holding it like a grotesque handshake.
Splat. Splat. Blood drips onto the carpet.
“Hayate! Say something!”
“Chill... You already know, don’t you?”
“You... So it was you?”
“That’s right, Ikaku.”
“Don’t fuck with me!”
“Oh but I’m not. I’m dead serious here.”
Hayate Akayanagi. My brother in arms. A Coral Terminator.
Now an unforgivable traitor.