9.1.8

The figure pushed its way through the branches, trampled the grass, and kept its posture low as it mingled with the green of the forest.

Concealing himself in the dense, overgrown foliage, "he" suppressed his breathing and aura, blending in with the darkness.

The residents of the tiny settlement some three hundred feet or so beyond the forest were being evacuated and led away—so that they might escape the trial.

It was unforgivable. What threatened to occur was unconscionable. To prevent such a thing, the figure had thrown caution to the wind to observe their activities firsthand.

The figure endured feelings of unease as multiple shadowy figures, remaining concealed at "his" command, gathered close with a slight sound of footsteps.

Including the figure, they numbered four—insufficient to launch a general attack, but plenty to slow them down. It was ahead of schedule, but like everything else, this was for the sake of their exalted aims.

"He" put a hand in his pocket and placed the small mirror retrieved from it atop "his" palm. However, its role differed from that of the cosmetic mirrors possessed by girls and women; its role was to "connect" to different mirrors.

—It was a metia, a magical mirror that allowed the user to converse over a long distance with another via the mirror on the other side.

Though metia were scarce by nature, conversation mirrors were numerous among them and comparatively easy to acquire. But even among the disciples, only a few possessed them. This was an honor reserved for the fingers—those whose faith had been recognized, and who had been chosen as the Lord Archbishop's confidants.

"…"

Remaining silent, "he" poured magical energy into the conversation mirror, causing the metia to activate.

It was a process the figure had undertaken several times in the preceding few hours, sending detailed reports about the resources he'd accompanied so that preparations could be made for the trial that must come. Accordingly, an emergency situation like this absolutely had to be reported.

The figure had to communicate with its brethren about the fact that the resources' movements had greatly shifted. They had noticed the movements of "his" brethren, and were nefariously attempting to flee—

"—I see. It was a big mystery how you got in touch with the others, but I guess metia are super convenient. Although I think it's important in communication to show your face to the other party, don't you?"

"—?!"

Suddenly, one of the brethren crouched alongside peered into the conversation mirror, tossing such words "his" way.

The figure hastily looked over, and the next moment, "he" was stricken by a sense of extreme unease. The other party was right next to him, and yet the figure still could not discern the features of the other person's face. It was as if something was stopping his brain from understanding what he was seeing.

"You don't distinguish by face, you distinguish by physical nature. When it comes to that, you and I are like girls in a knitting circle wearing the same perfume. Gives me chills, you piece-of-shit bastard."

As the "white-robed" brethren spoke, he stood up, practically spitting out the declaration.

Then, in front of "him"—Kety, the Witch Cultist, frozen stiff in surprise—the brethren pulled down his hood, revealing rare black hair and foul-looking eyes with the white of the sclera surrounding three sides of each iris—three-whites eyes.

"Your sin is grave, y'know—getting in the way of my sentimental reunion with Emilia and all that."

As the black-haired youth prattled on with frivolity, a taunting, impetuous smile came over his mouth.

The next instant, the indecipherable enchantment surrounding the youth fell away. Kety's eyes could now plainly make out the youth's features, bringing his identity to light.

The features of the traitor who had led the expeditionary force to their doorstep, making a plan that he would oppose them—

"—"

With the most unforgivable of foes before him, Kety reflexively leaped to his feet. There was no need to even look at the two brethren to his sides. They would launch a combined assault on the apostate before them. However—

The instant he drew the cross-shaped blade on his hip, a lower-tone whisper grazed his ear.

"—Too slow."

The next moment, a silver flash raced into the corner of his field of vision, and the brethren to his right and left gushed blood as they crumbled. Their necks had been slashed; it was obvious the blows had been fatal. And then it was Kety's turn—

"I recommend that you do not resist. I do not intend to inflict unnecessary pain."

His efforts had been completely forestalled by the cold tip of a blade against the back of his neck.

Behind him stood a slender knight, and the aged swordsman who had cut down his two brethren. In addition, a cat-eared demihuman stood behind them, all of them brought by the black-haired traitor…

"Subaru Natsuki…!"

"Ohh, I guess it's obvious, but, like, wow, Witch Cultists really do talk. That's a big help."

Shoved against the ground with his arms pinned behind him, Kety glared up at him—the traitor, Subaru Natsuki.

The youth on the receiving end had an outbreak of cold sweat on his brow. He turned to the other three and spoke.

"Well, at least it went without a hitch. Thanks for the assist."

"I admit to half doubting you, but having read them properly this far, I cannot but admit you were correct. If they have been made to dance as you expect, our advantage shall only grow greater."

"Isn't that pretty much a given, meow? We started evacuating the village so much earlier than expected that it made him try contacting them in a big hurry."

As the knight and the demihuman concurred with the youth's words, Kety's head was in chaos, filled with hatred and incomprehension.

He didn't understand the meaning of their conversation. It was as if they'd known every last thing in—

"Your face says you don't get it. Well, that can't be helped. This time we're way too good at running rings around ya. Oh, and thank you for helping our disinformation efforts…not that you actually realized you were a double spy."

"—?"

"The gist is, we totally knew you were a spy. As for how we found you…trade secret. So we went through the trouble of laying a trap for the Witch Cult's scout, in other words, you."

Kety was still, eyes wide open, as Subaru Natsuki closed one eye and slowly spelled it out.

And then he stated, "Two hours. You reported to your pals that we were two hours behind schedule."

Raising up two fingers, he wagged them left and right. Kety's eyes remained wide with shock as Subaru continued. "During that time, we'll get Emilia and the others outta here. During that time, we'll crush the fingers flat. During that time, we'll prepare to squish your precious archbishop flat."

At the end of those words, a bold smile came over Subaru Natsuki.

And then he issued his declaration of war.

"I'm gonna give you a real good taste of the terror of being crushed by someone three steps ahead of you."