When she looked up, the deep night sky hung heavy over the royal capital.
Unlike E-Rantel or Carne Village—where starlight gleamed vividly in the darkness—here the glow of countless lamps drowned the heavens in a pale haze.
Momon, her obsidian armor draped with a black cloak that fluttered behind her, walked straight toward the prestigious inn where she had checked in earlier that afternoon. She had originally planned to stroll through the capital at night, but after filling her stomach at Gagaran's mansion, the explosion of sleepiness made the idea far less appealing.
"What should I do tomorrow, I wonder…"
Her carefree humming blended with the night breeze. Her voice carried a bright, buoyant timbre—like someone savoring the first breath of a long-awaited vacation.
When she first became an adventurer, Momon imagined she would roam the world freely—taking requests at her own pace, wandering wherever the wind carried her.
But becoming one of the capital's three Adamantite-rank adventurer teams meant certain restrictions were unavoidable. Her mere presence acted as top-tier security for the city, and so leaving E-Rantel even temporarily required endless explanations, negotiations, and assurances.
The biggest obstacles had been Ainzach and Lakeshore, the two leaders of the guild and magic casters' union. Just when she would rise from her chair—ready to embark on a long-awaited sightseeing journey—they would appear from nowhere—shubabababa!—rubbing their hands together, piling requests and "urgent matters" onto her until she could no longer escape.
When she finally broke free this time, the two men had nearly cried, begging her not to visit other cities or guilds. She had placated them by saying, "I'll come back eventually," earning their reluctant approval.
(In truth, Momon felt no particular obligation to uphold a gentleman's agreement without any contract attached. But letting them feel at ease cost her nothing.)
And so at last, she was here—her long-delayed royal capital trip.
Anyone would be a little giddy.
There were so many places she wanted to visit:
Ro-Lente Castle, where the royal family lived
• The capital's Adventurer and Magic Caster Guild branches
• The grand marketplaces and street-food alleys
• The theater district she had heard rumors about
(Maybe I'll visit the castle in the morning… It's crazy that I can actually see a real palace where real royalty lives. And I heard the princess is unbelievably beautiful… Maybe I'll catch a glimpse from afar? No, no chance. Still… maybe if I transform before going…)
She mused thoughtfully.
Afterward she could stroll through the lower district, snack on random street food, then browse scrolls and magical items at the mage guild.
She was just forming her casual itinerary when—
A man exited a building up the street.
He looked rough—clearly a thug.
He carried a large bag—no, a body bag, judging by its shape—and dragged it outside before tossing it onto the road as if it were an unwanted sack of grain.
Momon's steps slowed.
A cold ripple of intuition crept up her spine.
(Hopefully it's full of wheat… or scrap cloth… yeah, that's not likely.)
Bad premonitions were almost always correct.
When the bag hit the ground, the opening shifted enough for something to spill out—
A woman.
A naked woman.
And of course, nothing about her condition was normal.
Her skin carried the color of death.
Her body was gaunt, wasted.
Her once-golden hair was dry and broken like the strands of a starving ghost.
Purple bruises and internal bleeding marred her entire body. Her face—swollen, disfigured, collapsed in places—made it painfully clear she had been beaten mercilessly.
"…"
Revulsion churned in Momon's stomach.
Not at the woman—
but at the people who had done this to her.
The thug wiped his forehead and finally noticed the black-armored woman standing on the street.
His eyes widened at the sight of the glossy black armor—then widened further when he saw the shining Adamantite plate across her chest.
"She—"
"Ah! Ah, um—she had a terrible accident! I'm taking her to the temple now! Y-yes!"
His voice trembled. His eyes darted in panic.
He was lying.
Horribly. Pathetically.
Momon was not foolish enough to believe a word of it.
Before she could speak, something touched her boot.
A thin finger.
The woman, on hands and knees, barely clinging to life, whispered in a voice like a dying ember—
"h-… help… me…"
A breath of wind could have snuffed the sound out, but Momon heard it.
And she felt the faint, trembling pressure of the woman's fingers against her greaves—fragile, but unmistakably pleading for life.
(…Disgusting.)
Ice crawled up Momon's back.
Not at the woman—
but at those who had done this to her.
This wasn't justice.
Wasn't mercy.
Wasn't compassion.
It was simply—
A primitive, instinctive revulsion as a fellow woman.
As someone carrying a woman's body in this world.
As someone who had once lived as a vulnerable human.
One simple thought:
If I had come to this world without my power…
If I were only Suzuki Satoru in this woman's body…
This could have been me.
The thought struck deep.
Her anger ignited.
With a silent exhale, Momon bent down and lifted the woman into her arms.
This had nothing to do with Touch Me's teachings.
No vow.
No oath of heroism.
She simply wanted to do it.
"H-hey, what do you think you're—?!"
"I'll take her to the temple. Is that a problem?"
"That—that's… you can't—!"
"Why not?"
"Wh-why—I–"
"What exactly were you doing in that building?"
Her voice dropped into a chilling, surgical sharpness.
He flinched backward.
"S-sh-shut up! It's none of your business—!"
"She just begged me for help. That makes it my business."
A faint heat crept into her tone.
The thug clenched his teeth.
"L-listen. I'm trying to help you here… You didn't see anything, right? That's better for both of us. You get it, right? You get what I'm saying?"
"…Hm?"
Momon tilted her head, genuinely confused by his pathetic attempt at bribery.
Sweat rolled down the man's brow.
"Y-you've heard of them, haven't you…?
Eight Fingers.
If you make them your enemy—no matter how strong you are—your life won't be enough! So let's be smart adults about this, yeah?"
"…I see."
A quiet exhale.
She had heard enough.
She now understood:
Eight Fingers ran the building
• The women inside were being used like toys
• This man was a disposable minion
• And he wanted her to pretend she hadn't seen anything
Very well.
Momon took a breath—
Then whispered:
"Death."
The man collapsed instantly, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
His face hit the dirt with a wet thud.
He did not move again.
Without changing expression, Momon cast:
"Create Greater Undead."
The corpse writhed like boiling water, flesh churning and twisting as it reshaped itself under her power.
She kicked the transforming mass like a ball, sending it crashing through the building's door.
Inside, its body burst apart, melting into a fluid before reforming into an unspeakable monstrosity.
"Kill."
Only a single word.
A simple, absolute order.
And the newly born abomination obeyed.
Eight Fingers could not be allowed to trace this back to her.
If witnesses and records disappeared, the trail ended there.
A cold, simple, logical decision.