Arknights: The Scarlet Devil of Terra — Chapter 57

Chapter 57: Honesty is the Best Policy

“Ah, this!” The Flandre clone dressed as Patchouli huffed, turning her head away in a haughty display. “They weren’t actually released, so as long as they weren’t used, you can’t blame me!”

At that moment, the dizzy, soaked intruders finally managed to stagger back to their feet. They glanced at their sizzling, bleeding comrades—victims of flying knives—and decisively pivoted, charging straight toward the Patchouli clone. After all, the magic on her side had been weak, merely splashing them without causing real harm.

Seeing the mob rush her again, both the Remilia clone lounging on a makeshift throne and the Patchouli clone scowled in deep displeasure.

The former felt her dramatic pose was growing stiff. Why hadn’t any blind fools come to challenge her?

The latter realized she had been far too casual, making these thugs think she was an easy target.

“Damn it, you really don’t take me seriously, do you!”

“Take my spear!”

“Oh my, magic is really too troublesome. Take my book!”

The Remilia clone hurled the crimson spear in her hand. Mid-air, it fractured into a dozen deadly duplicates, raining down like a localized meteor shower.

Meanwhile, a heavy iron chain had somehow wrapped around the Patchouli clone’s massive grimoire. She swung the heavy tome like a medieval flail, the chain whistling through the air as she viciously whipped the charging men.

“Darn it! Why can I only use small flying knives?!” The third clone, dressed as a maid and calling herself Izayoi Flandre, pouted, immediately expressing her dissatisfaction. “I want to play with big ones too! Get bigger!”

In the next second, the silver table knife in her hand expanded to several times its original size. Hugging the absurdly giant blade, she swung it in a massive arc. Facing attacks from all sides, the struggling intruders were brutally swept away. They were knocked unconscious, pinned to the floorboards like skewered meat, or simply laid out flat by a giant flat blade to the face.

In less than a minute, not a single intruder remained standing.

“Wu… these people are too weak. It’s no fun at all!” Izayoi Flandre stomped her little shoes, her face flushed with anger.

“It’s your fault. Holding such a big table knife, you almost scared them to death,” the Remilia clone pointed at the groaning men knocked out by the flat of the giant blade.

“You’re not much better. Can these people even survive?” The Patchouli clone pointed at the unlucky thugs pinned to the floor.

“It should be fine. Aren’t they Super Terrans?” the Remilia clone asked with wide, innocent eyes.

“No matter how Super Terran they are, they can’t withstand this!” The Patchouli clone pushed up her glasses, expressing that she, as the bespectacled one, was the true intellectual of the group, while the other clones—and even the original—were completely brainless.

“Don’t worry, as long as they aren’t dead. Flandre already called Aunt Fumizuki.”

The original Flandre spoke up. “Are you guys still playing? If not, Flandre will cancel the spell, otherwise they won’t be able to get in.”

Flandre knew she wasn’t stupid. Injuring someone could easily be explained away as self-defense; after all, she was just a weak little girl facing a horde of large, scary men who had broken into her house. She simply couldn’t hold back her panic.

But if it escalated to murder, the paperwork and explanations would be far too troublesome. Vampires already faced heavy discrimination in this world. Having finally managed to build a somewhat positive, cute image, Flandre absolutely refused to let it be ruined by a bunch of nameless thugs.

Across the city, Madam Fumizuki had been deeply puzzled upon receiving the emergency message. She clearly remembered that Ch’en Hui-chieh and Beatrice Swire were supposed to be watching over the little Vampire. Why would Flandre be calling her directly?

While urgently dispatching her elite guards, Fumizuki immediately dialed the two L.G.D. officers, who had just sat down to slurp a hot bowl of noodles.

Ch’en and Swire froze for a split second before abandoning their meals, rushing out of the noodle shop in an absolute panic.

By the time they sprinted back to the residence like bolts of lightning, kicking the door open with weapons drawn, they were greeted by a bizarre sight. Flandre was sitting comfortably in the living room, happily watching cartoons on the television. As for the intruders, several of them had sustained rather serious injuries and were currently receiving emergency medical treatment in the backyard from Madam Fumizuki’s personal ninja squad.

“What happened?” Beatrice asked, her chest heaving as she lowered her weapon.

Flandre pointed a small finger toward the backyard.

“After you guys went out, those guys came in. Flandre thought they were here to play with Flandre, but they were all bad people. They wanted to bully Flandre, so Flandre beat them up!”

She stated it as if it were the most natural law of the universe.

“They came in right after we left?” Ch’en Hui-chieh asked, her eyes narrowing as a sudden realization hit her.

Flandre nodded innocently. A second later, she found herself sandwiched between the two women, their expressions turning incredibly grim.

“So, little Flandre wasn’t asleep at all, but was faking sleep to trick our feelings?” Swire asked, her tone dangerously sweet.

Flandre shuddered. How could she have forgotten that crucial detail?

Her ruby eyes darted nervously around the room. “Of… of course not… Flandre only woke up after entering the room. Yes! When Flandre woke up, Flandre saw the big sisters were about to go out. Flandre thought they were playmates you called for Flandre, so Flandre didn’t call you.”

She racked her brains to construct the excuse, though neither of the seasoned officers believed a single word of it.

Instead, each woman reached out and pinched one of Flandre’s soft cheeks, pulling gently.

“Hehehe, disobedient little Flandre is going to be eaten by her big sisters,” Swire teased.

“Waaah!”

After Flandre tearfully promised to report absolutely everything that happened to them in the future, Ch’en and Beatrice finally let her go, walking to the backyard with satisfied expressions to check on the intruders.

“There are seventeen intruders in total. Twelve with minor injuries, and five with serious injuries.”

The leader of the ninja squad, Shirayuki, recounted the casualty list to Ch’en in a flat, professional tone. “Among the twelve minor injuries, three are unconscious from excessive blood loss due to multiple blade stabs, five are unconscious from heavy blunt force trauma, and four are unconscious from being struck in the head by heavy objects. As for the five seriously injured, they all sustained severe penetrating wounds. Fortunately, we arrived in time to stabilize them, so there are no fatalities.”

Ch’en Hui-chieh walked over, her boots crunching against the grass, and inspected the groaning men. Just as Shirayuki had reported, the wounds were entirely physical. There wasn’t a single burn, frostbite, or trace of Originium Arts damage to be seen.

However, many of the men were soaking wet, clearly indicating they had been hit by some form of water spell—yet the spell itself hadn’t caused any actual harm.

Ch’en frowned, deeply puzzled. Based on the terrifying methods Flandre had displayed when they hunted the Vampire last time, the girl’s magical attainment was monstrously high. Not to mention, her recent tutoring sessions had proven she was a top-tier grandmaster in both magical theory and practice.

Could a spell cast by such a terrifying entity really only manage to get these thugs wet?

Then where did all these brutal physical wounds come from?

Could it have been infighting?

She turned to Shirayuki and voiced her suspicions.

Shirayuki shook her head. “We compared their own weapons against these injuries. They are completely different.”

“So the injuries on them were caused by four distinct types of weapons?” Ch’en quickly compiled the data, her instincts as a Special Inspection Unit officer kicking into high gear.

“Correct,” Shirayuki confirmed. “The penetrating weapons we can currently identify should be spears or lances. The blunt weapons are unclear; the impact patterns are strange and require further forensic study. The stab wounds match daggers, and those hit in the head were likely struck by massive, flat objects.”

Listening to the ninja’s clinical breakdown, Ch’en just wanted to scream. ‘Where on earth did Flandre hide an entire armory of medieval weapons in this house?!’

“What about these people?” Ch’en asked, gesturing to the tied-up thugs. “Should I have the L.G.D. come and transport them to the station?”

“Leave them to us,” Shirayuki replied, her gaze shifting toward the perimeter walls. “I am afraid the L.G.D. will not be able to take them away tonight.”

Ch’en was startled. She knew Shirayuki didn’t mean any disrespect toward the L.G.D.’s capabilities. Rather, the ninja was implying that these intruders had backup waiting in the shadows outside.

If her brothers from the L.G.D. rolled up in standard patrol cars, they would walk right into an ambush, potentially leading to unnecessary sacrifices. Leaving the transport to Madam Fumizuki’s elite, stealth-oriented Ninja Guards was the safest tactical choice.

“Then I’ll leave it in your hands,” Ch’en nodded.

She watched as several unmarked transport vehicles quietly pulled into the yard. The ninjas efficiently loaded the bound men into the back and melted away into the night.

Once Shirayuki and her squad departed, the two officers returned to the living room.

“Little Flandre, how exactly did you cause those wounds?”

Sitting down on the sofa, Beatrice wrapped an arm around Flandre’s small shoulders, her tone deceptively gentle.

Flandre shuddered. Usually, when a big sister used that specific tone, a spanking was imminent.

As the old saying went, ‘Honesty leads to a flattened butt, but resistance leads to a year of house arrest.’

She could handle being locked in a room—she was used to the basement, after all—but she absolutely refused to let her butt get smacked.

Her ruby eyes darted around the room again. “They caused it themselves!”

“Hmm. Little Flandre, you had better think very carefully before you speak. Our Forensics Department is extremely thorough. A single check will reveal exactly how those men were hurt,” Beatrice warned, her grip on the girl’s shoulder tightening just a fraction.

“It was magic! Flandre added magic!” Flandre immediately surrendered, holding her head in her hands to protect herself, trying to look as majestic as possible while cowering.

“Tell us in detail,” Ch’en demanded, her curiosity piqued. She hadn’t seen a single weapon on Flandre’s person, yet the girl had inflicted devastating physical trauma.

Seeing the two officers staring at her expectantly, Flandre reached out her empty hand. In a flash of light, a massive, blazing greatsword materialized in her grasp.

“This is Evocation magic, with a tiny bit of Transmutation added,” she explained cheerfully.

A second later, the flaming greatsword vanished into thin air. She waved her small hand, and several decorative stones from a nearby potted plant floated into the air. Before their eyes, the stones warped and shifted, turning into silver table knives, heavy spears, sharp swords, and wicked halberds.

“This is pure Transmutation.”

“Although Patchy always says it’s embarrassing for a proper mage to use physical weapons in combat…” Flandre mumbled, letting the weapons clatter harmlessly to the floor. “But Flandre really likes the feeling of close combat, so Flandre learned a lot of Transmutation spells!”

Flandre’s effortless, reality-bending display left both women utterly dumbfounded.

“Is it really that simple?” Beatrice asked, staring at the pile of newly forged steel.

“It’s not simple at all! Patchy told Flandre a story once. Someone used Polymorph to try and turn themselves into a mouse to sneak into someone’s house. But they overdid the spell and completely forgot they were human, ending up living their entire life as a real mouse!”

Hearing Flandre’s cheerful anecdote, a cold chill ran down both officers’ spines. The concept of a human being permanently trapped in the body and mind of a rodent was pure psychological horror.

“Phew, that’s incredibly dangerous. Flandre, you should use that less!” Beatrice urged, her protective instincts flaring up.

“Hehe, that’s only dangerous when used on living people! Flandre uses it on inanimate objects, so naturally, there’s no problem!”

As she giggled, Flandre suddenly paused, her gaze snapping toward the window, looking out into the dark streets.

“What’s wrong?” Ch’en asked, her hand instinctively dropping to her sword hilt.

“Those people who just left are fighting with another group!” Flandre announced brightly.

Hearing this, both Ch’en and Swire instantly drew their weapons, their eyes scanning the perimeter with high alert.

“Don’t worry, those ninjas prepared in advance. The other side didn’t win and has already been driven back,” Flandre added, waving her hand dismissively to comfort them.

“Wait,” Beatrice paused, her eyes narrowing as she caught the crucial detail. “How do you know that?”