[288] 5. Every Variable (2)
'Right. That happened back then too. I met Marsha and came back late…'
Suddenly Shirone wondered if Amy had been hurt by him. Had dancing with Reina left a scar for her?
Even though he knew it was a trap, going to Falcoa — in retrospect, that motive wasn't entirely absent.
No. I'm overthinking this. Dancing with Reina was part of the plan. Amy wouldn't do that.
Even as he told himself that, he couldn't be sure.
The reason was simple. When he'd seen Amy dancing with Zion, an unpleasant ripple had risen in his chest as well.
Would Amy really be any different?
If she felt the same thing, she might have followed Zion for the smallest reason. Amy was that fragile.
Shirone's steps hurried. He tried to steady his emotions by thinking, but his heart only beat faster.
"Huh?"
He stopped abruptly and turned.
Since coming underground, the nape of his neck had felt oddly chilly. Yet the corridor he'd just walked showed no sign of anyone — not a footprint, not even a mouse.
"Must be my imagination."
Shirone rubbed his throat and continued on slowly.
Kekeke, no, can't do that.
A man hung upside down from the ceiling where Shirone had walked away and split his mouth into a grin. He was Spatur Zenoger, assigned the special mission to assassinate Shirone.
He hung from the ceiling using only the strength of his ten fingers.
The spider-mimicry of his clan gave them the power to defy gravity.
Fine down on his fingertips and an adhesive oil seeping from his skin chemically reacted to hold his weight.
Of course, his assassin training supported it — he was using upper-body strength alone to support his lower body.
The oil that seeped from his finger skin evaporated within twenty seconds after stopping, leaving no trace of his presence.
A near-perfect killer.
Zenoger licked his lips and then retracted his long tongue.
A prey with a good sense, he thought. Like… a mosquito.
But he felt so confident because he was continuously sending tiny threads of killing intent toward Shirone.
Watching a prey's reaction and considering counters is an assassin's basics. They could kill at any time if they wished; they were simply tasting the situation to ensure a hundred-percent success rate.
Hmm, indeed.
Assassins make use of circumstances rather than brute force. Their work forces them into long stretches of solitude; they must judge and evaluate everything themselves, so talking aloud to oneself becomes habitual.
Zenoger liked being an assassin. It was a far more refined art than an improvised hitman who rushes in and out.
Though his body had grown grotesque, that very grotesqueness was the functional beauty the Spatur clan pursued.
Push a little more…?
Zenoger crawled along the wall with his ten fingers, closing the distance to his prey. Then he drew a silk thread from his posterior and descended behind Shirone.
The thin filament stuck to the ceiling and pulled Zenoger forward. A gust would make it sway, but precise control wasn't difficult for a spider-clan member.
Shirone's nape was right before him — close enough that a breath would ruffle the hair. The white flesh of the neck looked like fish meat, tempting the urge to bite.
Zenoger widened his mouth and slowly brought his fingers to Shirone's neck.
Let's see how he senses this.
His fingertips approached until they were almost touching the downy hair. It was a hair's breadth away.
Shirone's head snapped around in surprise.
But all he saw was the usual underground corridor. Even the torchlight's flicker looked unchanged.
"What the hell?"
Something felt wrong. Maybe he was being unusually sensitive today, but something kept prickling his nerves.
Better be sure.
Feigning a slow walk, Shirone suddenly expanded his Spirit Zone.
....
A flood of information arrived through his synesthesia.
Countless tiny things were scurrying about. With a food storage nearby, they were probably rats or cockroaches.
Ugh…
Shirone brushed down his arm, goosefleshed.
What his synesthesia picked up were only small creatures. After days of fearing assassination, maybe his nerves were frayed.
Phew. Let's get out of here.
As Shirone moved away, Zenoger, still clinging to the ceiling, wore a satisfied smile.
Caught. Congratulations on your death.
A mage's Spirit Zone is one of the most troublesome abilities for a close-range assassin. Expanding the mind and perceiving things through synesthesia makes approaching them difficult.
But assassins say this:
There is no sense without a blind spot.
The Spirit Zone integrates all information within its area. It doesn't provide the accuracy of sight, hearing, or touch; it's more like a synthesized sixth sense.
So what if one assimilates into a specific object or organism? That synthesized intuition would stop distinguishing between two entities.
The blind spot of that sixth sense.
Just as creatures evolved concealment techniques, assassins — after ages of grappling with the Spirit Zone — developed unique methods.
That was object-assimilation: Equalizing.
Indeed.
Through his Spirit Zone, Shirone sensed Zenoger's presence, but that intuition couldn't tell Zenoger apart from the cliff face.
And that was exactly what Zenoger had been aiming for.
A mage's dependence on the Spirit Zone is as great as a normal person's dependence on sight. Some even consider things they cannot sense with the Spirit Zone to be non-existent.
That was why Shirone had been subtly on edge until now.
After checking his surroundings with his Spirit Zone, Shirone's guard had dropped far lower than before.
So he must die.
It wasn't Zenoger alone who would kill him — the situation would.
Hitmen who specialize in hit-and-run stake everything on a fifty-percent chance; assassins rarely move even for a ninety-nine-percent chance. They only act when the target has already stepped into the mire of death.
That is why high-ranking figures fear a single assassin more than an army. The appearance of one means your situation is already at death's epicenter.
Being the best assassin doesn't make you the best judge. Equalizing is a truly difficult art; to master it one must devote a lifetime.
But when assassins are strong, they are overwhelming.
If a judge is equally capable from one to a hundred, assassins become invincible at the one-in-a-hundred point and subdue their opponents.
So Shirone was not at fault. He had simply trusted what he believed. Zenoger exploited that blind spot and left his target completely defenseless.
Right now, Zenoger was invincible.
Heh heh, then shall we go?
Crawling along the ceiling toward Shirone, Zenoger landed silently. He pursed his lips, then pretended to pluck something from his mouth.
A wire—hard as steel—was drawn out.
This would be enough.
Indeed.
Zenoger chose a death noose.
He would fashion the wire into a loop, throw it at Shirone, and when he pulled it tight the face would snap from the neck like a bunch of grapes being plucked.
Seven seconds.
He flicked the fluttering wire through the air and quickly tied the noose.
Riding the current, it sailed forward like a kite and hovered above the crown of Shirone's head.
A perfect murder: no sound, no sign, not even a scent.
Four seconds. Three. Two.
The noose slid down Shirone's face toward his throat.
Now!
Zenoger split his mouth and yanked the thread.
The sharp spider-silk noose tightened instantly, shrinking until it compacted to a size smaller than a millet seed.
....
Shirone hit his butt on the floor and turned to face Zenoger.
"W-what? Who are you?"
....
Zenoger stared as if his cognitive faculties had been wiped. No matter how he tried to make sense of it, he couldn't.
The moment he tightened the noose, Shirone had suddenly lowered his body and rolled on the ground. Then he rolled back and met the man's gaze.
What? Where did my calculation go wrong?
Shirone should have died. The situation demanded it.
Therefore he was not at fault. There had clearly been an unexpected variable.
Shirone swallowed and glared at Zenoger.
Just after he'd checked the area with his Spirit Zone and begun walking with relief, an inner voice had screamed, Danger!
With no time to think, he rolled. When he turned back, a grim-looking man stared at him.
"How… did you evade that?" Zenoger asked in a cold voice.
Shirone frowned, unable to understand the question.
How did I evade it? Well, of course…
Because he had heard someone's voice. But Zenoger hadn't seemed to hear anything.
At that moment there was a glass-crack sound from Shirone's pocket.
He kept his eyes on Zenoger as he rummaged, then produced a gem split into two pieces — the jewel Uorin had said was worth well over a hundred million.
Zenoger's shoulders twitched. When he enlarged it with his insect-like vision, the gem in Shirone's hand was exactly what he knew.
?
It was impossible for Shirone to have that. Yet it was undeniably . Otherwise Zenoger would have had no reason to spare him during a perfectly engineered plan.
Damn… of all things.
Records said that 480 years ago the Jaeger family lived on the western continent.
One day members of the main house began to be murdered — one per day. No matter how much they increased security, another corpse appeared each morning.
The patriarch searched everywhere for the culprit, but there was no way to stop the rising death toll.
When the household's numbers dropped below half, he made an extreme decision.
He sealed the mansion.
But that night another servant was killed.
The patriarch sensed the assassin was inside and interrogated the family. He found no one suspicious, and as time passed the main house's members fell from 287 to 63.
The family was effectively ruined.
Everyone's minds were broken; distrust kept them from speaking.
The patriarch gave up trying.
Whoever dies, he would simply wait. If he could identify the killer, it didn't matter if his family perished.
On the 286th day of the assassinations, only two people remained in the mansion.
The patriarch and his youngest daughter, his most beloved.
"H-how are you…?"
He couldn't believe his eyes.
He knew he wasn't the killer. So the culprit must be his fourteen-year-old daughter.
"No! I'm not the killer! Father, I really didn't do it!"
The patriarch drew his sword.
He had to kill her. No matter how much he loved her, she had caused everyone else to die.
But he couldn't kill his daughter.
She was already dead.
Staring in shock at his youngest daughter, a corpse, the patriarch finally realized the truth and his jaw dropped.
All the secrets were revealed.
The sword fell and his knees hit the floor.
"No, no! This can't be! No!"
He tore at his hair and wailed.
There was no one left to die. Only he remained.
He fetched strong liquor and went to his study. Sitting at his desk, he recorded the 286 days of events in a single letter.
The patriarch's fate was never confirmed.
Whether he left the mansion or became the final victim is debated. In any case, the Jaeger family vanished.
Two years later a merchant bought the Jaeger mansion for next to nothing.
Because it had been the patriarch's private property, no one could touch it until the legal two-year period passed; then the kingdom sold it.
When the sealed mansion doors finally opened, the first thing the merchant saw on the floor were 287 red beads.
This is the backstory of . It's also the example Curia Auction Company cites to show why an object can never be one hundred percent safe.