Chapter 412: The Gun is Fast and Accurate
Vermouth completed her slow circuit around the massive trunk of the Sacred Sakura. Her gloved hands brushed against the ancient, gnarled roots, sweeping aside fallen petals and loose dirt, but her search yielded nothing out of the ordinary. She straightened up, brushing dust from her knees. She was not particularly disappointed. If the legendary gem known as Pandora had truly been buried beneath this very tree five centuries ago, expecting to find freshly turned soil or obvious markers was a fool's errand. The earth had long since reclaimed whatever secrets it held.
A soft thud broke the quiet of the night as Camus dropped down from the upper branches. He landed in a crouch, his boots kicking up a small cloud of dust before he stood. His jaw was tight, a clear sign of his growing frustration. "Nothing up there," Camus muttered, his voice a low, irritable rasp. "Not a single hollow or hidden compartment. Is Glenlivet playing us for fools?"
Vermouth narrowed her eyes, her mind racing through the possibilities. "Unlikely," she replied, keeping her tone measured. "He wouldn't be stupid enough to feed us a lie that could be exposed this quickly. There is zero benefit in crossing the Organization for a cheap prank."
The logic held. Pandora had to be somewhere near the Sacred Sakura. If not hidden within the trunk or the branches, there had to be some anomaly in the immediate vicinity. Yet, the shrine grounds offered nothing but silent stones and drifting petals. Could it genuinely be buried deep underground? If so, extracting it without drawing the attention of the entire mountain would be an absolute nightmare.
A dull ache began to throb at her temples. She pinched the bridge of her nose, weighing the risks of bringing in excavation equipment under the cover of darkness. Just as she calculated the logistics of digging up the sacred soil, a calm, even voice drifted through the cool night air, originating from directly behind them.
"So, you snuck into the shrine to look for something. What do you intend to find?"
Ice flooded Vermouth's veins. Beside her, Camus stiffened, his breath hitching in his throat. The sudden intrusion was worse than a gunshot; it was a psychological thunderclap that sent their adrenaline spiking to dangerous levels. Instinct took over. Both operatives pivoted on their heels in perfect synchronization, their hands dropping toward their concealed weapons. Their sharp, predatory gazes locked onto the open clearing they had just verified was completely empty seconds prior.
A woman with long, braided purple hair stood in the center of the path. She made absolutely no sound. No rustling fabric, no crunching leaves, no intake of breath. Yet, the sheer weight of her presence pressed down on the clearing like a physical force. Pale moonlight filtered through the canopy of the Sacred Sakura, casting an ethereal glow over her slender silhouette.
Neither Black Organization executive had the luxury of appreciating the enchanting sight. The woman was staring directly at them. Her eyes held no anger, no surprise, and no joy. They were entirely hollow, reflecting a cold, detached indifference that triggered every survival instinct Vermouth possessed. It was the look of a god observing insects.
Those distinct, striking features matched the intelligence briefing perfectly. This was the Inazuma Department Head Glenlivet had warned them about. Raiden Ei. Vermouth gritted her teeth. Did every single member of this ridiculous Teyvat Organization possess the ability to walk like a ghost?
During their daytime reconnaissance, they had kept their guard relatively low, merely acting as tourists scoping out the shrine's layout. When Yae Miko had materialized behind them earlier, they had chalked it up to their own lack of focus. It had been startling, yes, but easily dismissed as a momentary lapse in attention.
Tonight was entirely different. They were operating in hostile territory, their senses dialed to the absolute maximum. They had been monitoring the wind, the shadows, and the ambient noise of the mountain, paranoid about a repeat of the afternoon's ambush. In this state of hyper-awareness, the snap of a twig or the shifting of gravel would have triggered an immediate reaction. Yet, despite their elite training, Ei had bypassed their perimeter completely undetected.
Any lingering doubts they held regarding Glenlivet's warnings about the Inazuma leader's monstrous capabilities evaporated into the night air.
"It seems you knew we were here all along," Vermouth said, forcing a calm, conversational tone while keeping her muscles coiled for evasion. "Waiting until now to show yourself... are you really that confident?"
While speaking, Vermouth rapidly assessed the threat. Ei wore a short, elegant purple kimono with draped sleeves. The fabric clung close enough to her form to rule out any hidden firearms or heavy tactical gear. From head to toe, the only visible armament was a simple wooden training sword resting casually in her right hand. Was she intentionally mocking them, or did she genuinely believe a piece of wood was enough to handle two armed assassins?
"It is not a matter of confidence," Ei replied, her voice smooth and entirely devoid of inflection. "It is simply that you are exceptionally weak. I merely wanted to observe your actions and clarify your purpose for trespassing on the shrine grounds." She took a slow, deliberate half-step forward. "So. Tell me exactly what you were searching for."
The final sentence carried a heavy, authoritative weight that demanded absolute obedience.
Camus's face darkened. The blatant contempt in the purple-haired woman's voice grated against his pride. She might have possessed impressive stealth, but stealth meant nothing in a direct confrontation against modern firepower. She held a piece of carved wood. He held cold, hard steel.
There was an old underworld adage: beyond seven steps, a gun is fast. Within seven steps, a gun is both fast and perfectly accurate. They were standing barely five steps apart. Camus refused to believe that any human, no matter how skilled in martial arts, could outpace the mechanical certainty of a bullet.
Without a word of warning, Camus's hand blurred toward his waistband. He drew his pistol in a fluid, practiced motion, leveling the barrel directly at Ei's chest.
Three deafening cracks tore through the quiet night.
At this point-blank range, aiming was entirely unnecessary. Muscle memory guided his hand, and the entire sequence, from the draw to the third muzzle flash, took less than two seconds. It was a flawless, lethal execution.
Then, the impossible happened.
In the microsecond the third casing ejected from the slide, the space directly in front of Camus was empty. Ei did not dodge, nor did she dive for cover. She simply vanished. One moment she was standing in the trajectory of the bullets, and the next, she was gone, leaving behind nothing but a faint crackle of static electricity in the air.
Camus's eyes widened, his brain struggling to process the visual anomaly. Before he could even draw a breath to react, a brilliant flash of purple lightning illuminated the shadows behind him.
A solid length of wood pressed flush against his throat. Beside him, Vermouth froze, an identical pressure resting against her own neck. Ei had crossed the distance in a literal flash of lightning, positioning her wooden blade perfectly across both of their windpipes. The sheer speed and the faint, residual electric current humming from the wood made the hairs on the back of Camus's neck stand straight up.
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