"So, you're the hound they hired to bite people, huh?"
In the dim office, a tall, gaunt old man sat behind his desk, scrutinizing the visitor like a judge.
The man who pushed open the door carried the reek of battle. Scars carved across his face, muscles dense and hard enough to intimidate at a glance—everything about him screamed "hunter."
A warhound. Though he lived by the rule of "don't kill unless necessary," no one in their right mind would call him a righteous man.
They called him a necromancer. They feared him. They despised him.
"Hah? That's a damn rude greeting. You itching to get your bones broken, old man?" the visitor—Kairi Shishigou—spoke flatly. He was used to scorn; otherwise he wouldn't have dared set foot in this nest of nobles.
"If you think you're up to it, go ahead and try," the withered, gray-haired elder said, a mocking grin tugging at his lips. "But if you take a swing, the nobles will just pick a new obedient hound to replace you."
"Confident, aren't you? No wonder they call you a battle-hardened 'Lord.'" Shishigou leaned back into the sofa, but every movement was taut, ready to snap into counterattack at the slightest shift.
"Battle-hardened? A fine compliment. But let's discuss your job."
The elder—Lord Rocco Belfeban, head of the Department of Summoning—had occupied his seat for half a century.
"We—or rather, the Barthomeloi of the Department of Law—need you to go to Romania and exterminate the remnants of the Yggdmillennia Clan. But more importantly—"
"Kill Rhodes. Kill that troublemaking Rhodes Frain Yggdmillennia!"
"Oh? Now *that's* an interesting assignment." Shishigou smiled, fishing a cigarette from his coat... only to tuck the Hong Kong Dragon brand pack back into his pocket under the Lord's cold gaze.
"So you're saying you accept?" Rocco asked, though his eyes glinted with menace.
"Of course—hell no!" Shishigou's face hardened as he gripped the short-barreled shotgun in his coat. His tone dripped with contempt. "I don't stab benefactors in the back. Rhodes did me a good turn. I've got no reason to kill him."
"Oh? Not afraid you'll die here? Don't be fooled by the Clock Tower's gilded halls. In its shadows—far from the sun—there are more corpses than you can count." Rocco grinned wolfishly. "If word of your refusal gets out, the Barthomeloi's magi will swarm you like jackals, tearing your ninety-seven kilos of meat and bone to shreds."
"Clicking your tongue and still pretending, huh? Don't think I can't see through you, Lord Rocco." Shishigou sneered. "If I recall, wasn't it 'El-Melloi' who tossed me this job? And aren't those guys practically tied at the hip with Rhodes?"
"Tied at the hip? A colorful phrase. The East Asian languages truly are profound." Rocco's expression shifted, the snarl vanishing in a blink. "Since you've refused the first task, that means your stance aligns with us—the Twelve Lords. So let's talk about another job. One that comes with rewards beyond your imagination."
"Tch... wealthy noble families. I came prepared to bleed you dry." Shishigou gave a crooked grin. "If I'd accepted your first offer, I doubt I'd have walked out alive. Rhodes sure has a lot of allies."
"No—you'd have walked out. Straight onto a plane. Which would then crash into the English Channel." Rocco chuckled as if joking, though his voice was glacial. "The second job: protect Rhodes, eliminate Darnic and the rest of the Yggdmillennia, and at the right time, bring Rhodes back to the Clock Tower. We'll 'protect' him."
"You kidding me?" Shishigou scoffed. "Protect him? What a joke. You just want his tech."
"Hmph. A shallow view for a hound like you." Rocco sneered. "Lord Rhodes' true value lies in his inherited wisdom and talent. For that bloodline, every family would treat him well—might even hand over their clan headship and let him choose."
"God, you nobles sure love your convoluted bullshit." Shishigou rose to his feet. "I owe Lord Rhodes a debt. This is my chance to repay it."
"Oh? You owe him? Don't fool yourself. Can't you see how self-serving he is? He's using you." Rocco's tone softened, almost pitying.
"Of course I know. Don't mistake me for an idiot." Shishigou hefted a preserved hydra hatchling specimen, smirking. "Even if he's using me, Rhodes treats me as an equal. Not like you nobles, who see me as a filthy hound. This'll do for a down payment."
*Bang—* Shishigou slammed the door behind him. Rocco sat listening to the heavy echo, a bitter smile creeping onto his lips.
"A shame. But pride is indispensable. Without pride, what sort of noble would we be?"
◇◇◇
Under the blazing midday sun, on the streets of Trifas in Romania—Rhodes, dressed in the garb of the Yggdmillennia Clan, was struggling with Tamamo-no-Mae.
"Hey! Hey! Hey—Master! The vibes here are all wrong!" Clinging tightly to Rhodes' arm, Tamamo chirped with her usual ditzy air. "Everyone around us is glaring, afraid, even hating us! Master, just what kind of evil deeds did you do to stir up so much hostility?"
As she spoke, she gave her massive bust a playful pat.
"Don't worry, Master! Even if you've got a rap sheet that starts at three years minimum and tops out at the death penalty, to me it's nothing at all! And if you ever need to 'rough up some little girls,' just tell me—I can shapeshift into a loli form anytime!"
"Tch... why does it always feel like you're insulting me?"
Rhodes grimaced, struggling with all his might to pry his hand free. But compared to the strength of a Heroic Spirit, he was a complete weakling. Worse still, the soft, yielding pressure of her chest and the subtle fragrance in the air made escape... less than urgent.
"Relax. They're just resenting and fearing the Yggdmillennia. Who knows what kind of atrocities those bastards pulled to earn this much hatred."
"Oh? Is that so? What a shame... I really thought I had a chance to be with my Master..."