A pair of piercing, violet eyes stared down at a man in tattered, dark green robes. The man was standing on his knees and arms, with his body horizontal to the floor. Raynare forcibly yanked up his head, lifting his face and bloodied chest into view.

‘Hmm. Looks like Mittelt deliberately avoided inflicting any fatal injuries. She was trying to prolong the torment as long as possible; I presume.’

Raynare released the man’s head without warning, causing him to weakly slump back to the ground.

‘I don’t think they’ll bleed out so fast with only “a few” cuts and bruises. I just need them alive for tonight’s experimentation.’

She tossed two small plastics in an upward arc, landing at the center of the jail cell. A soft thud resonated, indicating that something stiff was in the plastic bags. It gave off a slightly astringent odor, resemblant of moldy bread.

According to the guards, this “hard dough bread” was the cheapest source of sustenance befitting prisoners.

Its discounted price came from the greedy merchants who would add sand and dirt to weigh the scales. Sometimes, prisoners would even find unknown insects in their meals. In the wise words of Clergy Brother Madoka, these special loaves with insects were high in protein, chicken flavored, and very crispy.

Without a word, Raynare locked the jail cell and left through the chamber door. She walked along an upward-sloping hallway with flaming cressets mounted on the walls.

‘Falsely interrogating two human subordinates should put pressure on the rest of the clergy members. It won’t be long before the real rats scutter out of hiding.’

As Raynare reached the corner of the hallway, a shadowy figure suddenly appeared from the right, almost bumping into her.

The figure immediately stepped back in surprise and quickly bowed. The stranger took off his dark green hood, revealing a bald Japanese man in his mid 40s. As he met Raynare’s icy stare, he trembled and gave her a shaky smile.

“Good morning, Miss Raynare,” the bald man nervously said.

Raynare coldly replied, “Tell me, how’s the contact with Freed going?”

He answered in a strangulated voice, “We haven’t talked with him for weeks. But don’t worry! I was just on my way to send—”

“Good. Don’t contact Freed. We don’t need him for now,” Raynare cut him off.

“Yes, ma’am,” The bald man swiftly saluted with a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll make sure to circulate this among everyone.”

“You’d better not act out of place,” Raynare curtly said.

The man vigorously nodded while maintaining his forced smile. He moved to the side with a puckered forehead, making way for the young lady to pass through. When Raynare diverted her intimidating gaze, the bald man secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Damn it!’ The man panicked in his heart, ‘Miss Raynare is too terrifying. I can’t keep up this act for long.’

He shuddered as he thought of Raynare’s ice-cold, violet eyes. As the young lady had stepped out of his view, the man quickly began dabbing his face with a handkerchief.

Raynare continued down the hallway with a slight frown.

‘That bald monkey was very apprehensive. If he’s a spy, he should definitely make a move in the next few nights.’

She slightly tilted her head downward, resting her chin on the edge of her index finger and thumb.

‘The Fallen Angels’ plan was doomed to fail from the start. Sadly, they didn’t give me much to work with.’

Through her future knowledge, Raynare knew that her forces were far inferior to Rias’ peerage. Rias, by herself, could storm the abandoned church and wipe out everyone in her way. But this was of no concern to Raynare.

Her real problem lay in the unknown third-party onlookers. In the original timeline, the Fallen Angels’ plans were “coincidentally” disclosed to multiple parties on the same night. This led Raynare to believe that there were unknown spies hiding among the clergy members.

‘As far as I know, Diodara is the only third-party threat that appeared on that night. Still, it’s impossible to say how many other parties could be lurking in the shadows as well.’

This whole ordeal reminded her of an old saying from Earth: the mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind.

‘In this case, I am the mantis. I need to do everything in my power to deter the oriole from behind.’

. . . . .

Aaau-umph!

A short, white-haired girl widely opened her mouth and chomped down on a fish filet.

Munch. Munch. Munch.

This petite young lady didn’t bother showing proper table etiquette. She was ravenously cramming down her grub with no shame at all.

The students seated around her were dying from second-hand embarrassment. They could clearly hear her chowing down the food in a shameless and disturbing way.

A female student with green hair leaned toward the ravenous young lady.

“Koneko,” she frustratedly whispered, “we have a new member with us. Please at least ‘try’ to act a little bit formal.”

Koneko turned her head and gave her a blank stare. “…I am being formal.”

The green-haired young lady firmly pressed her lips together. “Can you please just be polite for today? It’s anyways Chekhov’s filet you’re eating.”

“It’s fine, Hana.” A smooth voice interrupted their conversation.

Chekhov wore a reassuring smile as he continued, “She can eat as much as she likes. I won’t mind at all.”

“If you say so,” Koneko replied monotonously.

She immediately went back to chowing down the grub in front of her. The green-haired girl, Hana, looked at Chekhov in delight.

“So, its settled.” Hana clapped her hands together and proudly spoke, “We’ll continue with Chekhov’s introduction, and then we’ll discuss the Opening Extravaganza.”

“Em.” Chekhov agreeably nodded and started introducing himself.

However, during his speech, Chekhov had noticed that Koneko was suspiciously glancing at him from time to time.

He figured that this was due to his Sacred Gear. His split soul, Raynare, had once informed him that he had a very unique aura. She had described it as an “Otherworldly Sacred Gear”.

‘Normally, Koneko is very withdrawn and quiet. Getting any reaction from her is unusual. This compels me to say that my Sacred Gear may be stronger than I thought.’

Chekhov pondered as he finished his speech.

“Chekhov, thank you for your introduction,” Hana announced, “Michio, you may now take the lead.”

A boy with circular glasses stood up and spoke with an orotund voice.

“As you all know, Kuoh Academy hosts an annual festival around the beginning of every school year. I’m proud to announce that at this year’s event, we will be in charge of all the food stands!”

He continued with a smug grin, “Clearly, this was a result of my sweet-talking skills.”

As Michio said this, Koneko could be seen giving him an angry glare.

He brought his hand up to his face and lightly coughed. “Ahem. Rather… I also had a little help from Koneko.”

“Still, this is our chance!” Michio ardently explained, “After our first event, we, the Cooking Club, will no longer be ranked last in club popularity!”

Michio continued prattling and chattering about the intricacies of the Opening Extravaganza for the next ten minutes.

Chekhov wore an attentive guise, patiently waiting for the meeting to end. But he wasn’t listening to Michio at all. He was more concerned about analyzing Koneko’s strength.

‘Although Koneko seems like a slender and delicate girl, she’s covertly built like a tank. Her Rook piece grants immense durability and physical strength.’

Through further scrutiny, Chekhov noticed that Koneko had an invisible barrier that obstructed his dark energy. It was similar to Raynare’s membrane, but Koneko’s resistances seemed to be even more durable and robust.

‘This “white-haired gorilla” is a terrible matchup for me. Maybe I could win if I had the strength of my complete soul. But in my current state, it’s nearly impossible to deal any significant damage before she gets too close. A single punch from her is more than enough to knock me out.’

“Chekhov,” a soft, feminine voice whispered from his right, “do you want to partner up with me, for the Opening Extravaganza?”

He turned to his side, facing a brown-haired girl with a pink ribbon. Miwa’s cheeks were slightly flushed as she bashfully touched the tips of her fingers together.

“Of course, Miwa,” Chekhov gently said, “I don’t see why it’s a problem.”

“That sounds great!” Miwa quietly giggled with excitement.

She wanted to reach out and hold Chekhov’s hand. But at the last moment, Miwa timidly stopped herself. Regrettably, before she could gather the courage again, the meeting had already come to a wrap.

The shuffling of chairs sounded as the other members started to get up and leave. It wasn’t long before only Miwa and Chekhov were left.

Nevertheless, Chekhov couldn’t care less about Miwa. He was anyway too preoccupied in adjusting his upcoming plans.

‘This white-haired gorilla will be my new target. Her gluttonous appetite will simplify the process,’ Chekhov thought as he nonchalantly waved Miwa goodbye.

As he stepped out of the house, he was greeted by a flat and toneless voice.

“Chekhov, I want to speak with you. Privately.”

Koneko was standing still, blocking his path with an expressionless face. Chekhov widened his eyes, feigning an image of surprise.

“Oh! You’re Koneko,” Chekhov suddenly exclaimed with a smile, “the polite young lady from the meeting! You were especially interested in my filet recipe!”

“Well, I can always teach you some culinary pointers.” He complacently continued without giving her any room to speak. “You see, the secret to my culinary skills is all about using the proper technique and the perfect proportions. I’m quite experienced in preparing seafood-based Japanese dishes. If you want, you can meet me at—”

“I wasn’t talking about that.” Koneko impatiently cut him off.

“Actually, never mind.” She turned around and spoke with her usual dull expression. “…We’ll soon be meeting again.”

Chekhov lightly wrinkled his eyebrows for a moment. He looked at her in a confused manner, until a frisky smile grew on his face. He ended up impishly teasing her, “Oh, you’re a little shy, I see.”

Koneko kept walking and didn’t respond back. Chekhov waved and loudly called out, “If you want to try out my sushi, don’t be afraid to stop by! I’ll be at the Opening Extravaganza!”

As she slowly faded out of his view, Chekhov was finally left alone. His smile quickly dropped, and his face returned to his typical appearance: a cold and indifferent expression. Needless to say, he didn’t need to keep up his semblance while walking home.

‘It’s too unusual for that white-haired gorilla to go out of her way like that. Perhaps Raynare wasn’t exaggerating about my aura, after all. I want to see what this proclaimed “Otherworldly” Sacred Gear has in store for me.’

Chekhov checked the time on his phone and inwardly sighed.

‘Time passes by too quickly; I’ll have to leave it for another day. What’s most important now is to prepare for the human experiment.’

‘Everything will converge on the day of the Opening Extravaganza.’

. . . . .

The shady outlines of a male and female were conversing at a wooden, circular table. The environment was dim-lit, surrounded by windowless brick walls. Additionally, a foul and bloody odor permeated the room’s atmosphere, but neither person seemed to care.

A flurry of pitter-patters sounded throughout the room as a young lady emptied the contents of a leather pouch. Several crystal-shaped, silver pellets were scattered ubiquitously into a rounded heap.

She lifted one of the silver crystals with her two fingers, bringing it into the candlelight. Its center held an elliptical assortment of miniature, pink runes that radiated an extremely faint magical aura.

Her enchanting violet eyes were cast into a focused gaze as she softly spoke.

“These are the final products. Each Holy Crystal contains 0.5% of your soul, laced with Ueda’s Teleportation Array. This array will be extant until your soul fragment deteriorates or is destroyed.”

The male figure leaned forward and pinched a crystal with two fingers. The dim candlelight flickered on his face, revealing a men-yoroi mask in front of his caramel brown eyes.

“Interesting.” A low voice sounded underneath the mask, “You were able to bind the arrays to my soul fragments?”.

“Yes. I’ve actually learned quite a bit about Holy Power through trial and error.”

“Is that so?” Chekhov lightly placed his elbow on the table as he continued, “In my experience, it seems like dark energy cannot detect Holy Power at all.”

“Indeed. Holy Power and dark energy cannot directly interact with each other. Still, this doesn’t mean that one power is completely invisible to the other. Both powers rely on indirect interactions through the environment.”

“Hmm. If I release a highly concentrated energy wave, can the vibrations in the environment be detected by Holy Power?”

“Yes, although Holy Power can’t directly sense dark energy, any changes in the physical world will easily be detected. The inverse is also true, for example, my protective membrane that you sense is just a measure of my physical durability.”

“I’m still curious.” Chekhov rested his chin on his fingers and asked, “How did you manage to bind the array to not the crystal, but instead my soul fragments?”

Hearing this, Raynare’s lips curved into a smile. “That can be attributed to your Otherworldly Sacred Gear.”

Chekhov narrowed his eyes skeptically. “You keep aggrandizing my Sacred Gear. Are you saying that it’s on the same level as a Longinus?”

“That, I don’t know. But I do know that once it brings a soul fragment into the physical world, Holy Power can interact with it just like any other object.”

A light squeak sounded as Chekhov stood up from his chair.

“In that case,” he said, “we might as well start the experimentation early.”

Chekhov placed one of the crystal-shaped pellets into a ceramic mortar. Using a pestle, he crushed and grinded the crystal until it had been granulated into a fine-grained, white silt. He then poured the silt into a plastic tube filled with a clear liquid.

After a few stirs, the white powder had seemingly vanished, completely diluting itself into the solution.

“I suppose this fluid could also be installed orally,” Chekhov said, “but for testing purposes, the easiest way to latch onto a soul is by optical penetration.”

Raynare responded with a simple nod. With her delicate fingers, she inserted a syringe into the plastic tube and started drawing the colorless liquid into the needle tip.

At this moment, a muffled scream was uttered from a soft, lumpy figure on the floor.

“MMM-PH!”

A young man with messy blue hair was gagged and tied up on the ground. His arms and legs were fully limp, so he could only make abrading movements with his chest as Raynare tread closer to him.

Using two fingers, Raynare forced his right eyelid open. The man’s facial muscles began to tremble and spasm when the syringe approached his eye. Through a prolonged and cautious procedure, she slowly pricked the needle tip into the man’s pupil.

The man’s muffled screams had abruptly doubled in volume, but Raynare paid no mind. As soon as she made it past his retina, she pressed down on the plunger to release the colorless fluid. Then, she ripped the bloodstained shaft out of his eye.

Looking at the spazzing man, Chekhov gave a nod of approval.

“My soul fragment has successfully fastened itself onto his soul.”

All of a sudden, the man’s veins started vigorously pulsating around his neck and temple. They seemed as if they were about to burst.

Seeing this, Raynare frowned and said, “We definitely need to adjust the absorption rate.”

“I had miscalculated the pain tolerance of a regular human. Ideally, we would want it to be unnoticeable,” Chekhov replied.

He reached to his side, picking up another silver crystal. This one seemed to be significantly bigger than the others, and it was also encapsulated with more complex runes.

“At the very least, I’m able to receive a steady flow of energy. Your teleportation array is functioning without any problems.”

As Chekhov said this, the man started violently thrashing around. He went as far as mashing his face against the concrete floor, forcing his body to bruise even further.

BANG!

With the sound of a gunshot, the man’s head suddenly exploded. A dark red liquid had plashed all over the man’s body and the surrounding floor. His bones and organs were smeared on the ground, in front of Chekhov’s feet.

Unsurprisingly, both Raynare and Chekhov were unfazed. They continued their conversation as if nothing had happened.

“I instantly lost contact with his soul.” Chekhov slowly shook his head as he spoke, “This confirms that a human soul is quelled by the laws of this world. It cannot survive even a split second without a body.”

“Strangely, this rule doesn’t seem to affect soul fragments,” Raynare commented.

“Anyway, we’ll repeat the human experiment later this night. How many more fleshly bodies do we have?”

“I have three more,” Raynare stated, “although, we may not want to expend the Sacred Gear wielder like this.”

Chekhov replied as he started gathering the silver crystals. “Indeed. It would be far more beneficial to devour him alive.”

As he was stuffing the crystals back inside the leather pouch, Chekhov formed a dark sphere around the man’s corpse. Without a glance, he collapsed the sphere into a black dot, cleaning up the bloody mess along with a few loose pieces of concrete.

“It’s a pity,” Chekhov uttered as he walked out the door, “that I won’t receive nearly as much energy from a corpse rather than a living being.”