Momonga was mildly irritated.
Earlier this evening, a traveling merchant had paid an unexpected visit to her mansion.
Ordinarily, she would have rejected any sales pitch outright,
but the merchant claimed to be offering rare teas from foreign lands
and hard-to-obtain magic items.
Food, drink, and magical curios—
those two categories were sacred to Momonga.
And if something was rare, difficult to obtain, or exotic…
her curiosity naturally ignited.
So she allowed the merchant inside.
The magic items he displayed were certainly rare by capital standards—
though compared to Yggdrasil gear, they were worthless trash.
Still, Momonga had always enjoyed collecting random magical trinkets,
and the encounter proved unexpectedly entertaining.
…Until she tasted the tea and pastries he brought.
Poison.
The toxins meant nothing to Momonga, who possessed absolute poison immunity—
but if Tsuare had eaten even a bite, the result would have been fatal.
Seizing the merchant by the collar, she forced the truth out of him via Dominate.
He confessed immediately:
He was a pawn of Eight Fingers.
Tonight's coordinated operation in the capital required Momon to be kept occupied,
no matter what.
He had been ordered to delay her by any means.
She snapped the window open—
and saw undead swarming throughout the streets.
A soundproofing barrier had been placed around the mansion.
So while Momonga had been calmly examining trinkets and tasting tea,
she had heard none of the chaos outside.
Immediately, she layered protective spells on the mansion and Tsuare,
wiped out the undead nearby,
and then dove directly into the heart of the capital's battlefield.
——That was how the night began.
It was coincidence that brought Momonga to that street.
While sweeping through undead on foot,
she happened into a scene where two members of Blue Rose were about to die.
Gagaran and Tia were cornered.
A stiletto gleamed.
Death was seconds away.
Momonga tapped the shoulder of the woman poised to kill them—
and flicked her on the forehead.
"—Gyaa!"
It was just a flick.
But given the absurd difference in level and physical stats,
"flick" was a generous understatement.
To Clementine, it felt like being hit by a falling anvil.
She shot backward at frightening speed,
slammed into a brick wall hard enough to crater it,
then slid down like a discarded doll.
"...Gagaran, Tia. Are you unharmed?"
Watching Clementine collapse like a ragdoll,
Momonga asked casually—
as if she hadn't just annihilated a superhuman assassin with one finger.
Gagaran blinked, then gave a half-bewildered smile.
"We're fine.
If you hadn't shown up, we'd be dead though."
"Lady Momon… you're wonderful.
Is this what they call a prince on a white horse who rescues me~?"
"Momon ain't riding a horse, she's pitch-black,
and she ain't a prince or a man."
Their banter broke the tension.
The Jet-Black Heroine, Momon—
when she arrived, everything became alright.
A wave of safety washed over them.
"Uu…ugh…"
Slammed into the wall,
Clementine clawed at the ground, trying to rise.
She was still conscious—barely.
Gagaran and Tia readied themselves—
But Momonga stepped forward.
"Leave this one to me.
Please assist with clearing the undead."
"…Are you sure?"
"Yes. Don't worry."
"Well… yeah. Makes sense…"
Gagaran's expression tightened bitterly.
They had been utterly outmatched.
Interfering now would only hinder Momonga.
"But are you sure about this?
This is between the Kingdom and the Eight Fingers.
If you step in—"
"…I wanted to stay uninvolved too."
Momonga spoke quietly, walking toward Clementine.
"But they picked this fight.
Someone who steps on a tiger's tail
must be taught what that means."
Gagaran felt cold sweat down her back.
She didn't even need to see the woman's face—
she felt the smile beneath the helmet.
There were people in this world one must never provoke.
"Haa… a-ah…"
The stone beneath Clementine warped like soft clay.
Her balance was gone.
Her vision swam.
Her organs felt as though they were melting.
She had survived the forehead flick
only because her martial art Fortress activated reflexively.
But mentally?
She was destroyed.
She had just managed to convince herself
that the nightmare she once experienced was a hallucination—
But the nightmare returned.
The silhouette she feared most—
the one that had crushed her completely—
was here.
Her psyche fractured further.
"No… no… no, no no no—"
Her teeth chattered uncontrollably.
Tears gushed down her face.
Her throat constricted with panic.
That unspeakably oppressive terror—
that Aura of Despair—
slammed into her mind again.
Just hearing Momonga breathe
made her feel like she would die.
And yet—
she still stood.
Her pride forced her to grip her stilettos.
Even as her body twitched and shook,
she refused to curl up on the ground.
"…My."
A single word from Momonga
made Clementine's entire body jolt violently.
Only now did Momonga truly recognize her—
the assassin who had targeted Nfirea and the Ritual of Black.
Given her current wasted, malnourished, half-dead appearance,
Momonga hadn't recognized her at first glance.
Seeing Clementine again,
still murdering people even after everything,
Momonga sighed softly.
"That weapon…
Yes. I remember it.
It seems you haven't learned your lesson.
Shall I show you hell again?"
"Y… y… aaaah…"
Momonga stepped forward.
With every step,
Clementine's trembling worsened.
Her legs shook like reeds in a storm.
Momonga felt her terror rolling off her like a suffocating fog.
(If it scared you that much,
learn your damn lesson already.)
Honestly, it was pathetic.
Her hair had turned white.
Her eyes were bloodshot.
Tears and snot ran freely down her face.
A trembling fawn before a predator.
Momonga felt a faint twinge of pity—
but Clementine was a hedonistic serial killer.
There was no mercy to offer.
"…Now then."
Momonga stopped.
Close enough to kill her in a heartbeat.
He had anticipated a fight—
but this was anticlimactic.
"Kyaha… kyah hah hah… ah… ha…!"
Clementine laughed hysterically through her tears.
Humans pushed far enough
will laugh when faced with death.
Whether it was drugs or genuine insanity,
the reaction was the same.
Momonga unsheathed his greatsword.
The black blade shimmered under the moon.
He raised it.
Red light flickered inside his helmet.
"I know Blue Rose.
Apologies, but this is where your soul descends into hell."
"Kyaha—ahhaha—haa—"
"Any last words…?
No, given your condition, of course not."
"Hyu… kuh… haa…"
"I never wanted to involve myself with Eight Fingers,
but this was inevitable.
You forced this."
Conversation was pointless.
He raised the sword.
Clementine froze,
her world collapsing inward.
"Haa… ah… aaah…"
Her vision blurred.
Her limbs went limp.
Just the presence of Momonga
was enough to crush her mind.
Before the sword could even fall—
Clementine's consciousness cracked.
"ABAAAH!!!"
She fell straight backward.
Like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
"…Eh?"
Momonga stared.
She didn't merely faint.
Something was wrong.
"…—…yaa…"
"…Hm?"
A tiny noise escaped her lips.
Then:
"Ogyaa…"
"…What."
"Ogyaaa."
"…Huh?"
"Daa—baah!"
Clementine began crying like a baby.
Momonga's mental processes stalled.
"What are—"
"Kyaah kyahaha!"
She giggled.
Like a toddler.
Thinking it was an act, Momonga cast Dominate.
"Enough. Stop this ridiculous—"
"Daa—baah! Kyahaha!"
"…Eh?"
She wasn't resisting.
Dominate was successful.
This…
was not an act.
"…No way."
Momonga grabbed her by the scruff, lifting her.
She reached toward him playfully, arms wiggling.
He cast:
Control Amnesia — Memory Manipulation.
Her memories—
(Her memories… are disappearing...)
They dissolved
like sugar melting in water.
Her entire identity was crumbling.
Life experiences,
trauma,
shame,
hatred,
skills—
everything that made Clementine "Clementine"
slipped away.
Infantile regression.
Total self-erasure.
A last-ditch survival mechanism.
Her human mind had chosen to reset itself
rather than die from fear.
"…I see."
"Ahaha—kyahaha!"
Momonga glimpsed fragments of her past—
not whole memories,
just colors and sensations.
Enough to know
her life had been tragic.
Always compared.
Never loved.
Crushed by abuse.
Twisted by sorrow.
Shaped into a monster.
But…
"…Even so, I feel no sympathy.
You killed too many.
Your crimes deserve death."
"Maah—kyaha."
The childlike girl hugged him.
Pure instinct.
The lingering trace of the affection-starved girl she once had been.
Momonga sighed.
—Later, at the mansion.
Tsuare waited by the fireplace, praying for Momonga's safety.
Even knowing her overwhelming strength,
the idea of Momonga being hurt made her chest ache.
"Momon-sama…"
So when a teleportation shimmer appeared,
her face blossomed into relief.
She hurried forward.
"W-Welcome home…!"
"I'm back, Tsuare.
But I must leave again soon—this war isn't finished."
"Eh…?"
"In the meantime…
take care of this child."
Momonga gently handed her the girl she carried.
A tiny child—
no older than a toddler.
Fast asleep, thumb in mouth.
"S-so cute…"
The words escaped Tsuare before she could think.
The little girl's blonde hair,
round cheeks,
soft breathing—
it melted her heart instantly.
"Momon-sama… who is she…?"
"A war orphan… more or less."
Momonga's tone sounded strangely distant.
Tsuare tilted her head softly,
but the child's presence made her expression warm.
"This child's name is… Clem.
I cannot leave her in the capital.
Please watch over her while I'm gone."
Tsuare held the sleeping girl tenderly.
Clem.
A new name.
A new life.
A child who would not bear the sins
of the monster Clementine once was.
"…Rest in peace, Clementine."
Momonga whispered quietly—
then vanished again,
returning to the war-ravaged capital.