He took a trembling step forward, but his foot slipped. The stack of newspapers flew from his hands, several of them fluttering right toward the middle-aged man.
Instinctively, the man reached out to grab them.
A sudden, high-pitched whistle tore through the air.
The cool morning atmosphere was instantly saturated with a lethal intent.
Fast!
It was unbelievably fast!
Just as the man's fingers closed around the papers, a glint of cold steel burst through the newsprint with the speed of a thunderclap, plunging deep into his skull.
The man stared in wide-eyed disbelief at the glowing Magic Circuits on Wayland's arm. His mouth worked, attempting to speak.
Wayland didn't give him the chance. Without a second's hesitation, he twisted his wrist downward. The eight-inch dagger ground into the center of the man's forehead, sending a spray of blood and tissue across the interior of the car.
Surprisingly, Wayland didn't feel the slightest bit of nausea.
He quickly pulled open the car door, shoved the body aside, and rolled up the window. He climbed into the driver's seat, started the engine, and sped away from the scene.
Wayland took several sharp turns through the city streets. With Irigal's guidance, he eventually veered into a dilapidated, abandoned alleyway where no one would see them.
Once the car was stationary, Wayland finally had the chance to thoroughly search the dead man's pockets.
"Penniless!"
Wayland flipped open the man's wallet, only to find a few meager bills. He counted them: four fifty-pound notes. He shoved the cash into his own pocket and continued his search, eventually finding two dark purple cards tucked into a hidden compartment.
"Irigal, what are these?"
["Curse magecraft."]
"Curse magecraft?" Wayland repeated, a thoughtful look crossing his face.
Magecraft involving curses was, put simply, an attempt to alter the essence of a target by manipulating their name.
'My essence is human, but he forced a connection between me and that black cat, blending our essences until they were homogenized. I effectively became the cat. By harming the cat, he could reflect that same damage back onto me. It's a good thing I found the caster before the mystery was fully established. If that cat had died, I would have died with it.'
As he gripped the small cards, Wayland felt a faint, spectral connection to a black cat lingering at the edge of his perception.
"Wait, I have a question," Wayland said, his voice turning cold as he looked at the corpse. "Casting a curse like this requires a personal item as a medium. It's easy enough to find a medium for a stray cat, but what about me? I've never met this man. How did he get his hands on something of mine?"
His thoughts raced. He was certain the medium had been obtained before he transmigrated, but his predecessor's memories had been erased during that mysterious incident.
'Who is the entity watching me? What was that incident? And why did they send me that admission letter?'
Wayland murmured the questions to himself, knowing there would be no answers today.
He tossed the wallet aside and, after double-checking that he hadn't missed anything, stepped out of the car. He pulled a canister of gasoline from the trunk and doused the vehicle and the surrounding ground.
Wayland looked up, channeling the last of his prana through his Magic Circuits. He formed a faint magical barrier--it wasn't much for protection, but it was just enough to mask the thick, black smoke as the car began to burn.
He didn't leave immediately. He stood his ground for several minutes, waiting until the body was charred beyond recognition.
Wayland turned and headed toward the mouth of the alley. His Magic Circuits slowly faded, and the luminous spear-cage on his arm vanished.
And then, he saw someone.
A woman was standing there, dressed in a striking kimono with long, flowing sleeves decorated with vibrant floral patterns. She wore a pair of glasses, and her long, black hair was as smooth as a combed night, reaching all the way down to her ankles. A cool, thin smile played across her lips.
"My, my," she said. "You're quite the impressive little brother, aren't you?"
"..."
'Irigal, you absolute failure of a system!'
'Someone walked right up to us and you didn't say a word!'
Wayland swallowed hard. "Sister, please... look at the facts! He attacked first! This was purely self-defense!"
The woman shook her head, pointing to her eyes. "All I saw was a boy committing a violent murder in the middle of a public street."
"Er..."
Wayland gave a strained, awkward laugh. "I might have killed him, but he was the one who cast a curse on me first."
"A curse?"
"Look." Wayland hurriedly held out the two small cards, offering them to the woman.
The moment her fingers brushed the cards, a dark, skull-shaped cloud of black smoke erupted from them, lunging toward her.
"That wasn't me!"
Wayland scrambled back, his hands raised in surrender to show he wasn't responsible for the trap.
The woman simply gave a light, casual puff of air. The black smoke vanished instantly, as if it had never existed.
Wayland stared, wide-eyed. He was glad he hadn't tried to fight her. If a single breath could do that, he'd have been erased from existence.
"Such low-grade curse runes."
The woman clapped her hands, and the two cards crumbled into ash. She looked at Wayland. "Tell me, do you know the first principle of a magus?"
"I do..."
Wayland's face fell into a mask of misery. "The first principle: Mystery must remain concealed. A magus must never perform magecraft in the presence of ordinary people, or they will face the consequences."
"Your little performance on the street just now was a direct violation of that principle."
"Don't worry, Sister! I moved very fast! I'm sure no one saw a thing!"
"Oh? You want me to praise you for being fast, little brother?" The woman let out a soft laugh, her tone turning mischievous. "You know, it's rarely a good thing for a man to be 'fast.'"
"..."
Wayland sighed, accepting his fate. "I can't beat you anyway. Just tell me how you want to handle this."
"Come with me for a bit."
[Translated and Rewritten by Shika_Kagura]