Glass shards scattered across the pharmacy floor, glittering in the candlelight like frozen tears.
Outside, Clementine's distant, panicked footsteps faded into the night.
Momonga—still holding the two stilettos delicately between her fingers—released a small sigh.
(…I probably should stop her. But first—)
Her eyes slowly drifted across the annihilated shop.
Shelves shattered.
Glass everywhere.
Potion bottles burst open, their liquids puddling into multicolored pools.
Herbs, alchemical reagents, even pickled creatures used for brewing special medicines—all spilled, broken, destroyed beyond recognition.
Momonga's stomach twisted.
(…I can't pay for this. At all.)
She had zero gold on hand.
Not even a single copper coin.
Her shoulders stiffened as she heard the crunch—
someone stepping on broken glass.
The Swords of Darkness jumped, faces pale.
Clementine—
the same woman who moments ago had been flung like a baseball—
slowly rose from beneath the collapsed shelf of potion bottles.
Blood ran down the split in her scalp.
Her limbs shook like a newborn fawn's.
Her eyes drifted in and out of focus.
"…h…hah… haah…"
She staggered sideways and rammed her head into another shelf, shattering more bottles.
More liquids splashed, another cloud of pungent scents filling the air.
Then she vomited—a wet, violent heave that splattered onto the debris-strewn floor.
Momonga watched, emotionless.
(…Yes. Good. The more damage she causes right now, the less people will blame me.)
Because if the room looked equally destroyed by both parties… maybe, just maybe, Momonga wouldn't be charged for all the damages.
"Everyone," she said gently, "now would be a good time to go outside."
She kept her gaze on Clementine—curled on the floor like a wounded insect—while urging the Swords of Darkness and Enfi toward the exit.
They understood instantly and fled.
No words of worry.
No hesitation.
Because Momon was a hero—and heroes didn't need to be protected.
Momonga stood alone in the ruined shop.
Only the sound of Clementine retching remained.
"…How are you feeling?" Momonga asked kindly as Clementine weakly rose again.
"You… you b-bitch…"
Clementine's voice shook with pain and humiliation.
Stumbling, wobbling, barely conscious—yet she lifted the stiletto again, the tip trembling violently.
"What… what did you DO to me…?"
Momonga tilted her head.
"…Nothing special. I simply caught you… and tossed you."
Clementine spat blood, along with two teeth.
"Ogre blood…? You got ogre blood or something…?"
The irony of that accusation sailed right over her head.
Momonga didn't bother correcting her.
(Her being non-human was not something to be explained.)
The assassin's vision flickered—but slowly steadied.
Gradually, the fog around her thoughts began to clear.
Her expression hardened.
Her posture sank low—almost a stalking quadruped.
A true predator preparing to kill.
Momonga blinked, impressed despite herself.
She was still willing to fight.
She wasn't broken yet.
"…You should surrender," Momonga offered softly.
"Shut up…! You think I—Clementine—would lose TWICE to some strength-only metal puppet!? NEVER!"
"You seem quite confident."
Clementine bared her teeth.
Her murderous aura crawled across the floor like a suffocating fog—but Momonga found it strangely pleasant.
For the first time in this world, someone stood across from her not as a worshipper, not as a terrified mortal…
but as a combatant.
A PvP opponent.
She almost felt nostalgic.
If Clementine wanted a life-or-death duel—
then Momonga would honor it.
"…Very well," Momonga whispered, opening her arms. "Come. With everything you have."
Clementine's pupils dilated.
Her heartbeat spiked.
Her muscles coiled.
[Ability Boost]
[Greater Ability Boost]
Power surged through her like black lightning.
"I am… CLEMENTINE!!"
Her declaration cracked the air.
No longer a swaggering murderer—
now a honed, lethal warrior stepping fully into her title.
"The realm of HEROES—"
Her foot slammed the floor.
"—belongs to ME!"
She launched.
A blur.
A phantom.
A gale.
Her epithet awakened:
Gale Runner
Wind screamed around her as she crossed the room in a blink.
"YOU CAN'T BEAT MEEEEEEEEE!!!"
Her speed tore the air.
Shelves quivered in the wake of her movement.
This time there was no arrogance, no carelessness.
Every nerve sharpened.
Every inch of her being calibrated for the kill.
Her stiletto thrust—
the fastest she had ever executed—
a killing strike so quick it surpassed even Gazef Stronoff's ability to read.
She saw it.
She knew it.
This one would land.
This—
THIS—
would pierce Momon's throat.
Her weapon thrust—
—and stopped.
Not in flesh.
In fingers.
Momonga pinched the killing blow between two metal fingertips exactly as before.
Clementine's brain froze.
Shock rippled through every muscle.
Her instincts screamed.
Her body drew her second stiletto automatically—aiming for another kill angle—
Pinched again.
"DAMN YOOOOOOU!!!"
She forced her weapons to activate:
One igniting in violent flame.
The other erupting with crackling lightning.
Fireball
Lightning Strike
The confined shop filled with blinding heat and deafening thunder.
A direct hit that should have reduced any warrior to charred bone.
Even Adamantite adventurers would die instantly.
Smoke filled the room.
"…Heh… heheh…" she panted. "That's… that's right… burn… BURN…"
But the smoke parted.
And Momonga stood there—
untouched, unburned—
smiling gently.
Her jade eyes glowed through the dissipating flames.
Clementine understood instantly.
She isn't human. Not human at all.
A wave of raw, instinctive terror crashed over her—
colder than ice, deeper than death.
"Mon… ster…"
She dropped both stilettos.
Then—
"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!"
She turned and fled.
Ran blind.
Slammed into furniture.
Smashed through a half-broken shelf.
Then threw herself head-first through a window—
shattering the glass as she disappeared into the night.
Momonga watched her with quiet calm.
"…If I recall," she murmured, "you said stabbing a fleeing opponent in the back was 'the most fun,' didn't you?"
She reached down, picking up the two fallen stilettos.
Their blades reflected her serene, impossible smile.