Cellinia raised her sword. Once, it had felt light in her hands. Now it bore a weight she could hardly describe.

Before her eyes, the world seemed to collapse. Familiar faces clashed in primal combat, fighting with Siracusa’s oldest, most brutal traditions. And her only true friend—no, the only friend she had ever gained since being stationed with the Saluzzo family—was now inviting her into the fray with a raised blade.

“…Then let’s fight.”

Crying was useless. Her tears had already run dry.

On what should have been a quiet Columbian afternoon of tea and leisure, Cellinia stepped instead into carnage.

“Ahaha, that’s the look I love—the fire in your eyes, Cellinia.”

Lappland laughed, as though she had just found her greatest treasure. Her words, wild and manic, hadn’t even finished before she lunged forward with startling agility.

Bang!

With a savage kick, she sent one of her own men flying out of the way. Her longsword crashed against Cellinia’s, the screech of steel on steel grating through the hall. The clash broke apart, and then again—each strike ringing out like the steps of a twisted, elegant waltz.

“Cellinia, still not using your pistol? Or do you think you can defeat me with just one weapon?”

Lappland ignored the wider battle entirely. From the first moment, she pressed the attack, hammering Cellinia back, her madness blazing as if she meant to strike off her head.

“…Lappland.”

Cellinia gritted her teeth, her expression dark. Could she truly bring her blade down against a friend who had been by her side for nearly a decade?

Lappland saw her hesitation, bit her lip, and a flash of malice and cunning sparked in her eyes.

“Cellinia, you know what they say: for the Lupo of Siracusa, strength is everything. Once I kill you, it’ll be me standing at Brother Felix’s side, not you.”

Cellinia’s dim eyes flickered back to life. Her lips moved. “…That kind of provocation doesn’t sound like you at all.”

“The Texas family will end today. Nothing you say can change that. Why would I bother provoking you?”

Lappland sneered. “That pistol Felix gave you—to protect you—are you just going to let it gather dust?”

Cellinia twisted aside from a vicious kick, rolling across the floor. When she rose again, her hand now gripped a pistol alongside her sword.

“Ahaha! At last. I haven’t seen your sword-and-gun style in ages.”

Like a shark scenting blood, Lappland’s grin widened, sharp and hungry.

By now, most of the Texas enforcers had fallen beneath the overwhelming assault. Some fled deeper into the manor, while many more lay forever silent on the ground. A handful of Saluzzo foot soldiers tightened their circle around Cellinia.

“You bastards… trying to steal my prey?”

Lappland’s gaze turned deadly. Without hesitation, she swung her sword at the nearest underling. The man barely managed to throw himself flat, his face pale with terror—any slower and he would have been split in two.

“You—!”

The soldier dared not protest, not against Lappland. She scoffed in disdain. “Trash like you should stick to trash work. She’s mine. Anyone who touches her… dies.”

Under her glare, the Saluzzo men exchanged looks, then withdrew, grumbling under their breath.

“Now it’s just the two of us.”

Lappland’s tone softened. Within it lingered traces of old friendship—

and a promise of murder.

“Come.”

Cellinia raised both sword and pistol. Her stance mirrored a style viewers might liken to a certain dual-wielding player from GGO, save that hers was steel and firearm rather than gun and lightsaber. (And in Terra, lightsabers were still well beyond anyone’s reach.) But even so, in that moment, her battle style carried something of Kirito’s spirit.

That, too, was what fascinated Lappland. Fighting Cellinia was always intoxicating—always new, always perilous, always alive.

The next instant, Cellinia’s blade sliced through the silence. Her pistol rose in her other hand, guarding her like a shield. Unlike Lappland, there was no madness in her eyes—only resolve.

But that was not what Lappland wanted to see. What she longed for was the hunger, the killing intent, blazing back at her from those eyes.

And this… this was not enough.

And yet, fighting Cellinia still brought her joy.

So Lappland would savor this battle to its fullest.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Steel clashed. The pistol barked.

Lappland fought without the slightest concern for the burns and cuts scarring her body. She clung to her own reckless style—trading wounds for chances at victory. That was her nature. She laughed even as Art bullets scorched her thigh, her ribs, her arm. Unbothered, she swung her sword, pressing Cellinia harder and harder.

She was, as expected, no easy opponent.

Cellinia’s heart sank. She had hoped to finish the fight quickly after Lappland’s taunts, for every explosion and scream echoing behind her tightened her chest with dread. But Lappland would not fall so easily.

They knew each other too well.

Too well—Cellinia could read the angle of Lappland’s next swing, see through her feints, recognize the cold calculation hidden beneath her madness.

As enemies, their compatibility was the worst possible.

At last, Cellinia’s blade pierced Lappland’s side—

just as Lappland’s sword drove into Cellinia’s shoulder.

Both wolf-girls leaned against their weapons, breathing heavily, blood dripping down to the floor.

“…Why?”

Cellinia’s voice trembled with confusion. She could sense it: Lappland’s strikes, though wild, had not carried the full weight of true killing intent. Staggering back a few steps, she felt the blade slide out from her shoulder—mercifully shallow. Pulling her sword free of Lappland’s side, she realized her friend had been wearing light armor beneath her clothes.

“What is your real purpose?”

“To drag you out of this pit, Cellinia.”

Lappland grinned, wiping blood from her body and smearing the grime from her face. Then she held out a hand.

“Let’s get out of here. Together.”

“…Lappland.”

Cellinia’s lips quivered. She understood all too well what this meant.

Lappland was betraying her family.

For a Siracusan, there was no sin greater. To abandon one’s clan was exile. Without a family, they became lone wolves—and in Siracusa, lone wolves were devoured.

It wasn’t an exaggeration. It was tradition.

“I made my decision long ago. My family bores me, suffocates me.”

Lappland flicked her hand, as if brushing aside a memory. Perhaps of the old man who loved to peel oranges. She gave a sharp snort.

“Better to run free than rot away inside a house that smells of decay.”

Another explosion thundered behind them, cutting her words short. Both turned to look.

The rear courtyard was ablaze.

Its fall meant the non-combatants of the Texas family—their kin, their relatives, their blood—were gone.

Last night’s farewell had unknowingly become a final one.

Cellinia blinked away her tears. She sheathed her weapons, then dashed with Lappland toward the manor gates.

From this moment, their flight began.

—

Lappland’s “betrayal” did not go unnoticed for long.

The Saluzzo commander leading the operation soon realized something was wrong. No matter how many corpses they overturned, one of their key targets—Cellinia—was missing. A quick exchange with his men confirmed the truth: Lappland had taken her and fled.

He discarded any surprise or outrage with chilling calm.

The order was given:

Cellinia—kill on sight.

Lappland—capture alive, and deliver to Florence for judgment.

The assassin squads melted back into the city, transforming into shadows lurking in the streets. They would hunt them down, striking the instant they surfaced.

—

Lappland returned with supplies to a long-abandoned inn in the city’s lower district. No one but the Infected lived here. It was only a matter of time before assassins discovered them, but for now, it was the best place to rest.

“Columbian food… this is it?”

With a scowl, Lappland pulled sandwiches and burgers from a paper sack. She looked less like a fugitive and more like someone on a casual outing. She bit into a slice of pizza—then spat it out at once.

“Disgusting. Whoever made this deserves to be chopped into layers like pastry.”

Cellinia shook her head silently.

She had not yet recovered from the massacre of her family. After all, she was barely an adult herself. Among the family, youths her age were only just beginning to shoulder responsibilities. But for her—

For her, there was nothing left.

A pack of wolves could conquer the world. But what could a lone wolf possibly do?

Cellinia bit into her sandwich in silence. The taste was ordinary, but she hardly cared how Lappland had managed to “obtain” these supplies. Right now, simply having Lappland by her side felt like more than enough to be grateful for.

“I scouted around a bit,” Lappland said lazily, slouched against the worn-out sofa, her silver hair spilling onto the floor. “Because of the Texas family incident, the whole mobile city’s under lockdown. Neither we nor those Sicily’s assassins can get out. Not exactly good news for us.”

Cellinia caught the undertone in her words. “So… our chances aren’t great?”

“They’re not opponents that can be dealt with easily,” Lappland admitted, swallowing a mouthful of food. “From now on, both sides are in the dark. The first one to slip up loses.”

Cellinia nodded faintly. At least, there was one small comfort: they were in Columbia, not Siracusa. Here, the Siracusan killers were considered dangerous foreigners themselves. Any crackdown would eventually sweep them up as well. And this wasn’t Siracusa where a simple “the Lady said so” could end disputes—no, here, it could easily spiral into a diplomatic crisis.

After all, in the eyes of Columbia’s so-called civilized citizens, the Siracusan families who butchered entire bloodlines were no better than savage beasts. Against Columbia’s military—or worse, their technology—Siracusa’s mafiosi were laughably outmatched. In their view, Siracusa wasn’t even worth recognition. Nothing but rabid dogs biting at the edges of the world.

But if they had been in Siracusa? Then the whole country itself would have turned against Cellinia.

That was what Lappland meant: for now, all they could do was keep moving, keep hiding.

A sudden commotion echoed from downstairs. Cellinia leaned toward the broken balcony window and glanced down.

“Lappland… we’ve got visitors.”

“At least we got one night of rest out of this place,” Lappland replied carelessly. “The infected probably saw us, sure, but we came in at dawn. No one would notice some abandoned hotel with no lights on.”

“…Let’s hope so.”

Cellinia exhaled softly, then began checking her weapons. Supplies were limited—healing salves, Art-bullets, even food. Regret pricked her heart; when fleeing the Texas estate, she hadn’t thought ahead. She should have brought her second sword. Against these enemies, using Art-bullets felt like a waste.

Their rest didn’t last long.

In the middle of the night, Lappland’s ears twitched, her drowsiness vanishing in an instant. Across the room, Cellinia was already awake, her hand resting on her blade.

Judging by the footsteps, there were dozens of them, moving methodically floor by floor, searching for any signs of life.

For Cellinia and Lappland, only two choices remained.

The first was to run. After all, one reason they’d picked this floor was because they could use ropes to swing across the river to the building opposite—a quick and clean escape.

The second option…

“Cellinia,” Lappland murmured, her grin sharp and restless. “I’m getting annoyed.”

“Mm.”

“I’ll take the left. You take the right.”

Bang!

The door crashed open. Two assassins in black stormed in—only to be met by flashing steel. The twin blades pierced their throats before they could even scream, silencing them forever.

The sound of their bodies hitting the floor, however, was enough. The thud of flesh and steel rang through the building, and the rest of the killers stirred at once, weapons drawn, footsteps quickening.

“No big deal,” Lappland chuckled, baring her teeth. “The big boss isn’t here. These lackeys won’t make much of a splash.”

She glanced at Cellinia with a wicked smile. “How about a contest? Whoever racks up the higher body count wins. And the loser…” She licked her lips. “…has to give Brother Felix a kiss.”

Cellinia: “…”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep