Twin guns—like twins born under the same star, like couples bound together. They faced in opposite directions, yet stood back-to-back, fingers interlocked, ready to confront this scarred land together.

Felix couldn’t help but sigh when he saw them. These twin pistols were, without a doubt, the most unique creation he had forged to date. Perhaps in the future he would craft weapons of even greater power, but few would carry this much heart, this much singularity. A weapon like this might be a once-in-a-lifetime work.

That did not mean their potential was capped. Their attributes would not remain fixed forever. As he grew stronger, he would be able to further refine and strengthen them, ensuring that these guardian guns would never be mere ornaments without substance.

“So beautiful…”

The murmur rose from somewhere in the audience. On stage, every Laterano youth participating in the coming-of-age ceremony turned their eyes toward him. Truthfully, ever since the drone appeared, all eyes had been locked on Felix and his weapon case.

[Lumen: Daylight]

[Lumen: Nightfall]

“…Are these for me?”

Mostima stepped lightly toward him, a soft smile playing on her lips. Her words referred to the guns, but her sapphire gaze never strayed from his golden eyes—clear and steady, like the lake of an elven utopia one might only read of in knightly tales, rippling faintly with emotion.

“The white one is yours,” Felix said.

“Mhm… but there are two.”

“One is for myself.”

Mostima laughed quietly at his exasperated expression. She relished how, even in front of a crowd, their exchanges felt as natural as when it was just the two of them. She could follow his rhythm, read the turns of his heart. His mind was far more complex than Andoain’s—burning hot in one moment, icy cold the next, calm when needed, turbulent beneath.

Merciless against enemies. Gentle and forgiving toward his own people. At times smiling with intellectual warmth, at others wearing the impenetrable stillness of a poker face.

The empathic link of the Sankta let her brush against his emotions more than once. And every time, she tasted something new—flashes of feeling that stirred her own heart, impulses that deepened her curiosity about him.

In the crowd, Muelsyse’s mouth dropped open. Her wide eyes darted to Lemuel, who wore an expression tinged with envy—not for Mostima herself, but for the guardian guns nestled in the weapon case.

Of course, the mischievous Muelsyse could still read the tenderness in the blue-haired angel’s smile. No mistaking that.

What a twist.

She studied Mostima closely, searching for something—anything—that might remind Felix of the promises he had once made.

Nearby, Senomi and Mandragora whispered conspiratorially, their voices low and teasing, but loud enough to make little Susie puff up in embarrassed outrage. Avdotya, trying to shield Rafaela’s curious eyes, suddenly realized her own ears weren’t covered. Noble upbringing or not, those two young ladies were shockingly bold. Were they really that hungry for their boss Felix’s attention?

She herself was grateful to him—grateful he had saved her, admired his character, respected his experiences. But admiration and affection weren’t the same thing… were they?

Degenbrecher and Carnelian exchanged a single glance before both broke into knowing smiles and turned away.

Not far off, a woman with cascading black hair like a waterfall let her lips curl into a slow smile. She cast a sidelong glance at Federico, who sat stony-faced as ever, unreadable.

“Federico,” she asked, voice lilting, “he’s your captain, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about him?”

“…Mission intelligence cannot be disclosed to personnel outside the Notarial Hall.”

The woman fell silent, then sighed. “Then at least tell me what kind of man he is.”

Elsewhere, Patia, Plume, and Spuria were clapping enthusiastically. Fiammetta, meanwhile, could only marvel at the craftsmanship of the twin pistols. She had trained with guns since childhood, mastering them to a high level over the years. While she wasn’t at the absolute pinnacle, she could fire spell-bullets as well as any Sankta.

She knew quality when she saw it. From the materials to the craftsmanship to the sheer performance, these twin pistols were flawless. In fact, she had never seen a pair more exquisite, more fluidly designed, more luxurious than these.

“Which Laterano master gunsmith crafted these?” Fiammetta muttered to herself. The thought crept in almost against her will—if possible, she would like to commission a weapon from the same hand.

“They were made by Felix himself,” Lemuen said with a gentle smile.

“What?” Fiammetta turned sharply, eyes flashing with surprise. She had heard before, from Lemuen and Mostima, that Felix was a gunsmith, but she had assumed he was merely an apprentice—someone capable of crafting serviceable weapons, nothing extraordinary. But now, staring at these twin masterpieces, she was left utterly stunned.

“You heard right,” Lemuen continued softly, still smiling. “Felix is the most outstanding Sankta of our generation. I believe one day we’ll see him standing in the Papal Hall.”

“…If I were to offer proper compensation, could I ask Felix to forge a weapon for me?” Fiammetta asked.

“I’m not sure. Gunsmithing isn’t his only focus. But we could always ask him together.”

“You too, Lemuen…?”

“Hehe.” Lemuen chuckled, offering no more explanation.

Her younger sister Lemuel, leaning against her shoulder, piped up in a teasing, spoiled tone: “Sis, sis~ can I ask Senior Felix to make me a guardian gun too?”

“It’s possible,” Lemuen said, pinching Lemuel’s smooth cheek, “but you’re not of age yet. Still, with someone as cute as you, I’m sure Felix would agree.”

Lemuel barely heard her. Her mind was already off in a daydream, picturing the guardian gun Felix would one day hand to her.

On stage, Mostima reached into the weapon case and grasped the sleek, pure-white pistol, its design radiating elegance.

“What’s the name of my guardian gun?” she asked, raising her clear eyes to Felix.

“[Lumen: Daylight]. I hope you’ll use it often, from this day forward.”

“Thank you. I will… And yours?”

Felix took up the black pistol from the case. Though made of slightly different materials and with subtle changes in design and stats, it was unmistakably the twin of hers. Anyone who looked at the them would see them as if bounded together.

“[Lumen: Nightfall]. With it, I’ll protect all those important to me.”

“What a dangerously charming thing to say,” Mostima murmured with a faint smile.

From her pocket, she drew out two Arts-bullets and held one out to him.

“This is…?”

“Think of it as the ‘acknowledgment’ of the guardian gun,” she said lightly. “At the end of the ceremony, all who bear guardian weapons fire a Arts-bullet into the sky. That marks the completion of the rite.”

Felix blinked, still uncertain. Was this some kind of binding ritual? A soul-link to the weapon?

As the drone lifted the weapon case and drifted away, Felix turned slightly, giving a grateful nod to the priest who had patiently waited for the two of them. The man squinted and smiled, then raised his voice to the gathered youth.

“Now, everyone—please follow me into the garden.”

It was time for the final step, just as Mostima had explained: raising their weapons to the heavens and firing.

Felix studied the bullet she had given him. It was only a simple Arts-bullet casing, an empty round. It wouldn’t fire any true Arts—just a flash of light and the lingering smoke of the weapon’s arcane mechanisms.

Felix raised Lumen: Nightfall, aiming at the distant bell tower.

Mostima lifted Lumen: Daylight, matching his line of sight.

“Now, with body and soul, feel the bond with your guardian gun!” the priest declared.

The instant his words fell, gunfire cracked through the garden. Thin trails of smoke curled skyward, like colorless fireworks out of a black-and-white film.

Through the gray haze, two beams—one white, one black—shot forward like twin rapiers and streaked toward the bell tower.

The priest’s eyes widened, mouth agape, as the twin lights slammed into the tower with a thunderous blast. Birds and beasts perched on rooftops and rafters scattered in a flurry of wings. The city’s creatures hardly flinched; such explosions were hardly new to Laterano.

But the bell tower wasn’t so resilient. Stone tumbled loose under the impact, and with a deafening crash, its upper half lost balance and collapsed, rubble cascading in a storm of dust.

“Cool!”

“Wow, guardian guns are awesome!”

“Haha, I never thought I’d see something like this on my coming-of-age day—what a thrill!”

The young Sankta burst into chatter and laughter, their excitement infectious. Even the guests smiled and applauded, treating the destruction as an artistic display.

Felix, at least, managed to keep a shred of composure. He turned to the priest—only to find the man smiling serenely… and looking, perhaps, a little excited.

“I always thought watching that tower fall would be spectacular,” the priest said, bowing to Felix. “Thank you. Today you’ve made my dream come true.”

Felix was left speechless.

Mostima, seeing this rare expression on his face, broke into bright, unrestrained laughter.

No one was hurt in the accident, though the damage to property was considerable. The Papal Hall, however, paid it little mind. Laterano had money. Repairs were a trivial matter.

“Your Holiness, here’s the damage report.”

“Mm, thank you, Ers. Would you like a piece of cactus tart?”

“…No.”

For a moment, a flicker of unease broke across Ers’ usually calm face. The Pope sighed softly.

“Such freedom, such goodwill toward all things—can we not extend that to appreciating the taste of cactus tart?”

“…Those two guardian guns are… not ordinary.”

“Oh, I’m glad we agree,” the Pope said, nibbling contentedly at his tart. “Not only about the weapons, but also about the uniqueness of this Felix boy. I believe we share the same understanding.”

“Every time Felix ventures beyond Laterano, he returns with knowledge and information several times greater than any of his fellow Messengers,” Ers said quietly. “He has already admitted to completing higher studies in Columbia, where he’s even gained a measure of fame.”

“But his ambitions do not lie in Laterano.”

“Isn’t that a good thing, Ers?”

The Pope smiled. “Would you really have him spend his life here as nothing more than a gunsmith?”

“I never said that.”

“The Law gives us curiosity and romance beyond the norm,” the Pope said, gazing out the window, eyes gleaming with wisdom and calm. “It also grants us the freedom to choose our future. If Felix favors that land, and wishes to involve himself in its affairs while maintaining ties with us, that is a blessing.”

“Federico…”

“There’s no need to push Federico. Felix has not, and will not, abandon Laterano. Ers, he is a Sankta.”

The Pope drew back his gaze. “For now, what interests me more is the success of their next mission.”

—

Far across the harsh, desolate land rested a colossal landship. Anyone with a discerning eye would recognize it as the type of mining vessel often used by the Rim Billiton.

Only this one dwarfed the usual scale of such landships. On its deck bustled mercenaries in uniform, each carrying out their assigned tasks.

“You reported something unusual… You said you saw a strange machine flying in the sky? A drone?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The middle-aged mercenary replied cautiously. “It looked very much like one of Miss Closure’s drones. In fact, the one I saw seemed even larger than hers by a full size.”

“You’ve worked hard.” Theresa smiled. “Gerin, go rest early.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Theresa knew every mercenary’s true name.

Turning her gaze back to the report, she addressed, “Closure, what do you think about this person?”

“Hmm… likely some kind of engineer?” Closure’s tail swayed as she scratched her head. “Laterano’s full of them—wouldn’t be strange if one or two had more creative ideas. But if they managed to build a drone larger than mine… seems Laterano’s engineers might be sharper than me.”

“And you, Lady Kal’tsit?”

Kal’tsit’s voice was calm. “It’s Felix.”

“Huh? That odd Sankta guy?” Closure reacted first.

Kal’tsit spoke evenly. “He’s been very active in Columbia, earning multiple doctoral degrees. The academic world hails him as a rising star. He’s maintained drone contracts with the Columbian military for some time. This drone is most likely his work.”

From a nearby seat, a figure cloaked in cold air and hidden beneath a hood finally spoke, their voice chilling: “Laterano will never intervene in war… Still, it is a pity.”

“A pity?”

“If we had brought him into Babel back then, perhaps things wouldn’t have reached this deadlock.” The hooded one’s tone was steady. “It was my failure—I didn’t recognize his potential.”

Theresa cast a worried glance at the robed figure. “Doctor, you’ve spent all of yesterday directing operations. Please, get some rest.”

“…Mm.”

The Doctor rose, swaying slightly. A slender hand pressed against the wall for support. Once steadied, they walked out, each step precise and mechanical, calculated as if executed by a machine.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep