Mathematics is the foundation of nearly all magic, and it holds particular importance in the school of prophecy. Arithmancy, numerology, spiritual mathematics, astrology, Zi Wei Dou Shu, geomancy, Qimen Dunjia, hexagrams—nearly all divinatory spells require practitioners to possess extensive mathematical knowledge and powerful mental calculation abilities. Solomon, shaped by the vast library of Kamar-Taj, could confidently say he excelled at such magic. He was among the finest of the Arcanists. Though these were ultimately just guesses, it didn't stop him from using multiple overlapping prophecy spells to repeatedly divine the correct outcome, thereby eliminating false paths—prophecies were, after all, always vague. Solomon didn't expect precise foresight. Instead, he divined the degree of fortune or misfortune, then applied a handful of detection spells to analyze the nature of each portal. By combining this with statistics, he could deduce the answer he sought.
"I don't understand why some people always prefer to appear behind others," Solomon muttered to himself. "Does this kind of melodramatic entrance make them seem more impressive?"
A crystal-blue rhombus-like figure emerged from the void. "Since you've already noticed me, I suppose I may as well speak plainly."
"If this is supposed to be a cutscene, then at least try to dress like a person," Solomon said as he slid his helmet back on, turning to face the figure. His armored hand hovered deliberately over the hilt of his sword. If things went sideways, he could draw and strike in an instant. The figure's fashion sense—postmodern and aggressively gender-ambiguous—felt straight out of a contemporary American runway. It clashed entirely with Solomon's baroque aesthetic, and his first impression of this individual was instantly terrible.
"First impressions matter. Yours isn't great. Who are you?"
"You may call me the Prophet," the figure replied with a cryptic smile, as though everything was unfolding exactly as he'd planned. Solomon disliked him immediately—his fashion, his timing—but he was also wary. For someone to show up at such a critical moment was absurdly foolish unless they were the mastermind behind it all. So, Solomon decided to hear him out.
"The secrets of the World Watchers are no mystery to me. If you wish to reach Hell, I can help."
"There's no such thing as a free favor. What do you want?"
"Of course, of course. I see your potential—and I know your price is high. I've seen a great deal, including your battle with the sage. I'll admit it openly: from the moment you and the witch entered Noahdun, I've been watching you. I'm sure you sensed that spell. I believe this is all a misunderstanding, and once it's cleared up, you'll stand with me. After all, my goals align with Kamar-Taj's: eliminating entities that threaten humanity's development. It's a long story, and we're short on time, so I'll keep it brief…"
"…So your target is the elimination of those who can alter the past and future—the Left and Right Eyes?"
Solomon's voice held a trace of hesitation, and the Prophet was instantly delighted. His previous attempt to have the masked sage assassinate his older brother had failed. But if he could win this man over, then success was back within reach. The Prophet silently praised his own brilliance, unaware that Solomon was simultaneously sizing up his intelligence.
"You surely understand the danger," the Prophet went on. "If someone misuses the Eyes of the World, it could be catastrophic. Especially now, with only one Eye remaining, the imbalance in the Sea of Souls will eventually bring ruin to the material plane. In matters of humanity's survival, you won't hold a grudge over my ordering the sage to attack the boy, or over the monster control incident, will you? I admit the means were harsh, but this is different. I can help you extract the Witch's Eye of the World—and ensure her safety. That's my offer to you."
"My divinations indicate you're the one who can get me to the Gate of Hell. You'll take me there personally."
The Prophet smiled. "Exactly. You can trust me—I'm telling the truth."
"Just not like this." Solomon drew the holy sword and leveled it at the Prophet.
At first, the Prophet was stunned—but he quickly dissolved into a cloud of light and flickered aside. Solomon immediately unleashed the five-ring transformation spell Lightning Leap, transforming into a bolt of electricity and slamming into him. A surge of current paralyzed the Prophet's body. At the same moment, several rune-engraved brass bullets struck the Prophet in the back of the head, staggering him. He had no idea what had gone wrong.
"I guarantee you'll personally send us through the Gate of Hell," Solomon said, appearing from the shadows and twirling his holy sword. "You're late, dear."
"Sorry, traffic," Bayonetta replied coolly.
In the blink of an eye, she appeared beside Solomon with the boy in tow, gripped by the wrist. Two golden broken spears flew toward them, but Bayonetta spun Solomon around and pulled him into Witch Time, gaining a moment to speak.
"Don't ask me anything—I remember who I am now!" the boy cried the moment his feet touched the ground. He sprinted toward a particular portal. "Follow me! We don't have time to waste!"
"Keep an eye on the kid," the witch said. "He'll lead us to the Gate of Hell!"
When Tita led the sky-carrier fleet above Noahdun, the first thing she received was the devastating news.
After a brief deliberation, she passed the message down the command chain to both the Ten Roses and Golden Lily, the other two sky battleships. Grief overwhelmed the Sisterhood. Neither Victoria Hand nor Baron Mordo opposed Tita's judgment, and so, all Sisterhood members from the other ships gathered aboard the Disciplinary. Fully armed, they assembled on the flight deck in two solemn rows, awaiting the return of the assault transport.
Other than the whine of engines, no sound was heard.
Tita stood personally at the ramp of the transport, awaiting the wounded strike team as they carried Catherine down. She exchanged quiet words with each member, then slowly unveiled Catherine's body, wrapped in the deep red robes torn from every squad member. They whispered to Tita that had it not been for the protection of her power armor and the robes, her body would have fallen apart during transport.
Tita turned to face the assembled Sisterhood. None wore helmets. Fire burned in every gaze. Catherine had been deeply beloved—not just for her swordsmanship, but for her bold, candid spirit. Despite her formal title, even the human girls felt no distance with her. Some, closer to her than others, stared with wide, tear-filled eyes, fury mixing with grief.
Tita raised her voice.
"Catherine died for the Lord. That is her glory. She will be remembered."
She could feel the fire in her chest igniting, molten rage flooding her veins.
"But that does not mean we will forgo vengeance! I loved her. You loved her. The Lord loved her most of all. Just imagine the wrath He will unleash when He learns of this!"
"Kill every last extradimensional abomination! We are not just the Lord's fury—we will honor Catherine's sacrifice with blood!"
(End of Chapter)
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