金瓶梅第2部

Zash was screaming. Dessi was screaming.

Coraline was pretty sure that she, herself, was screaming-- all while trying to quickly deactivate a defensive Formation designed with every single failsafe taught in the Sapphire Tower's curriculum.

There just wasn't enough time, though.

The barrier stayed on.

The 'thnk' of the crossbow went off.

"NO!!!"

Zash slammed her arms against the weakened ⌈Bombardment Shell⌋. The mana-strike shook the magic bubble violently, portions of it flashing with hard light.

Coraline felt sick as she stared helplessly through the glossy magical wall.

The Sergeant's enchanted bolt had lodged into Tycon's skull.

It was eerie to look at, as only the point went in, so nine-tenths of the shaft stuck out.

But... Tycon didn't fall over. He stood perfectly still, his head just slightly tilted to the side.

The Sergeant lowered his crossbow, then slowly began to back away.

"What the... what the hells is--"

"⌈Spell-BREAK!!⌋"

Squad Leader Yates finished her analysis of Coraline's barrier, dramatically punching through. Countless, glass-like mana shards rained upon the Witches of Zeta Squad.

Zash shot an open palm towards the Sergeant, grabbing onto her wrist with her other hand.

"Dark Chains of S--"

"Hold."

Coraline furrowed her brow, absolutely certain she just heard Tycon's voice. She was about to scan the area for magical effects-- but an ear-splitting screech captured her full attention.

The Making Sergeant.

It was a grisly sight.

He had thrown his crossbow away and was flailing his arms. He was wearing chainmail armor, but it was... rapidly eroding in parts, dissipating in a hazy smoke? Thin streams of blood dripped down his forehead-- down along his arms, face, and neck; every place where his skin was exposed.

He might have been screaming in agony. Sharp, high-pitched whines of super-heated metal searing and cutting flesh scraped the inside of Coraline's sensitive ears.

It was... magic she had never seen before.

Spellbreaker Zashleigh might have; she was the foremost expert in the Tower on identifying major Spells and derivatives.

Coraline turned to look at her Squad Leader, and... against all reason, Tycon was standing by her side.

It was... a second Tycon? And this one didn't have most of a crossbow bolt decorating his dome.

He had one hand closing Zash's forward fist and his palm on her stomach, just above her waist.

Logically... (err, it became logical to Coraline only after, like, a second)-- Tycon had performed a perfect Spell interrupt. Further, the way he sealed her casting hand while simultaneously blocking her mana-flow fully prevented Zash from suffering mana feedback.

Considering the state of Zash's body, her charged emotions, *and* the blood drenching her casting hand... her Spell was likely to fail.

...and failing a high-level Spellcast would have had dire consequences for her and her mana circuits.

All that meant... that Tycon was being incredibly considerate of her.

But their position... was very, VeRy easy to mistake as a bit *more* than basic consideration.

Coraline narrowed her eyes to thin, angry, little squints. She didn't know why she felt so annoyed, but she did. She didn't have a relationship with Sir Tycon... but because of the circumstances, it looked like he was cheating on her.

Was this the feeling of being cuckolded?

Did that term even apply to her situation?

All the other Witches-- they were gawking silently. Maybe some of them knew that Tycon was just being nice. There was nothing wrong with a guy being nice without any ulterior motive!

...But did it even matter?

-- "Yooooo, didn't Dessi say that was the newbie's hot boyfriend?"

-- "I don't believe that for a second. Not just *any* guy can hang out with the Pres for so long without getting turned into a reptile of some kind."

-- "So, like, I thought Zash wasn't into guys? Was I the only one who thought that?"

Most of the girls were looking at Coraline with sad expressions.

They were wrong, though!! She wasn't being cucked!

Zash didn't seem to notice. Her mouth was ajar and her pupils were super-tiny.

What was her opinion on all this?

"That... that's the Hellish Rebuke Spell... a... temporary portal connecting to the Eternal Battlefield?" she said, "I... But he used all those wands... That means he can't-- but he did?"

Oh.

Yeah, obviously, Zash would be thinking about magic. That was basically her entire life.

"That's... this guy's Casting skills are in-SANE!!" Gilchrist exclaimed, "Newbie! Look! Check it out! The initial 'him' was just a derivative of the Unseen Servant Spell! But I've never met anyone who had such control!"

Coraline glanced over, towards the first 'Tycon'. Its features began to... melt, black fluid running from its surfaces, very much like ink. The dead Sergeant's enchanted bolt fell, the shaft shattering upon hitting the ground.

It wasn't a testament of Tycon's magical control. His shadow summon had achieved sentience.

His name was Ishmael. He was cool.

Coraline took a deep breath. She realized just how tense her entire body was... so she tried to relax.

--which was a mistake.

Tears began to pool at the corner of her eyes.

Tycon's arrival had changed... everything.

Because Coraline's brain was no longer in need-to-survive mode, she was finally able to think about stupid things like why she was feeling jealous for no gods-damned reason and how cool it was to be friends with a sentient shadow-person.

All the stress mounting like crazy over the course of the sun... started draining out of her eyes.

But... that was fine.

Everything... was going to be okay.

And it was all thanks to him.

...

Tycondrius was pleasantly surprised to find a cadre of surviving Witches.

He thought it... somewhat odd that they were deep in enemy territory, but... he decided not to question it, accepting the small victory for what it was.

He was also impressed that one of their number had hastily erected a magical Shell-type Spell, defending the Witchling gaggle from the secondary and tertiary effects of a large-scale magical blast.

--and he was fairly certain he knew the sapling responsible.

Clever girl.

Tycon had a practical need for more Witches.

Earlier, he had taken command of one of the Sapphire Tower's flights. Despite their mediocrity, he led them in successfully disabling and destroying several of the city's key points of interest. However, he'd almost completely exhausted them of their resources.

Tycon could demand more.

...but doing so risked the ire of their handler.

Thus far, none of Bella's Witches had lost their lives under his direct command. Granted, some would die within the week from complications related to mana-loss. But by then, he could claim their horrible, mana-starved deaths on a number of other factors.

Nonetheless, he saw value in seeking out more Witches-- ones less inclined to suddenly expire (or explode.)

Even if Bella were to grow incensed from so many of her Witchlings crippled or combusted, Tycon reasoned that if he put *effort* into doing the opposite... then perhaps he could avoid the woman's nagging and open disapproval.

(Though, of that, he could not be 100% certain.)

(It was impossible to predict the actions and reactions of women, regardless of their bloodlines.)

Tycon looked down. He'd interrupted a Witch's Spell that, if completed, would have overloaded her mana circuits, crippling or killing her-- the two things he was trying to avoid.

Several moments had passed.

The woman in his arms continued to stare in the distance, seemingly fascinated by a recent corpse.

...It made Tycon wonder if the two shared a history.

But ultimately, he did not care.

The man tried to put a crossbow bolt in his head.

He failed. Then, he died for his transgressions, as only could be expected.

Tycon took a step back from the slack-jawed woman, adjusted his coat collar, and assumed his practiced, professional smile to address his company.

"Good afternoon, ladies. My name is Tycon of Charm, Leader of Sol Invictus, and the Commander of this operation. I'd--"

Tycon was unable to finish, as the gaggle of women began to shout, screech, and otherwise make... shrill sounds of... what he believed to be elation?

In order to be heard, he reduced his professionalism by a step and raised his voice by the same.

"Which of you is in charge?"

The suicidal woman from before suddenly awoke from her stupor.

"That... that would be me," she said.

So she was their Senior-most Witch...

It was laudable for a leader to subject herself to great risk on behalf of the mission's success.

Or conversely, the self-sacrifice might have indicated a lack of trust in her squad... or at her squad's inadequacy.

Tycon lowered his chin, "Name."

The Witch touched the brim of her cap, "Zashleigh Yates. Flight Leader of Zeta Squad. Spellbreaker, special class."

...Tycon realized he wasn't giving the woman his full attention. His negligence was so gross, he misheard her when she stated her name.

He steeled his expression to hide his embarrassment, "Ah, of course. Squad Leader... Ash-leigh. Ash-lee?"

"Zashleigh, Sir."

"...Get some medical attention, Squad Leader. This area is secure, for the time being." Tycon raised his gaze, scanning the rest of Zeta Squad, "Now, which of you is second-most senior?"

"That'd be me," Said a taller Witchling. "Dessi Gilchrist, at your service, Commander-- and I gotta say, I'm, like, a huuuuge fan."

"Jessie," Tycon tilted his head, "Short for... Jessica?"

"Ah, well. It's uh, Dessi, actually. It's short for Decemberleigh."

It seemed the Witches of the Sapphire Tower were fond of-- or rather, were *dedicated* to minor pranks.

Tycon refused to believe otherwise.