[Possible Spacetime] The Statue and the List

Serie stopped in her tracks.

She didn't speak immediately, but spoke to the empty air beside her.

"Falsh."

Her voice wasn't loud, but it stood out clearly in the cool evening air of the Imperial Capital.

"Don't do anything unnecessary. I already said I don't need any guards."

Magic flowed and condensed silently in the air around her. The next second, Falsh's figure clearly emerged from the void, and he adjusted his round-framed glasses.

"I cannot comply, Lady Serie."

As soon as he finished speaking, a neatly folded white robe appeared in his hand. He skillfully draped it over Serie's shoulders and tied the sash.

Serie did not refuse. She looked down at her pure white robe, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips, as if confirming something she had expected.

"What a worrywart."

Falsh did not respond, but took a half step back, his figure appearing somewhat blurry in the twilight.

The two continued walking forward. After a while, Serie's gaze was drawn to the statue in the center of the square ahead.

"... What is that?"

"Judging from the location and attire," Falsh's voice was calm and even, "It should be a statue of the Great Mage Flamme. Can you recognize it?"

Serie didn't answer immediately. She looked up at the unfamiliar, solemn male statue for a long time. Then, she raised her hand and pulled down the hood.

The night breeze ruffled her golden hair. She looked at the statue, and her lips twitched almost imperceptibly, an expression that was somewhere between knowing mockery and distant longing, fleeting in an instant.

"... Oh."

Even with such a great achievement, it was ultimately forgotten by humankind.

Her gaze fell on the statue.

"An era where everyone could use magic..." The girl from back then talked endlessly about these fantastical tales...

She paused, then lowered her voice.

"And her smile, only I still remember."

She stopped speaking and watched quietly for a long time, until the distant fireworks illuminated her profile again. Then, she gently shook her head.

"It's incredible. In this world, there are still people who remember what she originally looked like..."

"I guess it's just me and Frieren left."

She pulled her hood up again and turned around.

"Let's go, Falsh."

"Yes."

Inside the stronghold, the lights were bright.

Frieren took the portrait from Sense and glanced at it. When she saw the portraits of "Gazella" and "Varos," a knowing look flashed in her emerald eyes, but she quickly regained her composure. However, the usual relaxed look in her eyes, which showed a slight interest in the world, seemed to have faded a little.

"As expected... he's also one of the Shadow Warriors."

She whispered, handing the drawing paper to Fern beside her.

Fern gazed at the portrait, his pale purple eyes calm and undisturbed.

"This is completely consistent with our previous predictions."

On the other side of the table, Sein stood quietly, his gaze fixed on a portrait of a blond warrior. He stared at it for a long time, his fingers unconsciously tracing the metal pendant around his neck. The smile on his face vanished, and he simply stared in silence, the emotions deep within his brown eyes obscured by the shadows of his eyelashes, making them difficult to discern.

Sense sat in the main seat and spread the letter Linel had sent out on the table.

"The enemy's true identity is clear." Her voice was steady, carrying a calm that came after the dust had settled. "They are the 'Shadow Warriors,' they truly exist."

Frieren leaned back in her chair, resting her hands clasped on her knees. "A special agency dedicated to assassinations... I initially thought the enemy might not be the Empire itself, but it seems I underestimated it."

"The situation is worse."

Ubel tilted her head, her green ponytail cascading down her shoulder, a casual smile playing on her lips. "Oh dear, now I have the entire empire as my backer~"

Lanto adjusted his glasses, his gaze behind the lenses calm.

"We must be extremely careful. If we are not careful, we will not be fighting against just one organization, but against the entire state apparatus of the empire."

Frieren turned to look at Fern beside her, a mischievous glint in her emerald eyes. "We already have someone 'say the hello' first, don't you think, Fern?"

Fern met her gaze expressionlessly, pursed his lips slightly, then turned his face away and let out a soft "humph" from his nose as a response.

Ubel smirked. "Haha, we have no right to judge others. Not long ago, we played a game with the Magical Special Forces and even destroyed a tower in the process."

"Same to you."

Sense ignored the conversation; her finger was pointing at the section of the letter about the organization's history.

"No, the enemy is not necessarily the 'current' regular organization. The previous emperor ordered its disbandment sixteen years ago."

Fern turned his face away.

"... disbanded?"

"The reason is here." Sense's fingertip traced a line of text, "The command system is extremely opaque. The on-site commander has too much authority; from internal interference to drafting assassination lists, he can make decisions independently without orders."

"In pursuit of ultimate combat efficiency and adaptability," Frieren continued, "The seeds of loss of control were sown. As the Empire's will drifted with time, while the commanders wielding their blades clung to their own chosen 'direction'..."

Sense nodded. "That's right. In its later stages, this organization began indiscriminately eliminating anyone 'who might hinder the Empire,' ultimately posing the greatest threat to the Empire itself. Therefore, it was abolished."

"Therefore, what we are facing now is the remnants. A group of 'old guard' who have lost the empire's overt support and are acting on their own in the shadows."

Lanto adjusted his glasses. "The so-called 'disbandment' is likely just cutting off official communication and supplies. For commanders with independent operational capabilities and their subordinates, moving deeper underground to continue their operations is not difficult."

Ubel's smile deepened, his purple eyes gleaming with a penetrating light. "Among these commanders who are 'absolutely loyal' to the Empire, perhaps some of them think that way—"

She slightly raised her chin, Imitation a tone that blended fanaticism and obsession, "' The Shadow Warriors have disbanded, won't the Empire lose its way? I must... personally correct the Empire's course.'"

She resumed her nonchalant smile.

"... or something like that?"

The room fell silent for a moment. Outside the window, another burst of fireworks exploded, and the colorful light and shadows briefly flowed across everyone's faces through the gaps in the curtains.

At the same time, the air in the command center of the Magical Special Forces was still.

Kanon stood by the table, holding a newly delivered report. He kept his head down, the shadow of his peaked hat completely obscuring his expression.

Weige stood opposite him, ramrod straight, and finished his report.

After reading the report, Kanon remained silent for a few seconds before slowly raising his head.

"... You said there's rebel activity?"

"Yes," Witt replied, "Judging from the traces left at the scene and the scattered descriptions from witnesses, there are signs of the 'Shadow Warriors' being involved. This matches the intelligence we received earlier about that 'assassination plan' even more closely."

Kanon didn't speak. He put down the report, raised his hand to press his brow, his face expressionless, but the corners of his mouth were pursed down, and he exuded obvious displeasure.

"... one after another."

He spoke in a low voice, his tone devoid of emotion, but the words seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth.

"The troubles have increased again."

Noi stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the opposite wall. He glanced at Kanon's appearance, his brow furrowing slightly beneath his hat brim.

(This person looks unhappy...) he thought to himself.

Witt waited a while, and seeing that Kanon had no further instructions, he asked, "Should we increase security?"

Kanon lowered his hand from between his eyebrows.

"Of course," he said, his voice regaining its businesslike calm. "Our mission is to maintain order in the Imperial Capital and prevent any possible riots or attacks. Whether it's the Continental Magic Association or the remnants of the Shadow Warriors, we must do everything in our power."

"Understood." Wei nodded, turned, and walked towards the door. "Then I'll immediately arrange for increased patrols and sentries in all areas. Also, regarding the possibility of the Shadow Warriors returning, and the current manpower shortage, please report this to your superiors and negotiate for additional support, our vice-captain."

His hand gripped the doorknob; he was ready to leave.

Kanon looked at him with an almost absurd, 'It's me again' expression.

"... Huh? Isn't this Captain Fres's job?"

Vitra opened the door and turned half his face to the side.

"This report, along with the request for reinforcements, is indeed Captain Fres's work. But since we can't contact Captain Fres right now, we can only ask you to do it on her behalf, our vice-captain."

The door closed gently behind him.

The command post fell silent.

Kanon stood there, staring at the closed door for several seconds.

Then, his shoulders slumped abruptly, and he slowly walked back to the table, sinking into the chair as if his bones had been removed. He grabbed his peaked hat and threw it on the table with a dull thud. Then, he leaned forward, his forehead hitting the cold wooden tabletop hard, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

His thick, black hair fell down, obscuring his face.

"... ah--"

A long, drawn-out sigh, filled with weariness, frustration, and a hint of despair, came from under the table and echoed in the quiet room.

"Why... of all times like this... can't I find her...?!"

He casually grabbed the report on the Shadow Warriors from the table, crumpled it into a ball in a few quick movements, and then tossed it up with his arm—

The crumpled paper traced a low, flat arc, striking Noi precisely in the chest against the wall, then bounced to the ground, rolled shuffling to the corner, and came to a stop.

Noi looked down at the crumpled paper at her feet, then looked up at Kanon.

His face was expressionless, but the corner of his mouth seemed to twitch slightly.

"Don't take it out on me."

Inside the stronghold.

When Falsh open the door, he saw everyone gathered around the table, looking at the few pages of letters and the accompanying portrait.

He walked to the table, his gaze sweeping over the portraits drawn with meticulous brushstrokes, and adjusted his glasses.

"... A portrait of Shadow Warriors? Linel took a considerable risk to get her hands on something like that."

Sense lowered her head, looking at the faces on the paper. Her long brown hair slipped down her shoulders, obscuring half of her face.

"Perhaps the next time I see her, she'll be a corpse."

Falsh turned to look at her.

Even if you two don't get along, don't make jokes like that.

Sense slowly raised his eyes.

"... A joke?"

She repeated the word, as if savoring its meaning.

"That woman has that kind of ability. She's an exceptionally skilled mage, so skilled that even 'defeat' sounds like a cruel joke." She tilted her head slightly. "Indeed, she once made Lady Serie kneel on one knee during a mock battle. Even Lairen couldn't do that."

"... Perhaps, this is why Lady Serie chose her. Gathering intelligence about the Empire is a dangerous mission with a near-certain death rate. Whether it's fighting against humans, or infiltrating, disguising, or gaining trust..."

She raised her hand and gently tapped the name "Linel" on the letter with her fingertip.

"I have never seen a mage more outstanding than Linel."

The room was quiet. Another round of fireworks went off in the distance, and the sound of explosions could be faintly heard.

"But even so," Sense's voice lowered, almost a whisper, "If we're exposed in the Empire..."

She didn't finish her sentence. But the meaning of the second half of her sentence hung clearly in the silent air.

Frieren didn't participate in the discussion about Linel. Her attention was focused on the portraits. She and Fern huddled together, their eyes scanning the faces one by one.

Then, her finger stopped on one of the paintings.

The painting depicts a young man with somewhat disheveled hair and an expression that carries the slyness and laziness typical of street vendors.

"Street vendor, Gazella."

She read the label next to her in a low voice, a hint of understanding flashing in her emerald eyes.

"As expected... he's also one of the Shadow Warriors."

Her finger moved to another picture next to it.

The painting depicts an old man with a weathered face, cloudy eyes, and tattered clothes, resembling a vagrant. Yet, it seems to precisely capture the deep lines etched between his brows and something in the depths of his eyes that has not been completely worn away by time.

"And this... Varos."

Fern gazed at the portrait, his pale purple eyes serene.

"Ransen, the hero of the Northern Frontier. Now calling himself Varos, he lives among the vagrants..."

She looked up at Frieren.

"This is completely consistent with our previous predictions."

Frieren nodded without speaking. Her gaze continued to move across the portraits, as if she were remembering something, or perhaps searching for something.

On the other side of the table, Sein stood quietly.

His gaze was fixed firmly on one of the portraits.

The painting depicts a blond man, who appears to be around thirty years old, with a handsome face and resolute eyes, dressed in simple civilian clothes.

Sein stared at the painting for a long time.

His fingers unconsciously rose and touched his neck—where a small, inconspicuous photo box pendant hung from a thin chain.

His thumb rubbed the pendant's cool metal surface a few times, very gently, as if afraid of disturbing something.

Then, he lowered his hand.

His face showed no particular expression, except that his brown eyes appeared somewhat deep under the light, reflecting the portrait of the blond warrior on the paper.

He just stood there, watching silently.

Outside the window, the night sky of the Imperial Capital was once again illuminated by rising fireworks. Red, green, and golden lights alternately reflected on the windowpane and on every face with a different expression in the room.

Bizarre and dazzling, flickering and unpredictable.

Like the night itself, and like everything that is about to happen.