novelraw Chapter 103: How Could it be Her?
Chapter 103: How Could it be Her?
“I rushed here as soon as I heard from Tuilë that you went off chasing someone,” Boris said before turning his sharp gaze toward the hooded woman. “So… is that person our target?”
Before I could answer, the assassins closed in again. Their poisoned blades flashed in the dim light as they lunged forward in coordinated strikes. I stepped into the fray, sword in hand, meeting the nearest assassin head-on. Steel rang against steel, the clash reverberating through the small house.
Boris, however, didn’t bother with finesse. As soon as he finished off the assassin that he locked in a chokehold, another assassin in front of him lunged with a short blade, only for the weapon to snap against his steel-hardened muscles. Boris grinned fiercely, his massive hand shooting out to grab the man by the throat.
With one effortless squeeze, the assassin’s weapon arm went limp. His eyes bulged, trembling as he struggled to pull free. “M-Monster!” he gasped, his voice breaking in terror.
“Monster? I’ve been called worse.” Boris laughed before slamming the assassin down onto the floorboards with bone-rattling force. The man didn’t rise again.
Meanwhile, the others tried to take advantage of the distraction, circling toward the hooded woman. I reacted instantly, casting {Gravity Field} and doubling the weight on every assassin in the room.
“Ngh! What’s going on?!”
“My body… So heavy…”
Panic rippled through their ranks, though their discipline allowed them to adjust quickly. Skilled or not, their movements had already slowed.
I raised my hand and cast {Spinning Mana Arrow} through Chantless Casting.
Four bolts of spiraling mana shot out, whistling through the cramped space. One assassin raised his dagger too late—the arrow punched through his guard and sank into his chest, flinging him back against the wall. One other was struck in the back, collapsing to the ground lifeless as their bodies went still. Another took a bolt to the stomach, crying out as he rolled on the floor in agony.
You have hunted [Skilled Assassin Lv.83].
You have gained 1,430 EXP.
You have hunted [Skilled Assassin Lv.82].
You have gained 1,420 EXP.
You have leveled up.
The last managed to slip past. Despite the crushing gravity, he forced his body forward, teeth gritted as his dagger cut through the air toward the woman’s exposed neck.
She wasn’t helpless, though. With a quick slash of her short blade, she diverted the strike, sparks flying as steel scraped against steel. That instant was enough for me to close the distance and thrust my sword straight through the assassin’s back, the blade piercing cleanly and emerging from his chest.
You have hunted [Skilled Assassin Lv.84].
You have gained 1,440 EXP.
Finally, all the assassins in the room lay dead, save for the one writhing on the ground in pain. Boris wasted no time. He seized the man by the collar and hoisted him up with one arm, gripping around the assassin’s throat. “Speak, who sent you?”
The assassin coughed, blood staining his lips, but his eyes burned with stubborn resolve. Then his hand twitched.
“Crap.” I tried to stop him, but it was already too late.
With a sickening crunch, the assassin bit down hard. His body convulsed violently as foam bubbled from his mouth. Within seconds, the light in his eyes flickered out, leaving only a lifeless husk dangling in Boris’s grip.
“Tch. Poison.” Boris cursed under his breath, tossing the corpse aside. “Damn fanatics. They’d rather die than talk.”
I sheathed my blade and said, “It confirms my suspicion. She’s highly likely the true target…” My gaze turned to the hooded woman, who had lowered her blade but still kept her guard up, wary even of us.
Before I could speak further, faint noises reached my ears from outside. Through the window, I saw the street strewn with bodies—several assassins sprawled lifeless across the cobblestones, blood pooling beneath them.
Michelle stood with her bow drawn, her hands trembling slightly, though her aim remained steady despite the fact that she had likely just ended a human life. Lucian hovered a few inches above the ground, mana circles still glowing faintly around his hands, his expression sharp and cold. And Tuilë leaned casually against a wall, smoke still curling from the barrel of her hand cannon, a cheeky grin plastered on her face.
“Outside’s cleared,” Tuilë reported. “Guess you had your hands full too?”
I glanced back at the hooded woman—only to see her edging toward the window, intent on escaping again. “Wait! We are not your enemies,” I called out.
But she ignored my words, pushing herself up onto the sill as if to leap through. Guess this leaves me with no other choice.
I cast {Graviton Pull}, extending my hand toward her. Immediately, mana coiled out like invisible chains and hooked onto her body, dragging her into the center of the room with irresistible force. She stumbled backward, flailing against the pull.
“H-Huh? What are you doing to me?” she yelped as her body resisted uselessly against the gravity binding her.
At that moment, her hood slipped back as she struggled against my spell, revealing her face. The sight, however, froze me in place.
I-Istellia…? Impossible… How could it be her? My eyes widened in disbelief. That long silver hair, flowing like silk, and those brilliant, unnatural crimson eyes… it was unmistakable. The only difference was that she appeared slightly younger than when I had last seen her. Aside from that, she was the exact copy of the Goddess of Imagination, Istellia. Our patron god.
Among the five of us, only I knew her true appearance. Which meant only I realized the weight of what I was seeing.
I forced myself to steady my breathing, but curiosity clawed at me until I finally asked, “Do we know each other?”
Still straining against my magic, she glared at me sharply. “Who are you? No, more importantly, dispel this spell at once!”
Her reaction made it clear she didn’t recognize me. That much made sense—after all, scenarios were nothing more than fragments of the past. I could imagine that this version of her was just a mortal, not a god, and certainly someone who had never met me.
Soon, Tuilë and Lucian entered the building and spotted the woman.
“Ooh, who’s she?” Tuilë asked with a curious grin.
“Good question.” I loosened my grip on the spell slightly and spoke to her, “I’ll release you, but only if you promise not to run again.”
She froze, her eyes flickering with hesitation. After a tense moment, she gave a reluctant nod. “…Fine. I won’t.”
With that, I deactivated {Graviton Pull}. The invisible chains of mana dissipated, and she quickly stood on her feet, free at last. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, but she made no move to bolt. At the very least, she was keeping her word.
“Great,” I said, straightening. “Now, listen to me. If you want to live through this night, then you need to trust us.”
“Trust you? Why should I believe anything you say?” She squinted her eyes at me, full of suspicion.
“Didn’t you just see what happened?” I countered calmly. “We fought off those assassins. We killed them. Even if we
weren’t on your side before, we’re in the same boat now.”She bit her lips and glanced around the room, at the corpses littering the floorboards, at the blood seeping into the cracks, at Boris still wiping his hands clean with a cloth. Then at Michelle, who had stepped in through the doorway with her bow lowered, trembling faintly but still standing firm.
Her suspicion eased slightly. She was still cautious, but doubt gave way to the simple truth: If we had intended her harm, we wouldn’t have saved her from nearly a dozen assassins.
“You may have a point,” she admitted reluctantly, lowering her gaze. “So, tell me, what is your intention in helping me?”
Indeed. That was the question. What could we possibly tell her? We couldn’t reveal that we were divine warriors in a scenario of a divine game called Divine Will, tasked to protect a target we hadn’t even identified.
Hmm, how much should I tell her? Should I reveal what I know…? Nah, that would be reckless.
“Are you here because you know my true identity?” she asked.
I raised my eyebrows at her question, then chose my words carefully. “Our intention is simple. Someone asked us to protect you, and clearly, whoever sent those assassins wants you dead. If we step aside now, they’ll just try again. And next time, you might not be so fortunate.”
Boris, Michelle, and Lucian exchanged glances at my answer but eventually nodded in agreement after realizing what I intended.
Tuilë, however, tilted her head with obvious confusion. “What do you mean by…?” Then, realization dawned on her face. “Oh—ohhh… Yeah, yeah. We were asked to protect you. Nothing more, nothing less. Haha. So, uh, what’s your name, by the way?” She scratched the back of her head with a sheepish grin.
Really now, Tuilë… You’re going to sell us out here. I was confused about how she could be a brilliant engineer but not smart on subtlety at the same time.
The young Istellia furrowed her brows, clearly weighing my words. “Is that so? You say someone told you to protect me, yet you refuse to name them. And now you ask for my name, as though you don’t even know who I am… Did you simply stumble across me and decide to interfere?”
“Well, that’s pretty much it,” was what I nearly said aloud, but I swallowed the words. Instead, I replied, “Take it however you like, but our intention is clear. And we won’t take no for an answer.”
Boris added firmly, “Missy, they came for you, and we stopped them. That’s all there is to it.”
Tuilë crossed her arms, tilting her head with a grin. “Honestly, you should be thanking us. Without us, you’d already be dead.”
The woman was clearly unimpressed by Tuilë’s bluntness, but she didn’t argue. Instead, her crimson eyes turned back to me. “Then what do you want from me? Are you really doing this just because some mysterious someone told you to?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Let’s put it this way: for now, what we want is information. Tell me everything you know about the ones who likely sent those assassins. Oh, and introductions are in order. I’m Maximillian Anderson, by the way.”
Since the target we were meant to protect was likely none other than Istellia—the patron god we served—or related to her, understanding who she was in this scenario, and what she was doing here, was imperative.
“Boris is my name,” Boris said simply.
“You can call me Michelle,” she added quietly.
“It’s Lucian Ark—”
“Hi, I’m Tuilë,” Tuilë cut in, cheerful as ever.
The woman hesitated. Finally, after a sigh, she spoke. “It’s Istellise…”