Before I knew it, the gunfire had ceased.
The only things left in my ears were the creaking of charred wood and the sound of water dripping somewhere.
Leaving the fallen "Young Ladies" to several squad members, Roselia and I pressed deeper into the manor.
The real threat was still ahead.
Every time I stepped over the blood and shell casings littering the hallway or trod upon the scorched carpet, my soles made a sickening, wet squelch.
"...An unsettling silence," Roselia muttered in a low voice.
I took a deep breath and concentrated.
Expanding the perception range of the Speech Bubbles.
I switched to a mode that didn't just pick up consciousness directed at me, but gathered the "voices" of every thought in the vicinity.
In an instant, the world expanded with a heavy thrum.
In my mind's eye, the fog suddenly cleared, and countless Speech Bubbles surfaced.
Dread, terror, confusion... those emotions flooded into my head all at once.
Now then, I can't maintain this state for long. Better find them fast.
The presence of others was sparse, but there were clusters here and there.
Not that one; those are just cries of fear. Not that one either.
Then, I found one spot where the density of thought was overwhelming.
There. That's the place.
My legs were moving before I could even speak.
"Hey, do you have a lead?!" Roselia called out from behind.
I gave a short nod and sprinted up the stairs.
The floorboards shrieked under my weight as dust danced in the air.
We were close.
I burst through the second-floor hallway and reached the door at the end.
The door had been flung open violently; its edges were scorched and its metal frame distorted by intense heat.
The acrid smell of burning stung my nose.
From within, I could hear the faint whine of mechanical components—.
The layout of the Speech Bubbles mapped itself out in my mind.
Several people by the back wall, two in front of them. And, in the center of the room...
There was no time to hesitate.
I took a sharp breath and charged into the room, sliding across the floor.
My field of vision opened up.
The room had likely been a drawing room once.
Elegant decorations were now charred ruins, and the curtains lay scattered across the floor like gray ash.
The wreckage of a chandelier hung precariously from the ceiling, its fragments reflecting the flickering light.
And in the center of it all—.
A girl stood with her back to us.
Her long silver hair swayed slightly as it caught the light.
Her skin was as smooth as white porcelain. I couldn't see her face from behind, but... that was her.
Beside her stood a man with a massive frame encased in jet-black prosthetics.
He was easily over two meters tall.
He was so large that even Roselia would have to look up to meet his gaze.
Heat flickered from the gaps in his jet-black tune parts.
He looked like a tank that had been forced into a human shape.
At the back of the room, I saw Sebastian.
He was leaning forward, pinning one of the maids to the floor.
Even as he held her down, his expression was one of pure agony, his teeth gritted in reluctance.
He clearly recognized how disadvantaged they were and was waiting for a chance to act.
Behind him, several guards—including Gordon—lay collapsed on the floor.
Blood seeped slowly into the carpet, its raw, metallic tang mixing with the scent of burnt fabric.
...And then I saw her.
Tucked under the jet-black giant's arm was a woman.
"—Lucia..."
The name escaped my lips.
In front of the silver-haired girl, Lucia was being held, unconscious.
Her hair was a mess, and soot stained her cheeks.
Even so, her face was peaceful, as if she were merely in a deep sleep.
Roselia exhaled a low, sharp breath.
"They really did a number on this place... This isn't a joke anymore."
"...Yeah, but we're still in time."
I drew my gun, my eyes locked on the targets.
The silver-haired girl noticed us and slowly turned her head.
Her eyes were a color I had never seen before, but her face... I recognized it immediately.
"Oh... Are you the 'Repairman'?"
A girl with the exact appearance of Cecily was staring right at me.
Sebastian's voice echoed through the smell of gunpowder.
"Master Haijima! That person is undoubtedly—Lady Cecily! Please...!"
Desperation and entreaty bled through his voice.
Ah, so that’s how it is. 'Save her without killing her,' right? I know. I get it, but this is going to be a nightmare.
The giant in the full-body prosthetic slowly turned toward us. His armor was a lustrous, obsidian black. His gaze was entirely devoid of humanity.
I didn't recognize him, but I knew he was dangerous. Those movements—he was a pro.
The air grew heavy with tension.
The man's left arm rose smoothly.
It was an incredibly natural motion. He wasn't taking a stance or even aiming.
Because it was so casual, my reaction was a fraction of a second too slow.
"—!"
Clang.
The sound of internal mechanisms deploying. A cylinder emitting a faint glow slid out from beneath the armor.
Its caliber was as thick as his arm—a plasma gun.
It was a short-duration charge type. Pale blue light began to converge at the muzzle.
"Crap—!"
Pure instinct took over, and I kicked Roselia out of the way.
As I dove and rolled in the opposite direction, my vision was scorched white.
Voom!
The heat ray tore through the air, gouging a path through the wall.
What remained of the door was hollowed out as if it were made of paper, leaving a perfectly circular hole.
Faint light from the outside filtered through the gap.
That was close!
We were lucky.
If we’d been a few inches off, the squad members behind us would have been vaporized.
The black giant slowly retracted his arm.
He’d entered his recharge cycle. If I recalled correctly, that model took tens of seconds to cool and refill.
Yet, he looked completely unbothered.
He flexed his fingers with a mechanical clatter, as if he were simply performing a routine diagnostic.
He was "playing" with us.
"...Underestimating us, are you?"
Immediately after I spat the words, I heard a low "fufufu" laugh from behind me.
It was Roselia.
"...Hey, Roselia."
That laugh. That’s the one she does when things are about to get ugly.
In the next heartbeat, the floor exploded.
"—!"
Golden afterimages burst forth as Roselia's leg boosters roared to life.
The eruption of compressed air was so violent the floorboards shattered.
In an instant, she vanished.
Moving at a speed the eye couldn't track, she was suddenly inside the black giant's guard.
"Lady Lucia!!" Sebastian screamed.
Ignoring him, Roselia swung her fist down.
The man raised his left arm to meet her blow.
"Naïve!"
The corners of Roselia's lips curled into a smirk.
She adjusted the trajectory of her fist mid-swing, entangling his arm and snapping his joint into a lock.
Gritch, gritch-gritch—
The sickening sound of grinding metal filled the room.
Sparks flew, and the joint section glowed cherry-red from the friction.
And then—
Crack!
With a dull, wet crunch of machinery, the prosthetic arm was twisted off from the elbow down.
"Heh, how's that for you!"
Roselia declared triumphantly, tossing the severed limb aside.
It hit the floor with a heavy thud and rolled away.
...Not bad.
She’d faked a blind rage to set up a submission move.
It was a perfect feint. I never thought I’d see the day when "intellectual play" actually described Roselia's fighting style.
But—.
The black giant didn't even flinch.
He didn't give his ruined left arm a single glance as he retreated to protect the unconscious Lucia.
His backstep was fluid. Despite the weight of his prosthetic body, he moved as lightly as a feather.
Seeing this, the silver-haired girl—Cecily—shook her head slightly.
"Oh dear... That simply won't do."
Her voice was ice-cold.
She sounded like a teacher admonishing a particularly slow student.
Roselia stomped the ground, a fierce, predatory smile on her face.
"Well now, little lady. You're awfully calm. But what's your plan? Do you really think you can stop me?"
She spoke without taking her eyes off the giant.
Cecily gave a faint, airy smile.
"I wonder. Shall we find out?"
She approached with light, dainty footsteps.
Her movements weren't those of a combatant; it looked like the opening step of an elegant dance.
Everything she did was so natural it almost seemed defenseless.
Roselia's brow furrowed slightly.
For a moment, she hesitated, her stance loosening—and instead of dodging, she met the girl with her right hand.
"What—?"
A punch was thrown, lightly.
The girl's slender arm extended with supple grace.
At first glance, it was a strike devoid of any real power, like a child playing a game.
But—.
Bang!
A high-pitched, explosive crack shattered the air.
"...!?"
Roselia's expression froze instantly.
From the right shoulder down... her arm was gone.
The golden prosthetic had been blown clean off; it spun through the air before piercing deep into the wall behind her.
It was a punch of such impossible force that it had sheared the arm away without even knocking Roselia off her feet.
"...Huh?"
I didn't even know who had spoken.
The sight was so far removed from reality that it felt as though time itself had ground to a halt.
The silver-haired girl smiled softly.
As if nothing had happened at all.
That smile was terrifyingly, hauntingly perfect.