Arabel desperately tried to maintain a natural smile.
‘How did the information leak, and from where?’
Of course, her inner thoughts were different.
Arabel herself was the head of this city’s Information Guild. Publicly known as an ordinary human with no particular quirks or ethnic weaknesses, privately she had replaced over seventy percent of her physical body with a magical construct, a fact known only to an extremely small number of guild members.
She did not manage her organization loosely. Those lieutenants within her organization capable of knowing her true abilities were under surveillance.
Naturally, neither Carisia nor Ortes had any recent contact with Arabel’s operatives.
Ortes, with a sly smile on his face, stared at some document whose contents were unknown.
If you didn’t focus on him, he seemed like someone who could vanish right in front of your eyes—faint and ghostly—but for that very reason, he was all the more unsettling.
‘Could they have infiltrated my base using stealth magic? I thought there was no magician in this city better at concealment than me…!’
Still smiling, Ortes continued smoothly.
“Please correct me if anything I say is wrong. It seems most accurate to confirm personal details directly with the individual themselves.”
It was undoubtedly a threat.
Arabel realized what would happen to her if she contested the facts he presented.
“Captured by the Lernian School, injected with Arachnid Queen factors.”
A secret far more hidden than her magical construct body—one she believed only she should know—had slipped out of his mouth.
Terrible memories surfaced.
While it was commonplace for impoverished individuals unable to properly wield mana in this city to be trampled upon, Arabel had faced a unique misfortune.
“Following the school’s experiments, irreversible changes were moderated and replaced with prosthetic components.”
The building where Hydra Corp now resided was once a magic tower used by those formerly known as the Lernian School.
The three magic towers in Etna City were each occupied by different schools. The Lernian School, while the weakest in terms of power among the three, was also the most brutal.
Magic towers derive their power from two methods: harvesting excess ambient mana or manually infusing mana into the tower core by its members.
High-tier magic towers connected to the Ten Sages receive additional mana support, but the Lernian Tower wasn’t advanced enough for that.
For the concentration of ambient mana to increase, the surrounding area must first be abundant with mana-bearing entities.
In this world, the term “poor” essentially means humans with low mana levels, and most of the areas under the influence of the Lernian School were slums.
Thus, while the Lernian School wielded a weak magic tower due to limited mana, the powerless people under their control allowed them to exercise oppressive authority.
Arabel was one of those caught in their grasp.
“You’ve been processing the excised mutant tumors into servitor familiars, haven’t you? And incidentally, you’re also adept at handling drones?”
With every word from Ortes, scenes from Arabel’s past flooded back into her mind—the Lernian School mages who created her.
Through the queen factor of the spider race, she gained the ability to command the “bloodline,” along with cybernetically enhanced limbs and a specially reinforced brain for hacking capabilities.
Modifications designed to penetrate the semi-realistic space formed by the strange fusion of mana and electromagnetism, the Ethereal Space.
She was once a spy tool for the tyrannical Lernian School in this region.
“Your signature magic is reduction, isn’t it? There might be restrictions like it only working on inanimate objects or things connected to you through mana, but there’s no need for you to explain it.”
Arabel met Ortes’ blurred gaze.
Years had passed since she escaped, faking her d*ath during a hack on another school’s tower. By now, her records should have long been discarded.
Not only for evidence destruction to avoid exposure to other schools, but also because Arabel was a singular success case with no reproducibility, making preservation of her data meaningless.
So how had this man uncovered all this information?
An anonymous saying came to mind: “The unknown is the greatest fear.”
Arabel maintained her silence, barely concealing her discomfiture, as Ortes, with a faint smile, spoke again.
“Fortunately, it seems there are no inaccuracies in the information.”
‘Was the information gathered firsthand? Or was it deception?’
Arabel strained to find clues in Ortes’ words.
At least one thing was certain—if there had been any errors in the information, the provider would have vanished forever.
“Fortunately, it seems there are no inaccuracies in the information.”
Some time ago, when I jotted down the story of a novel, I conveniently summarized the abilities and deeds of those under Carisia.
I engaged in a Q&A session with Arabel, who seemed closest to the fictional depictions and relatively loyal, and fortunately, my memory hadn’t failed me.
This clarifies what needs to be done next.
“I have… something to ask.”
As I pondered my next interviewee, Arabel spoke up. Why is she showing me respect?
Perhaps it makes sense with Carisia.
“Director. Please don’t do that.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just this—I hold no proper rank within Hydra Corp.”
Carisia, being from a noble family, tends to be fussy about hierarchical structures.
This was proven three days ago when I addressed her as ‘Employer’ out of habit and got hit with a d*ath beam after becoming president.
“I’m probably just the chairman’s secretary at best. Directors shouldn’t show me respect—it’s inappropriate.”
Had Carisia seen this, she might have commented on workplace hierarchy.
If she had been born on Earth, she’d likely have been the type to insist on respect for hierarchy and formalities.
After hearing my words, Arabel’s expression momentarily contorted before returning to normal. But I hadn’t said anything strange.
“Understood. Let’s stop with the formal respect then.”
As Arabel bowed her head, strands of red hair fell from beneath her black veil.
Her black dress and veil, paired with the red hair, evoked images of venomous spiders with red spots on black bodies.
To be honest, Spider-Man came to mind first.
Having forgotten modern artifacts for a few years, I started recalling things from my original world after realizing I was in a fictional one.
Ah, I missed the third movie featuring several Spider-Men. Has it been released by now?
“The respect I show isn’t intentional but habitual. I treat everyone, including other directors and you, the same way. People tend to cling annoyingly if I speak informally.”
Perhaps due to my internal musings, Arabel mistook my continuing politeness for irritation and offered an explanation.
‘I don’t dislike being shown respect; it’s just our chairman…’ I considered explaining Carisia’s temper but decided against it.
If Arabel reported this to Carisia, dealing with the aftermath would be difficult.
Instead…
“Oh. Nice to meet you too. Same here.”
I decided to build rapport with this colleague I’d be seeing often.
“I use polite speech simply to avoid unnecessary hostility, yet people keep giving me strange looks. It’s quite sad.”
‘You look suspicious because of how you are, dummy…!’
Arabel forcibly swallowed the retort rising in her throat.
From the moment he revealed an almost fanatical loyalty to Carisia alone, it was clear Ortes’ mental state wasn’t normal.
His existence was so faint that if you didn’t concentrate, he seemed like he might disappear from sight. Naturally, whether polite or informal, anyone approached by such a person would feel suspicion.
Even his seemingly friendly smile, which might otherwise leave a good impression, combined with his suspicious demeanor to evoke unease—a laugh that hinted at unpredictable actions.
And considering what Ortes had done since arriving in Etna City, the suspicion wasn’t unfounded.
Wasn’t Ortes the confidant who shadowed Carisia as she pacified the underworld with light?
After his lengthy discourse on politeness, suspicion, and injustice, Ortes softly sighed.
“Ah, I apologize. I’ve kept you, a busy person, here for too long. Could you call the next person?”
Ortes naturally issuing orders to Arabel was proof that he viewed himself as higher-ranked than Hydra Corp’s eight directors.
It subtly showed Arabel who the second-in-command of Hydra Corp truly was.
‘Yet he avoids being shown respect because he sees it as infringing on Carisia’s authority? His devotion rivals that of the zealots from the old god cults…’
“Who should I call?”
“Hmm.”
Ortes stroked his chin. For a brief moment, his usually vague eyes sharpened, and a faint blue flame seemed to flicker in the irises visible beneath his eyelids.
“Kreton. Please call Director Kreton.”
But the next instant, the eerie aura was gone, leaving only the presence of a man with a strangely elusive smile.
Arabel bowed her head and turned away.
“Ah.”
Ortes’ voice reached her from behind.
“In case both the chairman and I go on business trips, I entrust you with supervision during that time.”
A command to monitor the other directors. Arabel finally understood why she had been chosen as the first interviewee and silently accepted without resistance.
‘The top two leaders stepping out soon after the company’s establishment. Is this a loyalty test?’
Pondering these coincidences, Arabel left the room.
Kreton was a giant.
He wasn’t just naturally robust but a living weapon filled with various enhancements from multiple magic towers, including the Lernian Tower.
His modified artificial eye could observe human cells with incredible precision, and his troll-blooded body could reattach severed limbs simply by pressing them together, healing within seconds.
His entire skeletal structure had long been replaced with reinforced alloys. Known as the Human Executioner of Etna City, Kreton…
“What…?”
“End your dealings with the Torres School.”
‘But I never told anyone!’
“To be more precise, terminate the contract where you select slaves for the Torres School in exchange for mind-control magic sigils.”
Confronted with inexplicable mysteries, Kreton struggled to comprehend.
By the way, it seems we’ve gotten into trouble with the protagonist because of you.
