Chapter 2: A Collar Doesn’t Suit a Witch
The man they had taken into custody was Zach Noll. His occupation? Dealer—specializing in slipping past pharmaceutical laws.
Though Zach ultimately revealed nothing beyond what torture had already wrung from him, he did mutter a few barely audible words about himself.
He admitted to mixing illegal drugs in that room.
That he was a war veteran with nowhere else to work, so he had no choice.
That he desperately needed money.
That he had never met the victim.
And that the spatial transfer sigil might have been a prank by a customer (a desperate excuse, no doubt—the room’s security had been airtight).
The interrogation took place at the local precinct. Once they extracted what little information they could, they tossed him into a holding cell, and Rogue’s team returned to the Sixth Precinct. As they waited for the elevator to descend, Miseria shared what she had gathered.
“Zach Noll mentioned being approached by a kid. Said the kid was the one who made him carve that sigil. Oh, and apparently, the kid even knew Zach was ex-military. According to him, the kid might be related to the military.”
“Military, huh…? Worth digging into.”
“Got a lead?”
Rogue nodded. Right now, there were no rumors of the military causing trouble, and information was tightly controlled. If they wanted answers, they’d have to look further back.
“…Ever heard of the Purification War?”
When he asked, Miseria’s gaze grew distant.
“The Purification War… Yeah, I remember that. Getting old messes with your memory.”
“What’re you, an old lady? How old are you?”
“Twelve hundred.”
“…Seriously?”
Rogue didn’t know much about that war.
It happened in the early days when magic first spread among the masses worldwide.
The religious state of Segmed was the catalyst. “Magic is a divine gift from our great God—for the lower classes to wield it is an unforgivable blasphemy.” Using that justification, Segmed waged war on its neighbors.
The Empire’s Two Great Noble Houses sent their own troops as reinforcements, ultimately destroying Segmed. But in doing so, they were condemned—both abroad and at home—for excessive military intervention.
Because of this, all units that participated in the Purification War were disbanded once the fighting ended. The records of those involved were destroyed under personal data protection laws. Not even an investigator could access them now.
“We’re here.”
As Miseria spoke, the elevator doors slid open.
Light spilled into the hallway, revealing Rico waiting for them. The moment she spotted Rogue and Miseria, she spoke.
“Welcome back, Investigator Rogue. Miseria.”
For the first time, those words made him feel… relieved. A strange sensation. For once, he actually felt like he’d come home.
The one responsible for this unexpected warmth in his chest was now cheerfully greeting Rico.
“Heya, Rico. You doing alright?”
“Not particularly.”
“Hmm?”
Rico gestured toward the hall.
“I’ve been tending to the witches.”
Sure enough, her words were true. Rogue’s gaze landed on the witches sprawled lazily around the room. It was clearly free time—some were playing cards, others snacking. A few voices chattered idly.
But the moment Rogue and Miseria stepped into the center of the hall, all sound ceased.
They were being watched.
Expressionless, yet their eyes burned with hostility—like uninvited guests had just intruded.
Why are you still alive?
The air grew thick. Rogue’s skin prickled with goosebumps. Just ten seconds ago, this place had felt safe. Now, everything had shifted in an instant.
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“My, my. What’s with the long faces?”
Miseria, standing beside him, feigned innocence. Of course, it was deliberate. Just as Rogue braced for the witches’ reaction, a voice rang out from above.
“They’re wonderin’ why the hell you didn’t kill ‘im!”
Looking up, he saw a shadow vaulting over the railing. It flipped midair before landing gracefully in front of Rogue and Miseria. Despite the several-meter drop, the figure barely stumbled.
A girl.
She wore a studded jacket draped over her shoulders and sported sunglasses. But she was short—a full head shorter than Rogue. She looked like a kid playing dress-up. Of course, she, too, wore a collar—just like Miseria.
—This brat’s a witch too?
As the thought crossed his mind, Miseria beamed and broke the silence.
“Well, hello, Humafu. How’re we feeling?”
“Shut yer trap… Why didn’tcha kill the newbie? You knew I bet on ‘him dyin’, right?”
Despite the girl’s snarling tone, Miseria remained unfazed.
“Did you? Must’ve slipped my mind. Old age, you know.”
“YOU—!”
In a flash, the sunglasses girl—Humafu—grabbed Miseria by the throat with her right hand and lifted her clean off the ground. Unbelievable strength. She didn’t even seem to be exerting effort, yet Miseria’s feet dangled helplessly.
“Humafu. Your temper’s your worst flaw.”
Miseria kicked her legs as she spoke.
“And pissin’ people off is yours. How ‘bout I snap that scrawny neck?”
Then, suddenly, Miseria winked at Rogue. Right in front of Humafu.
“The hell was that?”
Humafu’s grip tightened as Miseria smirked.
“Oh, we’ve bonded. Rogue here’s my new little enforcer. He’ll scold naughty girls for me.”
“…Oh. Is that so?”
Humafu’s voice dropped low. Her sharp fangs bared as she glared at Rogue.
(That bastard! She dragged me into this!)
“Maybe I’ll just kill you first.”
The offhand threat made it seem like she’d forgotten the collar around her own neck. Her logic was broken. Killing someone meant instant death for her too—so why say it?
If reasoning was hopeless, he had no choice but to brace himself.
“…Let her go.”
He met her glare head-on. Now that he thought about it, he’d dealt with punks like her countless times before. So what if she was a witch? Compared to Miseria, she wasn’t scary at all.
“You… You daring to glare at me?!”
Humafu stepped closer. Bloodlust clouded her judgment—she didn’t even seem to notice her right hand loosening until Miseria was unceremoniously dropped.
Humafu’s hands slipped into her jacket. When she pulled them out, two fruit knives glinted in her grip.
“Love me some cheap weapons. Killed hundreds with shit like this. Wanna taste it too?”
She pointed a knife at a nearby round table.
“〈Mechanism〉.”
The next instant—silver flashed.
Every leg of the table was cleanly severed. It crashed to the ground, rattling Rogue’s eardrums. Her movements were too fast to follow. But when the knives returned to Humafu’s hands, Rogue understood.
The two fruit knives now hovered a few centimeters above her palms. They darted with dragonfly-like precision—that was what had sliced the table apart.
Object-manipulation magic—he’d never seen anything like it. His instincts screamed at him to run. But a glance back confirmed the doors were still shut.
“Damn it.”
Humafu swayed slightly as she faced Rogue.
Miseria just watched. Rico didn’t look like she could fight. Zero allies.
He clenched his fists.
(Guess I’ve got no choice…!)
Humafu took a step forward.
“Taste… cheap steel…”
“Huh?”
“Taste… cheap… steel…”
“You already said th—”
“Cheap… stee… hee…”
Something was off. She kept yawning.
“Stee… hee… hee…”
Then, as she rubbed her eyes, her hand knocked her sunglasses loose. They clattered to the floor, revealing her eyes.
Big, drowsy, almost aristocratic. Tears pooled at the corners, her irises bloodshot red—like she’d pulled an all-nighter.
Rogue stared in disbelief.
“…You tired or something?”
“Shuddup… I’m fiiine…”
She swung a knife, but it moved slower than a turtle. He dodged effortlessly. The blade wobbled midair before veering wildly off course. Humafu herself staggered forward with a groggy “Uwaaah—” He had no obligation to catch her. But he did anyway.
“S’sleepy…”
“What the hell is wrong with you…?”
As he muttered this, arms full of drowsy witch, Rico’s voice chimed in.
“Humafu—her registered designation among the Noble Council is 〈Sleepless Beast〉. The Seventh Witch. She can’t sleep unless she kills someone. Since her imprisonment, she’s been chronically sleep-deprived.”
Sure enough, Humafu in his arms kept mumbling “Haa… haa…” Her eyelids fluttered, fighting to stay open.
“Hey. You’re in the way.”
“S’leepy… wan’ sleep…”
“I’m not your pillow. Get off.”
“Nooo… sleep here…”
She clung tighter, shaking her head.
Rico let out a relieved sigh.
“Ah, the rebellious phase. Let’s pry her off now.”
With practiced ease, she extracted Humafu from Rogue’s arms and began dragging her across the floor.
He couldn’t help but mutter in awe.
“…Rico, how the hell do you work here? I respect you.”
“I’m glad you understand.”
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