Prologue

‘If you misbehave, a witch will come get you.’

Every child in this land has heard that line. Witches are evil and drawn toward bad children. Adults make the witches sound as scary as possible so they can keep their children in line.

Rogue knew better than anyone that warning was merely a fairy tale.

Because…no witch would come here.

“Fill this with money, or you’re dead!”

Behind the counter, a masked man with a grimoire was bellowing. A young female teller came running out of the back, both arms filled with stacks of bills. Looking ready to burst into tears, she dumped her armful into the sack, then sped off the way she’d come.

At the door on the left were the remains of a liquefied security guard. Ahead, three masked men roamed, watching the crowd and Rogue himself.

Rogue Macabesta sighed and not for the first time.

He was only there to withdraw some cash. Why was he mixed up in a bank robbery? The city was awash with crime.

If his memory served, it was the fifth bank heist that year. If he included solo jobs, that number soared over sixty.

Oh, and he knew why. It was all because of magic.

He hadn’t had lunch yet, so his stomach growled, and he sighed again. It just was not his day.

“Hey, asshole, what’s your problem?” someone snarled.

Rogue looked up to find one of the lookouts glaring at him.

“You make any funny moves, and I’ll end you right here!”

“……”

Rogue glared back. It was a warning.

He’d meant it to be intimidating, but with his looks—well, it backfired. The lookout was pissed, vein throbbing at his temple.

He grabbed Rogue’s shirtfront and hauled him to his feet. Spittle flying, he raised his hand.

“You think I won’t? Fine, you die first!”

In his raised right hand, he was holding a disc with a sigil on it. That type of manatech had a handle, so it was easy to wield, and the range of the sigil was broad, making it popular with Voiceless criminals. The spell inscribed on it was likely Soup.

The disc began to glow. Light moved faster than bullets. There was no dodging the spell once it was cast. That forced Rogue to fight back.

He channeled power into his gloved right fist.

Then he stepped in close.

“Gahhh!”

With one punch to the face, the disc-wielding guard flew several meters back—and did not move again.

“What the—?!”

After seeing their comrade get taken down, the other two masked men aimed their manatech at Rogue. They’d occupied the bank easily, so it didn’t seem like their first heist. The robbers would have bounties on them, which meant they were villains worth arresting.

“……I’m off duty,” Rogue grumbled, reaching for the desk beside him.

Before the masked thieves could cast their spells, he picked it up with both hands and threw it at them. Neither managed to dodge the flying desk and were sent flying themselves.

Okay.

Leaving the three thieves in a heap on the floor, he headed for the counter in the back of the bank. The tellers were gaping at him, and so was the final masked man. But the thief snapped out of it when Rogue was still a good five meters off.

“D-don’t come any closer! Or she dies!”

He put his arm around a teller’s neck.

Rogue rolled his eyes.

“You think you’ve got time to cast? Did you not see what happened to your buddies?”

“Sh-shut up! I’ve got this!”

He pulled out a knife. Just a knife. No enchantments on it at all.

“Don’t do it, man. You’ll just get yourself hurt.”

“Shut up, Detective! You don’t get to talk!”

That made Rogue frown.

“You know I’m a detective?”

“Yeah! I ain’t stupid! You detectives always gotta get in our way! Like criminals ain’t got a right to be free!”

“……You are free. But what about the hostage you’ve taken? You ignoring her right to freedom?”

“I don’t give a shit about anyone else! Get the hell outta here!”

He put the knife to the teller’s neck.

“Eeeeek!” she cried, dropping all the bills she’d been carrying. That infuriated the masked man. Breathing heavily, he pressed the blade against her throat, breaking the skin. Blood oozed out, running down her neck to her shirt.

Rogue’s voice dropped an octave.

“……Final warning. Let the hostage go.”

He put his right hand in his pocket.

“Don’t you fucking move!” the thief roared.

“I take it that’s a no?”

“Shut the fuck up! Or I’ll slit her throat here and now!”

So much for negotiating.

An instant later, there was a thud, and the masked man was down.

Rogue had flicked a coin through his pocket, striking the thief right in the brow.

He swore under his breath, eyeing the hole in his trousers.

“Another pair of pants ruined.”

He pulled out his phone and called in the robbery.

“Rogue Macabesta, Elayl branch. Bank robbery on Flube Street, Third Ward. Four perps, all down. Pick ’em up for me. You’ll need a med team, too— Huh? No, it’s taken care of, like I said.”

He hung up, and the teller came up to him.

“Er, um, Rogue…?”

Putting his phone away, he turned, wondering what was up. She seemed awfully happy for someone who’d just been attacked by bank robbers. That sort of attitude never boded well.

“You’re Bloody Rogue?! Thanks so much for saving my life!” the bank teller cried.

His spirits sank. That nickname was really getting around.

Bloody Rogue, the man who took out crooks bare-handed, spattered in their blood. He’d tried begging people to stop calling him that, but nobody listened. It wasn’t like he enjoyed bloodbaths.

“I—I can’t believe you were the one to save me! Can I get your autograph?”

She’d almost died.

“Sorry, but I ain’t no movie star. Gonna have to refuse.”

“S-sorry…but if we meet again…?”

“I’ll think about it.”

That will never happen.

Rogue was being promoted to management.

All the magic crimes he’d put a stop to had finally impressed the right people. The Executioner. The Second Allan. The Rainstorm. The Swampman. They were tough criminals he’d brought to justice. Scum he didn’t even want to remember.

But today was the last time he’d have to deal with them. His heart sang. He would never again have anything to do with people like the perps on the floor. Rogue heard sirens approaching and began to hum.

*

Once, only the nobility had magic. But as the world modernized, the techniques passed into common hands.

The Heat spell could generate warmth.

The Fly spell could make objects levitate.

The Regeneration spell could heal flesh.

Magic did not obey the laws of physics.

By using the correct words or writing, magic would bend to one’s will. Literally magic. There was no need for talent; if someone followed what a grimoire said, even an infant could cast spells. And that low barrier allowed magic to spread like wildfire.

The people could conquer hunger and disease, and join hands to create new prosperity…

However, magic was too enticing to be used for good.

The Puncture spell could break objects—including safes.

The Modeling spell could change one’s face—perfect for cons.

The Spark spell could generate electricity—great for killing rivals in inheritance disputes.

Crime rates soared, and the world belonged to the worst of society.

The Las Lilte Empire was ruled by the Two Great Noble Houses. It had such a high rate of magic-related offenses in proportion to the population size that it was called the crucible of crime.

The streets weren’t safe. Women and children couldn’t risk walking outside in broad daylight, let alone at night. Bank robberies were a daily occurrence. Any little argument could end in murder.

To defend themselves against the crime wave, good citizens had to purchase grimoires, too. But if they used one spell wrong…they’d become criminals themselves.

The Drakenia family—one of the Two Great Noble Houses—took the matter seriously and founded a new agency.

They called it the Magic Crimes Bureau.

Twenty-five thousand employees. They were former cops, wizards, students, and even retired soldiers. All of them were experts on magic.

They put their skills and experience to use, tracked down criminals, and achieved great things.

In the first decade of the bureau, they captured eight hundred fifty thousand magic criminals.

It was an astounding figure for an age in which the police had once thrown up their hands in defeat.

Five years after the bureau’s founding, the crime rate began to decline at last.

People could take a stroll outside without getting mugged. Crimes in the public eye were comparatively few.

Compared with the turmoil before the bureau’s founding, it was clear they’d had a significant effect.

And that day…

…Rogue Macabesta would be promoted from detective to a managerial position.

Chapter 1

Witches Can’t Be Collared

At headquarters, the wall of the chief’s office was lined with framed portraits—headshots of the members of the Two Great Noble Houses. Every one of them had golden eyes. The images on the wall were creepy as a cat in the night, but the staff wasn’t allowed to take them down.

“Congratulations, Rogue. You owe me!” said his boss, Velladonna Villard, the moment he stepped inside.

Elayl was the capital city, and Velladonna was the chief of the Elayl branch…and rather prone to making sudden pronouncements.

“Thank you!” Rogue said, saluting—a formality.

Velladonna brushed back her wavy blond hair, flaunting it.

“I recommended you for this myself. No matter how good your record, promotions are not usually this smooth. The Drakenias have very high standards.”

Her voice was syrupy and cloying.

She had left the top two buttons of her blouse undone, letting her fancy bra peek out. Bureau scuttlebutt claimed she’d slept her way to the top, but this was hardly a position one kept just by being good in bed.

The Two Great Noble Houses—the Ligton and Drakenia families. The Magic Crimes Bureau was controlled by the latter, and they were a rigorous meritocracy—even within their own ranks. Corrupt officers were frequently sent to the tundra.

“Mm-hmm,” he said, nodding. No smile.

“Not nearly grateful enough!”

“Thank you!”

“More!” she cried.

He shifted his gaze slightly away from his boss, hoping he’d kept the sour look off his face.

“……Thank you.”

“Ohhh, I could just eat you right up,” she said, cupping her cheek.

Rogue was apparently her type. Her position had played in his favor before, including this promotion. It was best not to spurn her.

His gaze turned to the window as she took a seat at her desk. His reflection looked back at him from the glass.

He had long, narrow eyes and bit of a baby face—especially around the lips. He was short enough to have been teased relentlessly at officer training school. Few people would pick him out on the street and take him for a cop. The fur-lined coat he wore was an attempt to make himself look a bit more intimidating.

“You want me to eat you, right, Rogue? Rawr.” Velladonna struck a pose like she was a pouncing predator.

“Hardly the time for jests, Chief,” Rogue said flatly.

“It isn’t?”

“No.”

“But a part of you longs to be gobbled up, surely.”

“Nothing ‘surely’ about it, Chief. There is no such part of me, so let’s get to the point.”