Sword Masters were ageless, immortal beings—superhumans who had attained eternal life simply by wielding a sword, without any mystical or supernatural power.

But viewed another way, that meant Sword Masters were not the only ones to have attained something close to ageless immortality through mystical powers. Among the absolute beings of each age, at least, quite a few had lived for hundreds of years. Plato, the founding father of the Free Cities League, had even enjoyed a lifespan of nearly two thousand years.

Of course, even among absolute beings, few had lived as long as Plato, and fewer still remained alive. That was why Limon could not help looking uncomfortable in the presence of the dark-red-haired woman—one of those exceedingly rare exceptions.

["... Uh, so this stacked lady is older than you, Team Leader?"]

'Would you just shut up?'

["No, how does that make sense?! She's over a thousand with that wrinkle-free face and that body? I'm so jealous!"]

"Oh my, thank you for the compliment."

["...!"]

"... That's why I told you to shut up, you chicken-pigeon."

She had secretly sent her telepathy to Limon alone. Yet the woman smiled as though she had overheard it, leaving Yu Na-gyeong aghast and Limon sighing. Then an intrigued look crossed the woman's face.

"A human soul in a bird's body... You have quite an interesting familiar with you, child."

"Mind your own business about other people's pets, old hag."

"Calling a lady an old hag is a bit much, isn't it? Why not call me Cir, with a little affection?"

Calling her his big sister would be even better, she added with a playful smile. Limon scowled fiercely at the dark-red-haired woman, Cir.

"Enough nonsense. Get to the point."

"What point would that be?"

"You asked me to save you. You went out of your way to wait for me at Orna's Magic Hall. I doubt that was just a joke."

Limon's observation was cold. To a genuine witch or wizard, a magic hall was a workshop, a fortress, and a nest. Another witch occupying the hall of a witch from the twenty-seven magical lineages would ordinarily be grounds for a fight to the death. If she had gone to such outrageous lengths, she clearly had something important to discuss.

Yet Cir's answer was utterly nonchalant. "Don't worry about Orna. She's already dead."

"... What?"

"And not just Orna. Eureka, Sena, Florence, Jessica... Five of those children have died already."

"Five witches carrying on the twenty-seven magical lineages are dead?"

"Yes. And in just three months."

Now that the magic hall had lost its owner, someone had to stay and look after it in her place, Cir languidly explained. Limon raised his eyebrows. Her casual attitude toward death was nothing to concern himself with, but what she had said was utterly unexpected.

"Old hag, did you kill them?"

"Of course not."

"Then who did?"

"I don't know that much myself. All I know is that someone is targeting London's witches."

"And you expect me to believe that?"

"What can I say? It's the truth."

Cir shrugged. When the first one or two had died, she had thought little of it; by the time she suspected something was wrong, five were already dead. Having explained that, she continued in an exceedingly languid voice.

"More importantly, there's no reason for me to start harming those children now, is there?"

"And no reason to save them, either?"

"Of course not."

"... Naturally."

Limon looked displeased, but neither argued nor grew angry. He had known all along that this was the sort of witch Cir was, and he had no right to interfere in the witches' affairs.

"Don't be so sarcastic. It's not as though I simply stood by and watched."

"What, did you do a divination or something?"

"Oh my, how did you know?"

"It's obvious what a witch like you would do."

"Hehehe. Have you forgotten the child who once blundered about without noticing even that obvious thing?"

"Enough chatter. What did the divination say?"

"As impatient as ever."

Cir shook her head as though he were hopeless, but lightly flicked something toward him. "Look. This is my reading."

What spun from the hand of the woman seated upside down on the ceiling and dropped before Limon was a single card. He narrowed his eyes at the [Fate] card, which depicted a wheel with a sword driven into its center. Having seen many divinations over his long life, he could roughly guess its meaning.

"... I see. So this is why you were waiting for me."

"What else could I do, when the reading said you were the only one who could resolve this, child?"

However many swords there were in the world, only Limon's could shatter fate. That was why she had waited for him to come. Limon did not dismiss Cir's leisurely explanation.

Although the White Dragon Princess had now supplanted her as the foremost prophet of the age, Cir had once been a renowned prophet herself. Her readings might not be infallible, but he could not disregard them entirely.

Limon clicked his tongue at being caught up in another troublesome affair. Then his eyes suddenly gleamed. 'No, wait. Isn't this actually an opportunity?'

He sank into thought. His reluctance to meet Cir had not merely stemmed from his discomfort around someone older than himself. In the worst case, he might have had to make an enemy of her. Right now, however, she was not his enemy at all; she was asking for his help. And unlike before, the Limon of today had any number of ways to take advantage of this situation.

After a brief flurry of thought, Limon—who had been scowling only moments earlier—twisted one corner of his mouth upward as though nothing had happened and spoke casually. "My sword doesn't come cheap, you know."

Arms firmly crossed. A swaggering manner. A cold smile to top it off. Like a thug who had found a chance to bleed dry a rich household he had always disliked, Limon's entire body demanded that she make the first offer. Cir looked at him as though she had heard something profoundly unexpected.

"You mean to demand payment?"

"Yep."

"There will be serious trouble if you don't help us now, you know."

"So what do you want me to do about it?"

"... Child, didn't you used to get involved in these things of your own accord?"

"That was a long time ago. I'm getting tired of volunteering for free."

If you wanted something, you had to pay a corresponding price. As a witch, she ought to know that better than anyone, Limon told her mockingly. Cir looked discomfited for a moment, then suddenly placed a hand on her ample bosom and gave him a seductive smile.

"Then how about I let you do whatever you like with my body for a hundred years or so? I'm confident I could give you memories you won't forget for at least a thousand."

"I'm leaving."

"... What do you want?"

In the end, Cir surrendered. She had realized that bargaining here would only cost her. The moment she had revealed the divination saying she absolutely needed Limon's help, she had effectively handed him her leash. It was her mistake: thinking only of the Limon of old, who had saved the world during the Demon God War without taking a penny, she had rashly exposed a weakness.

Limon grinned as he spoke, having gained an unexpected windfall thanks to her. "Oh, nothing much. Forget a hundred years. Just cooperate with my work for fifty or so."

"What sort of work?"

"Beating up bad guys, same as always. This time, I'm just thinking we might do a little business together on the side."

"Business? You, child?"

"Yep. I thought I might start accumulating a little money and power myself."

"Well, that is both surprising and, in a way, perfectly natural."

Cir wore an odd expression. Even knowing that people changed eventually, she found the corruption(?) of Limon, who had reigned as humanity's guardian deity for nearly a thousand years, quite striking.

Limon pressed her with an indifferent air. "Enough chatter. What's your answer?"

"Well... Fifty years is too long. How about ten?"

"That's too short, old hag."

"Then how about I become your wife for that time as well? Believe it or not, I make an excellent enchantress by day and temptress by night."

"Don't need one. Besides, I'm already engaged."

"Oh my, are you?"

"Yeah. So make it thirty years, as a wedding gift too."

After looking thoughtful for a moment, Cir finally nodded. "If you're going to insist that much, child, I suppose I have no choice. Resolve this matter properly, and I'll serve as your slave for twenty years. How about we settle on that?"

"I need a partner more than a slave."

"I could be one, if you call me Big Sister from now on."

"Fine. I'll settle for a slave."

Limon nodded. Simply gaining the services of a witch of Cir's caliber was an unexpected success on the scale of a lump of gold rolling into his lap.

Cir had no complaints, either. Twenty years was no more than an instant to her anyway. And she would not be helping Limon on her own initiative during that time—merely doing what he told her was no great matter.

... Of course, she would not have agreed so readily had she known who the "bad guys" Limon intended to beat up were, or what his "little business" entailed. It was the kind of outrageous behavior that would have made Ainsha mutter, "Truly, a bridegroom to match the bride."

'I see. So this is why people should live virtuous lives.'

But Limon himself was entirely unconcerned. He merely smiled in satisfaction at Cir, who had been all too easily deceived precisely because she knew him so well from his days as humanity's guardian deity. What could he do? If she wanted someone to blame, she should blame herself for becoming ignorant of the world after spending so much time shut away.

Having thus tricked one innocent old hag into a fraudulent contract, Limon immediately began recouping his investment. "Then, like a proper slave, you'll have to do a job for me right now."

"What job would that be?"

"You, book-smart fool."

Though he had merely called for her, Wei Ling immediately produced and offered the case, as befitted a capable attendant. Limon took it from her, opened it for Cir to see, and asked casually, "Old hag, do you know what this is?"

"Hmm?"

Cir looked intrigued by the scrap metal inside the case. Then she took a bundle of gold thread from a box on the table, twisting it between her fingers as her lips moved.

"Luvina Fua cySin kiea, Doon."

Her languid incantation rang out in a steady, songlike cadence. The gold thread unwound in midair and became a soft radiance—and then the transformation began. The pieces of scrap metal inside the case absorbed the light and began restoring themselves.

Broken fragments joined together. Crushed contours swelled back into shape. The grimy surface regained its luster.

By the time the entire bundle of gold thread Cir had taken out had melted away, there was no scrap metal left. Only a bell with a hairline crack remained in its place.

With a snap of her fingers, Cir drew the restored bell up before her eyes. She examined it with a curious smile. "Between this and that familiar, you really have brought nothing but interesting things, child."

"Have I?"

"Of course. An object imbued with mystical power, yet neither a magical artifact nor an item? I can't remember the last time I saw something like this."

The researchers who had spent dozens of days examining the bell's fragments without learning a thing would have doubted their ears. But Limon did not doubt Cir's words. He merely asked seriously:

"Then can you repair it, or make a magical artifact with a similar function?"

"I'll have to examine it further. At a glance, it seems to contain a mystical power that reacts to a particular object, but I don't know what that object is."

"Apparently, they're called the Seven Arcs."

"... What are those?"

"Hmm. So you don't know either."

Limon clicked his tongue as Cir tilted her head at the name he had mentioned on the off chance she knew it. Since she had lived longer than he had, he had thought she might know something, but her reaction suggested otherwise. Still, he had not expected much to begin with. Quickly setting aside his disappointment, he instead took the Violin of Deepest Black from the case on his back and showed it to her.

"Apparently, this violin is one of those Seven Arcs. What do you think?"

Again, he asked without much expectation. That was precisely why he could not help being surprised when Cir's eyes went wide the instant she saw the Violin of Deepest Black.

"Child, why do you have that violin?"

"Old hag, do you know what it is?"

"How could I not?"

Cir answered as though the question were absurd. Then she raised a finger, pointing her purple-painted nail at the Violin of Deepest Black, and continued. "I'm the one who made it."