"Sorry—oh, it's you! I didn't realize at first!" The boy laughed a little awkwardly.
But Bayonetta did not lower her guard. She continued to block the path behind her, preventing anyone from approaching her mother, Rosa. "Still playing guide like before, huh? Looks like someone sent you five hundred years into the past." Just as the boy tried to keep talking, Bayonetta fired again. But this time, the bullet was intercepted by the boy himself. He didn't look surprised; instead, he wore a knowing expression, as if to say, I knew it.
"Looks like you've figured out the truth. They don't call you the Left Eye for nothing, right?"
"Let me guess your relationship with that little brat..." Bayonetta took a few relaxed steps forward. "I didn't expect your fashion sense to turn out this bad when you grew up, Prophet."
"You're really clever," the Prophet replied, glancing around to make sure he wasn't present—the one he didn't want to see. Then he smiled, his tone as gentle as a dried leaf landing on a quiet brook. "But it doesn't matter if you recognize me. The witch and the sage are both still alive. Two miserable insects—I must eliminate them quickly. I want what they have. I want my Eye of the World back."
Bayonetta didn't look surprised. Thanks to Solomon's vast knowledge, the archives of Kamar-Taj, and fragments recalled by the boy, she and Solomon had already pieced together most of the truth. Everything the Prophet was saying now, she had anticipated. Still, the sight of this poorly dressed future version of the boy sharing the same face made the scene undeniably eerie.
"My other half fled to the future. I can't let him have the Eye of the World. That's why I have to kill you, sweetheart!"
"That's it? Come on—hit harder. I didn't even feel that."
Bayonetta sneered and casually dodged several ghostly, translucent arms conjured by the Prophet, along with a hailstorm of sapphire crystals. She fired while retreating, drawing the battlefield away from Rosa. The ploy worked—the Prophet clearly took her taunts personally. Once she judged the distance safe enough, Bayonetta, bearer of the Left Eye of Darkness, stopped in her tracks. She drew two long blades named Ashura and lunged forward. In the blink of an eye, the gap between them closed to within striking distance—just enough space for half a blade's length.
"When a girl tells you to hit harder," the witch said, slashing at the same spot with incredible speed. The blades, enhanced with magic, finally severed one of the ghost arms. Before the Prophet could react, Madame Butterfly—summoned through Shadow Weaving—delivered a hammer-like punch from above. Bayonetta followed up with a spinning heel kick, adding force to the blow and knocking the Prophet off the cliff.
"That means you're not doing so hot, little guy."
"This isn't enough, darling," the Prophet said as he floated back up unnaturally. One of his ghost arms extended, pierced the cliffside, and tore away the ledge Bayonetta stood on, hurling the massive slab of rock skyward like a rocket. In an instant, the rock tens of meters long broke through the clouds. As its upward velocity faded, it began its inevitable descent. The pressure and friction of the atmosphere heated the rock until it glowed red—like a meteor blazing back through the sky.
"Clingy men aren't very attractive," Bayonetta quipped as she cast a spell to remain firmly planted on the searing boulder. Without hesitation, she launched herself at the Prophet, who hovered just above. This battle was even more dangerous than the last. Not only did the witch have to dodge the ever-lengthening ghost arms, she also had to avoid the high-temperature air and the fiery shards of molten rock splintering all around her.
The Prophet believed he could finally achieve at least half his goal—to seize one Eye of the World.
Meanwhile, Solomon continued walking with the Sorcerer Supreme. Along the way, he was attacked multiple times by angels.
The Sorcerer Supreme of this era seemed intent on evaluating Solomon's swordsmanship and thus allowed him to fight freely. Still, to avoid drawing too much attention from the real world and alerting the angels to the presence of a powerful threat, the Sorcerer veiled them in the Mirror Dimension, shielding their movements from any other potential enemies.
"You shouldn't have blocked that sword with your arm guard," the Sorcerer said sternly after yet another battle. "Even uru and vibranium alloys aren't indestructible. You'll lose your arm if you keep this up."
"At least they only left scratches on the armor, right?" Solomon said, panting.
Fighting high-tier angels without activating his Stigmata was admittedly troublesome—but only slightly so. A moment's breath was all he needed to recover. He knew the Sorcerer didn't want him to use his arm guards to block the massive golden greatsword of the Upper Principality Angel Valor, but Solomon was focused on maximum lethality. His ferocious, trade-blow-for-blow style crushed enemies both physically and psychologically. By the end, even the mighty Angel Valor could no longer lift its sword, overcome by fear, and Solomon impaled it against a moss-covered cliff with its own blade—before smashing the sculpted face on the hilt, exposing bleeding flesh and tendons. The angel's anguished screams terrified the lesser angels, who tried desperately to flee the Mirror Dimension.
"Then I guess I can only criticize your combat style," the Sorcerer said with a shake of his head. "You're hardly knightly at all."
"Master, battle isn't an art—it's a practical philosophy," Solomon replied with a smile. He looked up at the fire-lit sky and the meteors raining down. "A knight is just a social class. I won't let culture derived from that class dictate how I fight. I'll use any method necessary to win. Wasn't that one of your lessons?"
"Maybe my future self would agree with that. Actually—yeah, fine. I agree too," the Sorcerer said, laughing after a moment's thought. It was obvious who had taught Solomon that attitude. If anyone deserved blame, it was the Sorcerer himself. "It's the kind of idealism you teach kids—like telling them not to lie, even though the parents do it all the time. Since you've come this far, there's no need to pretend."
While the Sorcerer wasn't the best teacher, he was honest. He never hid what his disciples needed to know, and never spoke of what they didn't—unlike Odin, who deliberately sowed rivalry between Loki and Thor.
"We're almost there. You'll see the end of the witches—and the impact you've had," the Sorcerer said. "After that, I'll need to leave Earth to handle some things. Just as you suspected, due to this upheaval, the extra-dimensional beings won't stay idle. Most of Kamar-Taj's forces have been deployed to the Sanctum and to the Isles of Pain and Redemption across the Rift Domain."
"But let me quiz you—have you figured out how to return to your own era?"
(End of Chapter)
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