Epsilon’s Spectacularly Fake... Everything

"An enemy attack...!"

I hissed the words as I lit the lamp inside my oversized tent. Outside, the night was screaming.

"The enemy is small in number, sir! We believe they managed to slip through the perimeter under the cover of darkness!" my aide reported, looking like he was about to piss himself.

This camp was the nerve center of the Doem Faction, packed to the gills with elite Cult members. For anyone to raid this place with such suicidal confidence, it could only be one group.

"Shadow Garden..."

My face twisted. The losers in the Royalist Faction didn’t have the stones for a stunt like this. But Shadow Garden? Their intel network was basically a cheat code. They probably knew where I hid my spare socks and the exact coordinates of every Cult movement.

"Dammit... just how much of our data has leaked?!"

"I-I don't think it's a leak, sir! Our countermeasures are perfect! This has to be a fluke—"

"Shut up!" I barked. "How many 'flukes' do we need before you realize we're being played? Did you already forget that Ragitta was murdered? Do you have any idea how many times those masked freaks have trashed our plans?!"

"Hiee... p-please forgive me!"

The aide’s voice was a pathetic tremble.

"Don't underestimate them," I growled. "Things have been a mess ever since Ragitta got taken out. If they’re raiding us here, we have to assume they already know everything."

"T-That’s impossible. How could they possibly know the details of our plan?"

"They know things they have no business knowing. That is what Shadow Garden is..."

I reached for the coffin sitting in the middle of the tent. It wasn’t much to look at—no gold trim or fancy carvings—but it was built like a fortress. Thick chains were wrapped around it multiple times, and right in the center, there was a tiny hole.

It looked like a keyhole, but it wasn't. It was, quite literally, just a hole.

"They probably know about this, too," I muttered. "The Hero, the Subject... even the Secret Elixir..."

"N-No way! Not the Hero's Subject! There's absolutely no—"

A sudden gust of wind sliced through the tent.

"I see. So that’s how it was..."

The voice was beautiful, melodic, and terrifying. In the same breath, my aide’s body was bifurcated. A spray of blood painted the air as his upper half slid off his lower half.

"Y-You...!"

I glared at the owner of that silk-spun voice.

"Long time no see, Doem. You were such a help back at the castle," she said.

Standing there was Epsilon, the beauty with hair like a shimmering mountain spring.

"Epsilon... I thought you were dead after that injury."

"It takes more than that to kill me. Though, being chased around by a mob of your men was quite the chore. I suppose beauty is a heavy burden to bear."

I scanned her figure. "You’ve gotten thinner. I guess life as one of the Seven Shadows is catching up to you."

"It's just a disguise," she replied instantly.

"A disguise?"

"Yes. I am disguised. Totally."

"Hmm..."

I mean, 'thin' was an understatement. Her "proportions" had vanished so completely it was almost suspicious. Was it a bluff to hide her fatigue, or was she actually serious? A weirdly specific tension hung in the air between us.

"Aren't you going to treat that?" Epsilon asked, her eyes locked onto mine.

I felt a sting and looked down. A fresh cut had opened on my right shoulder. I hadn't even seen her move. She’d sliced my aide and tagged me in the same heartbeat.

"It's just a scratch. Nothing to worry about."

"You did well to dodge it at all. But Mordred isn't here to save you this time. I'm in perfect condition, and your odds of winning are basically one in ten thousand."

"I see... so, how much do you actually know?"

"Most of it."

We kept talking. I was stalling for time; she was fishing for more details.

"The reason the Cult is so obsessed with specific cases of Possession... I finally put the pieces together," she said.

"Oh? Enlighten me. I'll let you know if you're getting warm."

"A long time ago, there were three heroes who defeated the Demon Diabolos. One of them was Freya. For some reason, the Cult managed to get their hands on her corpse."

"So that was why you hit Ragitta’s castle..."

"Exactly. The Cult studied Freya’s body—specifically how it was compatible with Diabolos Cells—to try and manufacture a new Hero. But you needed a fresh vessel to host that power. You went looking for three candidates who had inherited Freya's bloodline most strongly."

"Bingo," I sneered, glaring at her. "And as you well know, our Subjects—Rose Oriana, Alexia Midgar, and Claire Kagenou—are all currently hiding under your protection. Seriously, how much of a pain in the ass do you intend to be? We hadn't even confirmed the data ourselves, yet you people already managed to find the right answer! Tell me, how?!"

Epsilon didn’t answer. She just looked away, staring off into the distance as if she were looking at someone far, far ahead of us.

"All truth lies at the end of the path Master Shadow walks."

"Shadow... that man again! Always him...!"

The memory of the Bushin Festival flashed through my mind. I could still see the arc of Shadow's Sword. It was a masterpiece of violence, a sharpened work of art that had been burned into my retinas.

"Now then," she said, "I think our chat is over."

"Don't be in such a rush. I've got one more thing to show you. It’s true we wanted those three Subjects. But even if they’re out of reach, I managed to scrounge up a 'budget' version that’s perfect for reuse..."

I stood by the coffin. I had just finished pouring the last of the red liquid—the Secret Elixir—into the small hole.

Magic Power began to hemorrhage out of the sealed box.

"Come on, wakey-wakey. You want to kill the man who murdered your father, don't you—Milia?"

"Wait... what?" Epsilon stammered.

Then, the coffin exploded.