Chapter 13 — A Familiar Face
At the top of the altar stood two towering statues, their forms starkly contrasting—each holding a massive chalice, one black, one white.
The figure on the left bore pure white wings, radiant feathers that seemed to shimmer with divine light. Around her danced countless motes of brilliance, like tiny faeries worshipping their goddess. Draped in gossamer silk, the angel's porcelain body glowed faintly, her serene smile gazing down upon the white chalice she held as if blessing all creation.
Opposite her stood the demon—dark, broad, and terrible. From his back spread enormous wings of shadow, exuding a suffocating black mist. His armor was jagged and cruel, his crimson eyes wide with ecstasy as he clutched his black chalice, drinking in the chaos it promised.
From those twin cups overflowed streams of white and black light, cascading down the altar like twin waterfalls of holy and profane energy. The opposing auras surged and intertwined, then seeped into the ground below, condensing into a pulsing core of energy within the altar itself.
And from that light—Renjiro began to take form.
He opened his crimson eyes, the twin tomoe slowly spinning.
"So… I'm back," he murmured, looking around at the place he first arrived.
His body, once broken and gone, was now reconstituted—woven from black and white particles of energy.
"I really did die," he muttered to himself, touching his hand. "So this body… it's just data after all."
Around him, chaos reigned.
Some newcomers screamed or cursed; others collapsed, vomiting uncontrollably, their faces pale with fear and confusion.
Guess I wasn't the only one returning at this moment, he thought quietly.
He analyzed the situation with practiced calm.
My mission lasted three days. Judging by their condition, theirs was probably a zombie extermination task—maybe an hour, tops. That means… time flow differs between mission worlds. Some spaces must run at different temporal ratios.
Just then, a familiar blue holographic interface appeared before him, the crisp mechanical voice of the system chiming in his ears.
[Welcome, Contract Holder #19999999 — Narusei Renjiro]
[You have successfully returned to the Main Space.]
[This area is the Primary Hub. All mission worlds you've experienced are Subspaces.]
[The Main Hub provides essential facilities such as: Mission Hall, Combat Arena, Food District, Auction House, and more.]
[After completing a mission, each contract holder may remain in the Main Space for seven days.]
[Failure to enter a new mission after seven days will result in termination by the Sweepers.]
[Manage your time wisely.]
…
[Access to higher-level features restricted — insufficient authorization. Please explore independently.]
As the final line faded, the holographic text dissolved into a flurry of glowing particles.
Renjiro blinked slowly.
"So… what now?"
His flat, lifeless gaze drifted across the massive stone platform. The two tomoe in his crimson eyes turned lazily as he surveyed the crowd.
Then—
"Hey! Isn't that the fat otaku? Damn, never thought you'd show up here too!"
A jeering voice rang out behind him.
A plump man with thick glasses froze mid-step, his attempt to sneak away instantly exposed.
"H-Hiro bro! You're here too? Haha… small world, huh?" he said nervously, forcing a smile.
Smack!
The taller man struck him hard across the face, sending him sprawling to the ground. Blood beaded at the corner of his lips.
"You little rat," Hiro sneered, looming over him. "You were trying to run, weren't you?"
The fat man clutched his swollen cheek, bowing and stammering apologies. It didn't help. A vicious kick to his side sent him crashing face-first into the cold stone floor, leaving a smear of blood on the ground as he was dragged away.
Renjiro's eyes followed them for a brief moment, expression unreadable. Then he looked away.
He had no intention of helping.
In a place like this, survival itself was a luxury—helping others was suicide.
"Hey, rookie!" a voice called from the crowd. "Wanna join our Blood Pact Guild? We take care of our own!"
"Back off! He's joining our Bloodgrass Union—we're way stronger!"
Two recruiters barked over each other, both trying to rope him in.
And not just him—every new arrival from the altar was swarmed by aggressive guild recruiters, each fighting to claim fresh blood for their faction.
"Move aside! He's ours!"
A new voice boomed out.
The noise died instantly.
From the far end of the plaza came the rhythmic march of boots—crisp, synchronized, and commanding.
A formation of soldiers advanced in perfect order, their presence radiating authority. They wore sleek, futuristic armor, glimmering with blue circuitry and cybernetic plates. Each carried a weapon that looked decades ahead of its time—something between magic and technology.
At their head walked a woman.
"Step away," she ordered coldly, her voice steady, carrying the weight of command. "He belongs to us."
The recruiters who had been crowding around Renjiro froze, their bravado vanishing.
Fear flickered in their eyes. None dared to argue.
One by one, they backed off, muttering curses under their breath as they slinked away.
Renjiro's gaze lingered on the approaching unit.
He wasn't easily impressed—but the sight of their advanced armor, their discipline, and especially the woman leading them, made even him pause for a moment.
The soldiers stopped a few paces away, and the woman met his eyes.
Her uniform shimmered faintly under the soft glow of the altar's light—half-military, half-science fiction. Her short silver hair framed sharp, beautiful features, and her eyes burned with quiet intelligence.
Familiar, Renjiro thought suddenly. I've seen her before…
The woman before him was the very definition of commanding allure — an elegant, mature beauty with a dangerously curvaceous figure.
Her long legs were wrapped in sheer black stockings that shimmered faintly beneath the altar's light, and her uniform clung to her body just enough to highlight every perfect line.
Even her faint smile carried a trace of seductive confidence, enough to make weaker men lose their breath on the spot.
But Renjiro wasn't one of them.
His expression didn't waver, though the faintest flicker of surprise crossed his crimson eyes.
"Renjiro…" the woman said softly, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"Chazue." He nodded slightly. "Neither did I."
Chazue — she had once been an orphan, like him, in the Abyss Orphanage. They'd taken missions together back then, shared danger and near-death more than once.
She had been competent, sharp, and beautiful even then — until one mission went wrong. A single mistake, and she'd been killed in action.
For her to be standing here, alive in this strange system space, was unexpected even for him.
Chazue exhaled a slow breath of smoke and smiled faintly.
"So, you made it here too. I didn't think there was anyone in the world who could kill you."
Renjiro met her gaze calmly. "No one did. I just got tired of living that kind of life."
"...I see." Her voice softened for a moment. "And the others? Are they still…?"
"They're dead."
The two words were delivered flatly, almost mechanical — but they hit like thunder.
Chazue's body stiffened. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then she muttered, "Dead… huh. And that damned orphanage?"
"Destroyed."
Her cigarette slipped from her lips, landing on the floor and fizzling out in silence.
Her eyes widened, her entire body frozen. Then she let out a small, shaky laugh — one that cracked halfway between relief and sorrow.
"Destroyed… good. That's good…" she whispered again and again, voice trembling.
And then she began to laugh louder — hysterically, tears streaming down her cheeks as the weight of years finally broke.
Her subordinates shifted uneasily, unsure what to do. A few of them started forward to steady her, but before they could—
Renjiro moved.
He stepped closer and gently pulled her into his arms. His left hand slid around her waist, his right pressed lightly against the back of her head, guiding her face against his chest.
Chazue's breath hitched. Her eyes widened — but she didn't pull away.
Instead, she clutched the front of his shirt and sobbed softly into him, her tears soaking through the fabric.
The gathered soldiers exchanged confused glances. Then, as realization dawned, the murmurs began to spread—
"Wait, that guy… could he be… the Queen's boyfriend?"
"What?! No way!"
"I'm gonna be sick…"
A chorus of quiet heartbreak and disbelief rippled through the ranks.
After a while, Chazue's sobs quieted. She drew back, wiping her eyes with a delicate hand, her smile returning — faint, nostalgic, but no less dazzling.
"Didn't think you'd still remember that move," she said softly. "But… your embrace still doesn't have any warmth in it."
Renjiro blinked, understanding instantly.
It was a callback to one of their old missions — when they had pretended to be lovers to assassinate a target.
No matter how many times they practiced, he could never fake the tenderness expected of a "boyfriend."
In the end, he'd gone in alone and completed the assassination himself.
Her smile lingered for a moment longer, then she straightened — composure returning as she slipped effortlessly back into her role as commander.
"Enough reminiscing," she said, her tone shifting to that of the confident, powerful woman she'd become. "So, Renjiro — how about it? Want to join my Apocalypse Legion?"
Before he could answer, her second-in-command stepped forward nervously.
"Wait—Lady Chazue, we can't just recruit strangers! The guild has strict tests, procedures, and—"
Thud!
A high-heeled kick cut him off mid-sentence, sending him sprawling several meters away.
Still smiling, Chazue turned back to Renjiro as if nothing had happened.
"So? What do you say?"
Renjiro met her gaze, unblinking.
"Not interested."
Her smile faltered for the briefest second, then curved into something between amusement and exasperation.
"Still the same as ever," she murmured.