Volume 4—Chapter 98: The World be Damned
Not far from the green hill crowned by the Waterloo monument, a half-sphere barrier shimmered in golden radiance. From the outside, it looked almost peaceful, but inside, a violent clash shook the land. Each impact sent tremors rolling through the surrounding fields, splitting the soil and tearing grass from its roots.
Then, just as suddenly as it started, the shaking stopped.
The barrier flickered once, then dissolved like dust in the wind.
What it revealed was devastation.
The once lush landscape had transformed into bare earth stained with a dark, shadowy residue. Patches of scorched brown stretched across the battlefield in uneven shapes. Mixed among them were strange imprints of golden light, still glowing faintly, as if refusing to disappear. From the terrain alone, one might assume the combatants were evenly matched.
But the scene at the centre told a very different story.
Michael Henrickson knelt on the ruined ground, breath ragged, body trembling. He could barely lift his head. Standing over him was the silver-haired witch, Emilia, her presence heavy and cold. Her eyes lingered on him with a quiet intensity. A moment ago, his life had been a heartbeat away from ending under her.
Then another presence arrived.
A second witch stepped into the dissipating glow, similar in appearance to Emilia, yet distinct in a way that was hard to describe. Her aura felt lighter, almost soothing, compared to Emilia’s sharp and controlled atmosphere. Even her outfit carried a contrast. The design was the same, but the trimmings on her robe glimmered in pale silver, almost white, instead of gold. She wore the same pointed witch hat, the same flowing silhouette, and even her face looked nearly identical.
Michael’s voice cracked softly in disbelief.
“Twin?”
Neither witch acknowledged him.
Emilia kept her eyes locked on the newcomer. “Why did you stop me, Amelia?”
Amelia tapped her cheek with a finger, her tone light and almost playful. “Lia, you seem lost again. Remember why we came here. Do not let yourself be astray by sentimental emotion”
Emilia’s eyes narrowed a little at the tease, but she did not deny it.
“Right… maybe I got a little sentimental when I saw a glimpse of him.”
Emilia exhaled softly, almost annoyed at herself. Then she turned her head and glared at Michael.
“Use your power properly, mortal.”
The warning hung in the air like a blade. Then Emilia vanished, her figure dissolving into shimmering distortion, as if she had been nothing more than a mirage flickering in the afternoon sun.
Michael stayed kneeling, breath uneven, mind racing. But he was not alone.
“Hey, you look terrible. Let me heal you.”
Amelia knelt beside him, bright-eyed, cheerful, completely unlike the oppressive aura her sister carried. She tapped her chin thoughtfully.
“What was the spell again? Uh… let there be light?”
A burst of blinding radiance exploded between them.
“Ah! Wrong spell!” Amelia flailed her hands, trying to bat the light away as if it were a bug.
“Sorry, sorry… that was basically a flashbang. I always mix that one up.”
Michael blinked rapidly, tears forming in his eyes from the sudden brightness.
“You’re… not very good with magic?” he muttered before he could think.
Amelia puffed her cheeks. “I know, I know. I’m more of a swordsman. Or a knight. I just dress like a witch because Lia dresses like a witch too.”
She cleared her throat, lifted both hands, and tried again.
“Okay… serious mode.”
She closed her eyes and recited, “By warmth of heart, your pain I feel, Grant me the power, your wounds to heal!”
A gentle glow wrapped around Michael. Warm, soft, soothing. His wounds knit together one by one… or at least most of them. A few scratches stubbornly remained.
But also, it left Michael confused. How come this girl mixed up the spell?
“Hm… still not very good at this.” Amelia winced with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. You’ll be fine, though. Mostly.”
Before Michael could respond, a shout echoed from the edge of the ruined field.
“Captain!”
“Captain, are you alright?!”
His subordinates, who had been waiting anxiously outside the barrier, sprinted toward him the moment the obstruction fell.
Amelia’s eyes widened. “Oops. I should be get going now.”
She waved cheerfully. “Bye bye!”
And in a blink, she disappeared, leaving only drifting sparkles where she had knelt a moment before.
Michael stared into empty space, his mind trying to process everything that had just happened. The world felt distant, muted, like someone had turned the volume down on reality. He only snapped back when two of his subordinates grabbed him under the arms and helped him stand.
“Captain, can you hear us?”
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine…” he managed, though his voice sounded hollow even to himself. He steadied his breathing. “More importantly, the crack. What happened to it?”
“It closed the moment you and that woman began fighting, sir,” one subordinate answered with a stiff salute. “There’s no trace of it now.”
“I see…” Michael replied quietly. He didn’t know if that was reassuring or terrifying.
He barely had time to think when a smooth, familiar voice rose behind him.
“Seems like you were beaten into a pulp, Mikey.”
Michael froze. That nickname. Nobody used it except one person. Slowly, he turned around.
A tall man approached with a calm, unhurried stride. His black hair was neatly swept back, and he wore an elegant black suit that contrasted with the dusty battlefield around them. His presence alone shifted the air, commanding and effortless. Michael’s subordinate tensed up when seeing the man. They even excused themselves and ran far away.
“Overseer?” Michael muttered, surprise and confusion mixing in his tone. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“It’s just one headache after another, you know…” the man in the black suit muttered as he rubbed his temples. “I’m only the Overseer, yet somehow everything I do feels like I’m doing your job for you, Association President.”
Michael let out a tired laugh. “It can’t be helped. Ground Zero is a volatile region. When it stirs, I have to step in myself.”
“Speaking of things that stir…” The Overseer sighed. “I just got a report from Elizabeth. Apparently, my daughter decided to go berserk on the other side of the world. Right at this moment, in fact.”
Michael blinked. “Your daughter?”
“Yes…” The Overseer gave a long, weary exhale. “Another headache. I should be focusing entirely on containing her. Really, I should. But I want her to live freely, not feel like some lab subject locked behind glass.”
He paused, then offered a faint, crooked smile that carried a hint of resignation.
“Though I suppose that means the world can fend for itself.”
Michael didn’t know whether to laugh or grimace. “Well… guess the world be damned then.”
Miyazaki Takeru, Overseer of the Esper Association, reached into his coat and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it with a flick, the flame briefly reflecting in his eyes.
He took a slow drag, letting the smoke drift upward into the ruined air.
“It sure is…”
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