After hearing Merlin's explanation, the two of them set off toward the Loot House in the slums. And before you ask why Priscilla—Priscilla Barielle, the woman who walks as if the world exists solely to exalt her—would help a nobody like me… well, shake my hand, because I asked her the exact same thing.
Her answer?
"Do not trouble your feeble mind over such petty details, commoner."
And when I insisted, hoping for something remotely sensible, she gave me something that was… not even in the same galaxy as what I expected.
"The world revolves around my divine self. If fate has brought you before me, then clearly your presence exists for no purpose greater than soothing my boredom."
…Yeah. That.
That was her answer.
And somehow, that was supposed to count as generosity.
Well, that's that, and this is this.
Back to the topic at hand.
As they passed under the crooked beams marking the entrance of the slums, Priscilla turned her crimson gaze toward Merlin, one brow lifted in regal disdain.
"Now tell me, commoner. Mineself fails to comprehend your fixation on aiding that half-wit half-elf."
Her voice rang sharp against the stagnant air. In this world, no sane person would willingly help a half-elf—much less risk life and limb for one. Half-elves were shunned, feared, and hated solely because they resembled the Witch of Envy. Society didn't bother with nuance. A single resemblance was enough to condemn a life.
When Merlin first told Priscilla he needed help to save someone named Emilia, she paused.
A faint flicker of familiarity crossed her expression. She asked how did Merlin knew about this Emilia person but all Merlin could offer was silence. And when she asked if he had ever even met or seen her...Merlin could again only offer silence.
Then came the teasing.
The merciless, mocking teasing.
"So," she had said, fluttering her fan, "you seek to aid a girl whose identity you do not even know? How pitifully foolish." and dear lord, to say that she tore my pride apart would be an understatement. Now back on to out conversation.
"Hm? Why I want to save her? Well…" Merlin had scratched the back of his head. "It ain't really something I can explain. More like… a mission of sorts."
"A mission? And your first thought was to beg aid from a Lady such as mineself to save you from a murderer~?" Priscilla smirked behind her fan.
"H-hey! I didn't have much choice, alright? It was do or die, and I ain't the dying type."
Priscilla's eyes curved ever so slightly.
"A fine answer, I must say."
"Wait—was that a compliment? From you?! Never knew you could even give one."
"How delightful—your expectations being so low spares you from much disappointment. Treasure this rare praise. Such benevolence from me shall not occur twice."
Merlin sighed. "Yeah, yeah… but still. You really are a lifesaver, y'know?"
He looked ahead, the silhouette of the Loot House peeking through the dusty haze. Priscilla remained silent, fanning herself while listening.
"I probably would've had to go around begging strangers for help. Or worse…" His hand subconsciously pressed against his abdomen—an old pain, a phantom memory. "So really—thank you, Priscilla."
He turned to her with a warm smile. It wasn't much, but it was genuine—his only form of gratitude he could offer.
Priscilla blinked.
A gentle breeze curled through the alley, swaying their hair. For a brief moment, the slums almost felt cinematic.
…Until the rancid smell of rot drifted past them and ruined the moment entirely.
"Tch. Whatever, commoner." She snapped her fan shut and marched ahead. "Let us conclude this trifling matter quickly. Prolong my stay in this cesspit, and I may be inclined to remove your head for your insolence of bringing my divine self to this godforsaken land."
"Ah—wait for me!" Merlin hurried after her.
Behind her sharp words and sharp sword, Merlin knew Priscilla was—somewhere deep, deep underneath—quite a kind person.
"Hah! The world does not wait for the slothful. Try to keep up. Your clumsiness may reflect poorly even on mineself."
…Never mind. He took that thought back almost instantly.
**************************************
The slums grew quieter as Merlin and Priscilla approached the crooked building known—very generously—as the Loot House. Its wooden frame creaked with every gust of stale wind, and the paint had long given up on clinging to the walls. It looked less like a tavern and more like a tired old man on the verge of collapsing into the gutter.
Merlin rapped on the door.
KNOCK. KNOCK.
"Huh?" A groggy voice echoed from inside.
KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK.
"Oi! Felt! I think your employer's 'ere!"
The booming call belonged to a giant old man—Rom. His eyebrows looked more like white tufts of fur resting above small, tired eyes. He pushed himself up from the creaky stool behind the counter with surprising ease for someone his size.
"Hah?! Really? Bring 'em in! Quick!" Felt's voice chimed from deeper inside, sharp and impatient as always.
KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!
The knocking grew feral, almost panicked. Rom squinted toward the entrance with suspicion.
"…Kid, did you get hired by a bull or somethin?"
"What's that supposed to mean?!"
Suddenly—
"FBI! OPEN UP!!!"
CRASH!
The door didn't merely swing open—it exploded inward. One hinge snapped off, launching the door like a flying shield straight across the room. It smashed into the very counter Rom had been sitting behind moments ago.
"WHAT THE—?!" Felt sprang out of her seat, her can of milk slipping from her hand and thudding onto the floor. Rom, on the other hand, barely flinched—this was not the strangest thing he'd seen in the slums.
From the dust-filled doorway stepped two figures.
The first: a tall man dressed in practical traveler's gear—a long coat dusted with sand, a red scarf fluttering at his collar, and a cylindrical hat adorned with a single elegant feather. His stride was laid-back, a bit theatrical even, but confident.
The second: a woman whose beauty could slice a man's breath in half. Draped in regal red, her golden hair tied into a single flowing tail, her presence clashed violently with the grime of the slums. She walked as though the mud beneath her heels was honored to be crushed.
Priscilla Barielle.
"So, commoner," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Are these the supposed 'murderers' you were quivering about?"
Merlin scratched his cheek.
"Them? Nope. These two were actually the ones killed."
Priscilla stared at him.
"What nonsense drips from your mouth now?"
Felt cut in with a screech.
"HEY! Who the hell do you idiots think you are, breaking my door like that?!"
"What a loud little slum rat," Priscilla remarked with chilling casualness.
"Huh?! Say that again, princess wannabe!"
"Felt. Calm down."
Rom placed a large hand on her shoulder, gently but firmly pulling her back. His voice carried the weight of a retired soldier—calm reasons forged through countless battles.
"But Old Man Rom! These lunatics—!"
"Stop."
She clicked her tongue, but obeyed.
Rom then lifted his massive wooden club from under the counter, stepping protectively between Felt and the intruders.
"Listen kid," he muttered without taking his gaze off Merlin and Priscilla, "you prepare to run if things go wrong, 'kay?"
"As if! We're beatin' them down together!"
Priscilla's lips curved upward.
"My, my. For a slum rat, you possess a startling amount of bravado."
"Priscilla," Merlin muttered. "Please don't make this worse."
"Ara~? But provoking rodents is rather amusing."
"Priscillaaaa…"
She giggled, clearly enjoying herself.
Merlin stepped forward, hands raised.
"And as for the both of you—I'm Merlin. Your customer."
Rom narrowed his eyes.
"You're here for a trade, then? 'Cause we ain't got much worth stealing."
"Maybe you don't," Merlin said lightly, "but I'm sure she does."
He pointed directly at Felt.
"Me?" Felt blinked, genuinely confused.
"Yep. You had quite a haul today, didn't ya?"
The air thickened instantly. Both Felt and Rom stiffened, eyes sharpening with suspicion.
"…So," Felt said slowly, "you wanna trade the insignia, right?"
Merlin nodded.
"Mhm."
Priscilla's fan snapped open with a loud fwip.
"Commoner. Why, pray tell, was I not informed that this trinket trade involved that?"
"Eh? Did I not tell you?" Merlin tilted his head. "I thought I—hmm. Guess I forgot. My bad."
Priscilla stared at him, utterly speechless for a moment.
Felt and Rom exchanged looks that silently said:
What is wrong with these two?
After a brief whispered scolding session from Priscilla—mostly consisting of sharp huffs, irritated sighs, and Merlin apologizing repeatedly—the two finally turned back toward their hosts.
"So," Felt repeated, crossing her arms, "you wanna trade the insignia?"
"Yep." Merlin straightened.
"I still object to this foolish exchange," Priscilla murmured.
"Just—just wait a minute and watch the magic happen, 'kay?"
Merlin flashed her a sheepish grin, praying she wouldn't erupt again. He has had enough scolding to experience it again.
"Then settle it yourselves," Rom said gruffly. "I ain't interfering."
"I will." Felt lowered her knife.
He then looked towards Merlin "and don't ya dare try anything funny."
Merlin nodded.
Then Felt looked towards Merlin "But listen—my client's offering thirteen holy gold coins. You better have something real nice to beat that."
"Worry not!" Merlin declared with exaggerated bravado. "I'll offer something you can't possibly refuse!"
"Tch. Then quit yappin' and show me already! I ain't got all day!"
"Alright." Merlin flicked his scarf back dramatically. "Here's the deal: you give me the insignia and—"
He narrowed his eyes.
His posture shifted.
A wave of arrogant confidence radiated from him as he lifted his head ever so slightly.
"—I'll spare the both of you."
Silence.
Long, painful silence.
Then—
"Pfft—ahahahaha!"
Priscilla burst into a haughty, musical laugh. Her shoulders trembled behind her fan. She was thoroughly entertained.
Felt, on the other hand, was not.
"HUH?! What did you just say, you smug bastard?!" She raised her knife again, fury blazing in her ruby eyes.
"What? You thought I'd pay to retrieve something that was stolen from me?" Merlin scoffed. "Don't be absurd. Be a good girl and hand it back."
The words tasted bitter in his mouth—he didn't like threatening a kid—but he needed to play the part. He had to. Meanwhile, Priscilla was nodding approvingly at his intimidating tone.
"Confidence without backing," she murmured, "is merely noise."
"Y-you—!" Felt growled through gritted teeth.
Rom lifted his club, brows creased.
"Careful, kid. You're pokin' a Mabeast's nest."
Priscilla smirked, utterly delighted.
Merlin raised his hand.
Mana rippled—bright blue, condensed unnaturally tight.
Priscilla's fan paused mid-air.
Her eyes sharpened, recognizing the complexity of the spellwork but unable to grasp the type of the spell.
The light swirled, pulsing, then—
FLASH.
A long, curved blade materialized in Merlin's grip.
A katana—sleek, polished, unnervingly sharp.
"So?" Merlin tilted his chin. "Wanna settle this right here?"
A bead of sweat slid down his neck—forming metal drained him more than wood—but he hid it behind a confident grin.
Rom tightened his grip. His eyes showing a hint of hesitation.
If a fight broke out, he would without a doubt protect Felt no matter the cost but he'd rather not try that out.
"What...a strange magic." Priscilla murmured. Indeed, coming along with this fool was worth it after all. Now come on Merlin, show me what more mysteries you hide. Priscilla couldn't help but smile with anticipation.
"Why do you even want the thing?" Felt spat. "I stole it from that elf lady, not you!"
"Why do I want it hm?" Merlin acted as if he was thinking hard for a reason. "To...give it back to her," Merlin replied without hesitation. "And to save her."
Priscilla, now fully invested, gracefully sat on a chair she dragged from the corner. She crossed her legs, appearing like a queen watching a play.
And then—
clap… clap… clap…
A voice seeped into the room like poison silk.
"What spectacular magic~. I would've liked to keep you as a pet for your cute face but..." A voice.
"I'm afraid that Mama won't allow it~"
A chill crawled up Merlin's spine.
That voice.
That sweet, venomous purr.
No.
No no no no—
IT'S HER.
"PRISCILLA!!!" Merlin shouted.
In less than a heartbeat, Priscilla vanished from her seat and reappeared behind Merlin, sword drawn in a brilliant arc.
SHLICK.
A spray of crimson.
A severed hand dropped to the floor beside Merlin, still gripping a kukri.
Merlin flinched, stomach twisting at the sight. He was not used to… that level of gore.
From the shadows emerged a woman draped in darkness, a tattered cloak flowing behind her. The missing hand bled freely, but she smiled—sweet, eerily sweet.
Priscilla narrowed her eyes, analysing every single feature of her opponent. "Black hair, black clothes, dual welding and...going for the guts. With all these information, you're without a doubt—" Priscilla tightened her grip on her sword.
"—The Bowel Hunter."
"Oh my~," Elsa cooed, unbothered by her injury, "what a lovely sword. That isn't a normal blade, is it~?"
Blood dripped steadily from her amputated wrist as she stepped closer, eyes glittering with morbid fascination.
"It must be one of the Ten Swords of Power, hmm~?"
Priscilla raised her chin.
"Indeed. That a mere mutt like you can recognize its value is… mildly commendable. Shall I reward you with a pat?"
Elsa giggled. A chilling, melodic sound.
"A wielder of a Divine Sword… how rare~. I've never carved one open before. I wonder what color your entrails are~?"
With sudden speed, Elsa lunged.
Her remaining kukri slashed forward—swift, predatory, vicious.
CLANG!
Priscilla's blade intercepted it flawlessly, steel singing through the air. The impact forced Elsa to a halt, though only briefly.
From behind her cloak, something twitched.
Her right wrist—
…was whole again, and holding another knife.
Merlin's breath caught.
"Her hand… it regenerated!"
Priscilla's eyes narrowed.
"Regeneration," Priscilla muttered. "This is gonna be… tiresome."
Elsa licked the blood from her recovered hand, her smile widening into a predator's grin.
"Well then," she whispered, voice dripping with violence,
"you've seen too much, sweeties~. I can't let you live now."
Her silhouette darkened, bloodlust flooding the room like a suffocating mist.
"Don't worry~. I'll send you all to meet the angels."
Welp.
Fuck.