Three days.
In such an unforgiving environment, three days was enough to change a person—enough to turn a young lady raised in comfort into someone hardened by necessity, forced to survive the wilds with her own hands.
But Cellinia had never been a sheltered flower. She was used to battle—what she wasn't used to was survival.
Her once-pristine clothes were now nothing but rags, her body covered in blood and grime. She sat on the sand, chewing on dry rations stripped from the corpses of assassins. She no longer knew how far she had traveled, only that she walked in one direction—toward another mobile city.
In those few days, she had endured no less than a dozen assassination attempts. Each time, cornered on the brink of death, she had broken past her limits and cut them down, scavenging their weapons and supplies to carry on her flight.
Her Art bullets were long gone. The longsword she had relied upon was chipped and battered, barely holding together. The cloth binding her wounds was torn from the bodies of her pursuers.
She was still alive—but every step was a struggle.
On the fifth day, she was finally driven to a dead end. The assassins had caught up.
And this time, standing before her, was their leader—the first blade of the Saluzzo family, the man at the very top. In his hand, a short knife gleamed coldly.
Cellinia braced herself against the ground with her sword, the desert wind sweeping from behind, tugging at her long black hair. Her body was a tapestry of wounds, yet she refused to fall.
"The last blood of the Texas family."
His words were flat, devoid of any emotion. He was not here for grudges, only to finish a task.
He didn't give the order, but his men surged forward regardless, blades flashing in the open desert. With no cover, Cellinia was at a disadvantage from the very first exchange.
A blade swung for her head—she ducked low, kicking one assassin away, but another slipped into her guard, driving his knife upward into her shoulder. It tore open a wound not yet healed, hot blood spilling fresh into the cold air.
Pain shot through her, sharp and freezing, making her shiver. She fought as she retreated, teeth clenched, scattering blood across the sand with every step. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the leader, still watching coldly, waiting. Waiting for the moment when she was weakest—when one clean strike could pierce her heart.
If he moved now, she could still counter, even drag him down with her. But that was not his style. He was patient. Ruthless.
Her mind was strangely clear in the chaos. She didn't even spare a thought for Lappland. She only wanted one thing: to be faster. Faster.
Her twin-sword style was the inheritance of the Texas family, engraved into her very blood. With both hands gripping the battered blade, her body erupted with black-red aura. Originium energy surged through the sword, the runes etched into its hilt glowing faintly, until the weapon whirled like a storm of crimson and shadow.
Clang!
An assassin's blade split clean in two—along with his arm.
And in that very instant, a line appeared in the air before her—a line that divided space itself.
Her heart froze. Too fast!
The strike came like death itself, racing for her chest before she could even blink.
Her jaw tightened until her teeth nearly cracked. She forced her trembling arm to move, raising her sword in desperate defense.
Bang!
The screech of steel against steel was enough to set one's teeth on edge. The longsword snapped in half, the broken fragment spiraling high into the air before plunging into the sand.
The force split her palm open, blood gushing from torn flesh. Her arm hung limp, useless. She staggered back, swaying as though she would collapse at any moment.
"Haa… haa… haa…"
Cellinia's breaths came ragged and uneven, sucking in the cold desert air only to cough it out again. Blood dripped from her brow into her eyes, blinding her vision.
Her body trembled uncontrollably. She was at her limit.
Her will still burned, fierce and unyielding—but her body could no longer follow it.
The assassins did not speak. They knew well that villains died from talking too much. Since confirming her identity at the start, not one of them had uttered a word.
Only the sound of their footsteps echoed across the empty land.
Each step rang like a death knell in Cellinia's chest.
In the silence of the wind, Cellinia heard it—
a voice hoarse and abyssal.
"Do you wish to live, young wolf of the Texas family?"
Her body trembled with a sudden chill. Was this… an illusion?
At her feet, black mist had gathered without her noticing. The assassins around her began to slow, their movements stuttering as if time itself had frozen.
"Do you wish to live, young wolf of Texas?"
The voice asked again.
"Who are you?" Cellinia demanded through gritted teeth.
"Before answering that… truth be told, I spoke only on a whim. I did not expect, in this dull corner of Columbia, to witness such a blood-stirring clash that could set the wolves howling."
The black mist churned restlessly, but Cellinia could not see its form clearly.
"You may call me the Lord of Wolves… Zaaro."
For the first time, the mist solidified before her. It swelled and coiled, shaping itself into the head of a colossal wolf. Its eyes glowed a deep, blood-red, and from within the fog it regarded her coldly, indifferent.
"What is your goal?" she pressed.
"Nothing more than amusement."
The wolf bared sharp fangs in a chilling grin.
"Do you not wish to keep fighting, young wolf of Texas?"
"..."
"Accept my power. I will bear witness to your battles."
His tone dripped with temptation.
"Slaughter every last hand that destroyed your family. That is the true spirit of Siracusa."
"No."
Cellinia's eyes sharpened. She met the wolf's eerie gaze with calm resolve.
"And the price… is to become your slave, isn't it?"
"You misunderstand."
The wolf chuckled low, a dark rumble.
"You are nothing but a piece in the arena, a pawn upon my board. Your only task—tear your foes to shreds."
"I refuse."
The wolf's crimson eyes narrowed.
"Even knowing you will die here?"
Rejection was not something He was accustomed to. At her defiance, His laughter turned into a snarl. The black mist boiled and surged, gnawing at the land with a corrosive hiss that set her teeth on edge.
"...Even so, I still choose to refuse."
"Is that so…"
The wolf's tone grew flat, stripped of all interest—like one pronouncing a death sentence.
"——Well, that's awkward. Just got off the plane in Columbia, and I see some old fossil bothering a young lady."
A sudden voice cut in. Both girl and beast turned their heads.
Out of nowhere, a penguin descended from the sky, parachute billowing behind him. And with his arrival, time itself lurched forward again.
The charging assassins convulsed mid-stride as muffled cracks echoed through the air. Bullets slammed into their bodies, sending them collapsing one by one, blood seeping swiftly into the sand.
The Saluzzo family's leader—who had been silently watching—saw the shift and bolted backwards in a blur of speed. The flash of his retreat made Cellinia's eyes narrow; it was the same lightning-fast motion he had used to nearly kill her.
But no matter how fast, a firearm was faster. Arts bullets rained down from above, carving fiery trails into the sand before catching up to him. In silence, his body was torn into a sieve, shredded by the storm from the heavens.
When the dust settled, the sky above no longer seemed empty. Four strangely shaped drones hovered in the air, their shadows cast across the desert.
"You… are?"
Cellinia looked at the penguin who now stood before her. Strangely, she felt certain—he was here to protect her. The thought brought her a sense of relief that felt almost surreal.
"You may call me… Emperor."
The penguin smiled faintly, the lenses of his sunglasses glinting as he glanced at her, then turned back toward the wolf.
"All these years, and you're still playing the same pathetic game?"
"Heh… And you? You've long abandoned the pride of the past. Look at yourself now—what have you become?"
Barbs were exchanged, sharp and bitter. Emperor snorted, cutting him off.
"She's under my protection. You can get lost."
"Heh…"
Zaaro sneered, unconcerned by. Emperor's tone. His gaze shifted instead to Cellinia standing behind him.
"As the last young wolf of the Texas family… one day, you will return to Siracusa."
"She returns to Siracusa or not… what business is that of yours?"
Zaaro's gaze lingered on Emperor, cold and silent, before his form unraveled into black mist and dissipated into nothingness.
Emperor gave a short grunt, dusted off his rear, and flapped one wing in Cellinia's direction.
"I know you've got a hundred questions, but right now what you need most is rest and healing. Whatever plans you've been clinging to, I'm declaring them void."
Cellinia blinked in surprise, then pressed her lips together and gave a small nod. This penguin in rock-star attire looked bizarre, almost ridiculous, yet his words rang true. She sat down where she was and began gritting her teeth as she bandaged her wounds.
To her astonishment, the four drones descended nearby, extending nozzles that sprayed medical mist directly onto her injuries.
At once she felt a soothing coolness seep into her wounds. The bleeding slowed, then stopped, the torn flesh beginning to crust over.
Barely two minutes later, the low rumble of engines reached her ears. She lifted her head—at some point, a massive transport aircraft had begun descending toward them.
The cargo bay doors opened slowly, flooding her eyes with a halo of golden light.
Then, as if embraced by that radiance, Cellinia drifted into unconsciousness.
---
When she awoke again, she found herself lying in a clean, sterile room—something like a medical bay. Pain radiated through her body, making her frown, and she could feel the subtle ringing in her eardrums.
Outside the window, only blue skies and white clouds stretched into the horizon.
Where… am I?
Ah, that's right. I was rescued. And… I think I even saw Brother Felix…?
Cellinia pushed herself upright and stepped out of the infirmary. The cabin was quiet, empty. She made her way toward the cockpit—
and there, she found the person she had been longing to see.
"…Brother Felix."
Through the cockpit mirror, Felix noticed her. He slipped off his headset, handed the controls temporarily to Emperor, and stood to face her. His sigh carried both relief and weariness.
"Thank goodness. I made it in time."
Her response was not words, but a wolf's fierce embrace—
and a kiss.
Even through his headset, Emperor heard the thud that echoed through the cabin. He pulled the earpieces off, turned, and upon seeing the scene, his expression shifted from bewilderment to sly amusement. With a few clicking sounds of mock pity, he turned back to the console as if nothing had happened.
When at last the long kiss ended, Felix was still dazed.
Did I just… get kissed?
Wait. I just got force-kissed… by my waifu from my past life? Damn… guess this life's already complete.
Cellinia lowered her head, cheeks flushed. Yet she steadied herself quickly.
"Earlier… that was thanks. Thank you, Brother Felix, for saving my life."
"Getting to you in time—that's what matters." He rubbed her head gently, exhaling. The kiss had rattled him, but he shook it off quickly and took her to the Infirmary. After all she had endured, venting her emotions like that was only natural. He could understand.
With the aid of medical instruments and his own knowledge, he ran a check. Finally, he nodded.
"The wounds have begun to close, but you lost too much blood. For now, you'll need to rest. No strenuous activity."
"Okay."
Cellinia obeyed quietly. She lifted her gaze to the young man before her.
"Brother Felix… what should I do now?"
"You remember what I told you before?"
"Mm. You said… if Siracusa ever felt dull, I could come find you in Columbia."
She remembered every word.
Felix smiled.
"Then work under me. As for what that work will be… we'll talk about it later. For now, you're exhausted. I suggest you sleep a little."
"…Alright."
As she watched him leave the infirmary, she pressed her lips together.
That unspoken sense of security returned to her chest—warm, intoxicating. She knew a wolf of Siracusa should never allow herself such feelings. But when they came, who could resist them?
Back in the cockpit, Felix was immediately met with Emperor's teasing.
"Ck, Ck, Ck…"
The penguin made several exaggerated sounds of mock admiration.
"As expected of you, huh? Truly, a magnet of every beautiful girl."
Felix ignored the jab and steered the topic elsewhere.
"Cellinia working under you in the future… that won't be a problem, will it?"
"No problem at all. I've got no complaints."
Silence fell between them for a moment. Then Felix spoke again.
"…That thing. What was it?"
"What thing?"
"The wolf."
His tone was flat, serious.
"I saw it, Emperor. That black mist—it wasn't a creature, was it? Should I even call it a being? Or perhaps… a concept?"