As the words fell, Charlotte snapped her gaze toward Mycroft.
"Don't listen to his nonsense, Charlotte!" Mycroft shouted urgently.
"Surrender, Moriarty!"
"What a decisive severing. I suppose that's only fitting for the man hailed as the British Government itself?"
Russell said, and at the same moment, Charlotte at his side had already lunged in close once more.
Mycroft, on the other side, did not hesitate either, launching an attack at Russell's opposite flank.
"Two against one—isn't that a little unfair?"
Beneath his mask, Russell arched an eyebrow.
"In that case, I won't keep up the act any longer."
In the instant before the two of them closed in, Russell simply hurled the smoke bomb in his hand to the floor.
Black smoke billowed out in an instant, and Charlotte and Mycroft both furrowed their brows at the same moment.
"He's gone," Charlotte said.
"So this is the footwork the newspapers mentioned?" Mycroft glanced around, trying to catch the movement of the air.
That thick black mist, like a single drop of dense ink dripped into clear water, spread rapidly, swallowing all light and sight.
And the figure of the Phantom Thief, like pencil marks wiped away by an eraser, vanished from the spot without a sound.
"Everyone, watch your surroundings—don't let him get away!"
Mycroft growled in a low voice, and the royal guardsmen behind him immediately understood, fixing their eyes on the smoke, wary of every corner.
Charlotte stood where she was, perfectly still.
She didn't look about nervously like those tense guards, nor did she shout out orders like Mycroft.
She simply closed those gray-blue eyes, propped the cane in her hand lightly against the floor, and stood like a silent statue.
She was listening.
Having shut out all visual distractions, she used her hearing to catch, amid that chaos, even the faintest trace of sound.
The flow of the air, the rise and fall of dust, even the breathing of the crowd grown heavy with tension...
And yet, there was nothing.
That fellow, like a true ghost, had evaporated into thin air.
"Damn it..." Mycroft looked at the gradually dispersing black mist and the empty corridor, his expression turning as grim as could be.
Just as everyone assumed the Phantom Thief had already fled without a trace, and this hasty arrest was about to end in failure—
"Looking for me, everyone?"
A lazy voice suddenly came from directly above their heads.
Everyone jerked their heads up and looked toward the sound.
There, atop the towering domed ceiling, a figure had appeared at some unknown moment.
Russell hung upside down from the crystal chandelier on the ceiling, his legs hooked around the cold brass frame, his body swaying leisurely in midair along with the chandelier's gentle motion.
"Nice view."
Russell swung his legs, looking down at his leisure upon the crowd below, who stood frozen in shock.
"He's up there!"
"How is that possible..."
Charlotte knit her brows, her eyes filled with disbelief.
"How could he possibly have gotten up there... and without making a single sound?"
"Your nerves hold up rather better than those fellows at Lloyds Bank. Not bad at all."
Russell nodded with satisfaction, then dropped lightly down from the chandelier, returning to the ground, his eyes behind the mask turning toward where Charlotte stood.
"Well then, can you see through my methods, Miss Detective?"
Charlotte did not answer, only staring fixedly at that black, ghostlike figure before her.
She couldn't see through it—couldn't see through it at all.
This was simply not something an ordinary person could accomplish.
Soon, Charlotte's mind gave up on the thought.
Now was not the time to be pondering this.
Catch the man first; as for his methods, there would be plenty of time to puzzle them out later.
With that thought, the girl shook her head, and her gaze regained its clarity and sharpness.
"Mycroft, you take the left, I'll take the right." She raised her cane and assumed a stance.
At her words, Mycroft was momentarily startled, then nodded.
"Understood."
The instant the words left her, two figures shot forth like arrows loosed from a bowstring, closing in on Russell from both the left and right at once.
Two pitch-black canes carved two utterly different yet equally fierce arcs through the air, sealing off every path Russell could use to dodge.
Though they had never coordinated beforehand, that tacit understanding born of shared blood was displayed to the fullest in this moment.
"Interesting."
Facing this pincer attack from both sides, the corners of Russell's mouth curled into an excited arc beneath his mask.
Instead of retreating, he advanced. The cane in his palm spun a quick, smooth circle, and then, at an incredible angle, blocked the attacks of both at once.
"Clang!"
Three canes collided violently in the air, ringing out with the clash of metal on metal.
Then Russell gave his wrist a flick, and a clever surge of force transmitted along the shaft, somehow dissolving both of their assaults at the same time.
Charlotte and Mycroft each took a step back, a trace of barely concealed astonishment surfacing on both their faces.
"Astonishing teamwork, you two."
"It is Mr. Moriarty who has truly made me look at him in a new light."
Mycroft smiled, yet his gaze grew ever sharper.
"You flatter me, you flatter me."
Russell waved a modest hand, but before he could finish, Charlotte's second wave of attacks had already arrived on its heels.
The exchange quickly entered a white-hot stage.
For a time, the empty corridor held nothing but the crisscrossing shadows of canes and that string of dull, urgent impacts.
Russell fought one against two, and thanks to the items he'd bought from the System Shop, he held his own without falling behind in the slightest.
Perhaps out of worry that he might pull out some other strange and bizarre gadget, or perhaps to keep others from getting in the way—
Mycroft merely had the guards hold the surrounding exits, while he and Charlotte personally crossed canes with Russell.
Russell parried while keeping an eye on the time, fighting and retreating at once.
"Playtime is over, you two."
Russell shoved Charlotte away, then spun around, the cane in his hand carving a perfect arc through the air to force Mycroft back.
"If we keep fighting, the sun will be up."
Seeing that the countdown was nearly finished, he raised his hand once more, flinging down a smoke bomb, and then hurled the cane with all his might toward the window at the end of the corridor.
"Crash!"
Accompanied by a crisp shattering of glass, the cane flew like an arrow from the bowstring, piercing precisely through that heavy glass window.
Then, without the slightest hesitation, Russell turned and dashed straight for the broken window.
Charlotte and Mycroft burst through the smoke, sprinting in pursuit toward Russell's position.
Right at the corner of the corridor, Russell's eyes met those of Louise, who was hiding there and peeking around the bend.
"Mr... Moriarty?"
"Peeking isn't a good habit, Your Highness."
He smiled, then, under the gazes of the three, stepped onto the windowsill and leapt out.
In midair, Russell drew his grappling hook gun, aimed upward, and fired the rope, then soared up against gravity, landing right atop the tower.
He stood at the very highest point of all Buckingham Palace, the moonlight spilling over him as though a spotlight had been cast down just for him.
"All beautiful times must come to an end, everyone."
The Phantom Thief's voice carried through the night wind, reaching every ear with perfect clarity, bearing the grace and composure of a curtain falling on a play.
"I hope you all enjoyed tonight's performance."
He gave a slight bow toward the crowd below, like an actor who had just finished his curtain call, accepting the silent applause and gazes of his audience.
Charlotte and Mycroft stood before the shattered window, looking up at that moonlit figure standing atop the spire, momentarily lost for words.
Louise, too, poked her little head out from around the corner, those beautiful amber eyes brimming with the light of admiration and worship.
"Well then,"
Russell straightened up and spread his arms wide, as if to embrace the entire night sky of London.
"Good night, everyone."
The instant the words fell, three [Twilight Shroud] detonated quietly beneath his feet.
The black smoke, like a blooming ink lotus, utterly swallowed his figure.
When the smoke cleared, atop the spire, there was already no one to be seen.
Only the cold, clear moonlight remained, spilling silently over those ancient bricks and stones, as if everything that had just happened was nothing more than a brief and splendid dream.
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