"—Commander Marcos, I have a report."
The guard who burst in and snapped a salute delivered those words just as the finer details of the treaty that would determine the Royal Selection had been hammered out, and the day's conference was about to draw to a close.
The young soldier, breathing hard with heaving shoulders, went pale the moment he registered the lineup of people gathered in the room he had barged into, and he broke into a cold sweat at his own discourtesy.
As the guard's face drained of color so visibly you could almost hear it, Marcos moved to shield the man from the stares of everyone else in the room.
"My subordinate has been rude. It is a failure of my leadership."
"The timing of the interruption is actually not bad, and the man himself looks genuinely contrite. If the commanding officer speaks on his behalf like that, there is no reason for us to take offense."
Crusch was the one who graciously offered that magnanimity on behalf of everyone present. She ran a hand along her bundled green hair and, after taking a breath, added, "More importantly—"
"For a man to forget himself and burst in here like this, something相当 serious must have happened, yes?"
The guard nodded vigorously without a moment's hesitation at Crusch's question. He opened his mouth, then made a face as though afraid the content might spread.
"Commander, there is something I must tell you in confidence."
"…That is hardly an appropriate manner in front of all these people."
"Even so, please."
When the soldier pressed the point in the face of that mild rebuke, Marcos instinctively sensed that something bad was going on. He needed only that much to decide. He turned to the room to excuse himself and listen to the report outside, when— "You may not leave this room. I won't allow it."
The words came before he could form his own. Priscilla, seated in her opulent chair, blocked his path. She wore a sadistic expression, as though she were doing this purely for her own amusement, with no knowledge of Marcos's intentions.
"The discourtesy of disrupting the gathering—I'll let that slide. But my spleen won't settle unless I hear the cause. So give your report. Out loud, where everyone present can hear."
"Forgive me, Lady Priscilla. Much of the content does not need to reach everyone's ears. This matter is of that nature…"
"All the old man did was wander into the castle and get lost, and somehow that gave backbone to a girl who'd been too spineless to do anything until now. —In that case, perhaps it is not so trivial after all, hmm?"
Covering her mouth with her fan, Priscilla cast a sidelong glance across the room toward
"Quit it with the weird accusations, you pompous broad. Old Man
Arms crossed, she turned her face away from Priscilla and looked up at the bald giant standing beside her—Old Man Rom—seeking confirmation with a "Right?"
The old man, eyes closed and bearing an expression as though enduring pain, answered her with a feeble "…That's right." Felt's crimson eyes flickered with a hint of worry, but she said nothing further, cutting off Priscillla's follow-up barbs right there.
"Princess, princess. We've only just gotten started, so how about you don't go making too many enemies? I'm already short an arm, so I gotta work twice as hard just to break even—and that's a problem I don't need."
"Hmph. Very well."
Though she maintained her posture of continued Felt-bullying, Priscilla reluctantly withdrew at the counsel of her attendant, Al. She then turned back to Marcos.
"But my interrogation of you is not over. The report will be delivered in a voice loud enough for all of us to hear. I permit it. No—I permit nothing else."
"…Commander."
"I have no choice. Follow the order."
The soldier looked to Marcos for a decision in the face of Priscillla's imperious command, but Marcos's response came in an unwilling, strained voice that accepted the demand.
Receiving orders from his superior, and from a figure who might well determine the kingdom's future to boot—the soldier did not have the nerve to refuse either.
His face stiff, eyes wavering between confusion and panic, he drew himself up.
"I shall report. Following the conclusion of the conference in the main hall, Knight Julius submitted a request for use of the training grounds. Having been granted permission, Knight Julius and…"
The soldier's gaze darted toward the corner of the room, where
Catching that look, Emilia blinked in surprise at the sudden shift in attention.
Before her surprise could turn into a question and crystallize into words, the soldier delivered the facts.
"—
"Oh-ho."
Drawing himself up straight, the soldier spilled everything he had just witnessed.
Al let out an audible gasp of admiration, resting his chin in his hand. The others, too, were displaying various emotions beyond mere confusion in their eyes and expressions.
Among them, Emilia was the only one whose face showed nothing but bewilderment.
"…Huh?"
Unable to grasp the meaning of what she had been told, Emilia let her breath escape in a small voice and blinked her large violet eyes, her mind grinding to a halt.
Calmly. Composedly. She tried to process the report in order.
In other words: at a place called the training grounds, using wooden swords, for some reason Julius and Subaru were fighting a duel—she had organized it, and yet the meaning refused to compute.
"H-how can this be…!"
Unable to summon the emotion of understanding, Emilia gave voice to the doubts that surged up.
Stepping forward, she approached the guard standing on the other side of the desk.
"The training grounds—that's inside the Knights' Corps building next to the castle, right? And Subaru and Julius are… fighting there?"
"Forgive me, but it is a mock duel. If you were to think it was a fight sparked by a personal grudge, that would impinge upon the honor of Knight Julius."
The guard corrected her firmly on that point alone, even as Emilia's voice trembled.
Listening to his words, Emilia could not afford to care about such a minor distinction. The clash between Subaru and Julius had struck her with that much force.
She regretted that she had been too consumed with her own situation to properly watch what happened to Subaru after he was effectively ejected from the main hall.
Subaru, who had been publicly humiliated in front of everyone. She admitted she had felt a flicker of relief when they put him outside, separating him from the room.
Was the karma of that selfish thought now coming back around?
After all, Subaru probably did not have a favorable impression of Julius to begin with.
It was Julius who had appeared during Subaru's solo spectacle in the main hall and confronted him with a cold dose of reality, and at the guard post in the capital the day before, Subaru had shown visible distaste for the way Julius conducted himself with such aristocratic poise.
Though Subaru still had not clearly revealed his origins, his manner of dealing with Julius led Emilia to vaguely suspect that he might harbor enmity toward the upper class.
The fact that this did not seem to extend to Roswaal was probably because Roswaal himself was such an unusual specimen among the nobility.
These problems that had never surfaced before—the circumstances that had therefore been put off—had now become the kindling for the current crisis. There was no denying it.
Once thoughts began rolling in a bad direction, they tumbled to the bottom in one go.
Emilia's imagination followed that same trajectory, darkening further, and she let a clear look of worry settle onto her normally composed features.
"Anyway, I have to go stop them right away. Someone please show me to the training grounds—"
"Ahh, I don't know about that, my dear."
Just as Emilia was about to rush off to intervene, the girl with the distinctive drawl cut her off.
Ignoring Emilia's scowl at being thwarted, Anastasia, swaying her long blue hair, pointed a finger at the guard who was still standing at rigid attention. Prefacing with "Just want to confirm something," she said: "That 'mock duel'—do you know who initiated it?"
"I was told it was Knight Julius. Natsuki Subaru accepted the challenge, which resulted in the current situation at the training grounds…"
"Oh, good, good, no need to make excuses. If you're saying Julius was the one who proposed it, that's enough for me."
No matter how you sliced it, this was a situation that could be deemed a private fight. The guard had been trying to soften the blow for Julius, but Anastasia waved that effort away with a gesture. That said, she was not dismissing his intentions entirely.
"—If the mock duel was Julius's idea, then I'm against stopping it."
With that, Anastasia showed that she was endorsing her attendant's judgment, positioning herself in direct opposition to Emilia, who was about to move to intervene.
Emilia gasped and, shrugging slightly, asked the girl with blue hair, "How can you say that? Subaru and Julius—your knight and my acquaintance—are clashing. Aren't you worried?"
"Worried? About what? That Julius might overdo it and you'll have to pay for the other side's medical bills?"
Anastasia tilted her head with genuine puzzlement, and Emilia was struck speechless.
But as though mocking that shock—and indeed, a mocking smile had appeared at the corner of her lips—Priscilla spoke.
"Indeed. From what I saw, that one has the sort of face that would never know when to admit defeat. By now, he has probably been so stubbornly persistent that his already unpleasant countenance has become utterly unwatchable."
"True, now that you mention it. The audacity he showed in the main hall was admirable, but he was so light-headed that I thought he might float away."
Anastasia chimed in after Priscilla's quip, and the two exchanged wicked smiles.
Watching the pair, Emilia pressed a hand to her forehead, her violet eyes brimming with agitation.
"Y-you two… Isn't there anything else you should be saying?"
"Something to discuss… Oh, how about a wager? That—what's his name—Natsuki Subaru? How long can he last against Julius? That's what I'd bet on."
"Most people would bet on who wins or loses, wouldn't they?"
"That's no fun. If you're fine with the house taking everything, then by all means."
Anastasia formed a ring with her fingers and flashed a sly grin. Priscilla dropped her fan with a bored expression and dismissed the proposition as beneath discussion.
Emilia was flabbergasted by their consistent stance of "spectating." By her way of thinking, their way of thought was unacceptable from the very start.
But before she could even catch her breath to find words, a further blow landed.
"If the question is whether the mock duel should be allowed, then I too think it would be inappropriate to stop it midway."
Crusch, who had been quietly observing until now, also joined the opposition, arms crossed, stopping Emilia's intent to intervene with a contrary opinion.
"You too…?" Emilia's eyes clouded. She had expected Crusch, who by comparison with the other two seemed to make sensible judgments, to side with her.
Crusch closed her eyes in response to that unspoken question.
"If it were Lady Emilia's retainer who had challenged the duel, then it would be right for you to offer mediation. But if Knight Julius issued the challenge and your retainer accepted, then for you to step in is a matter of misplaced authority."
"But—why? Subaru is my…"
"If you cannot understand that, then no amount of explanation will help. —Moreover, though it may seem hasty, it is a necessary thing."
Spoken in a firm, unwavering tone, those words left Emilia unable to press further. Crusch, too, sealed her lips tight, as though she had nothing more to say to Emilia.
Emilia was not won over, but with the other three—excluding herself—united in their stance to "observe," she could not help but consider the reasoning behind their decision. If she spoke without thinking, it would only confirm to them that she did not belong on the same stage.
Lips trembling, complexion drained of color, Emilia sank into thought. Watching this entire exchange—Emilia included—Felt whispered to Old Man Rom beside her.
"I have no clue what's going on, but, Old Man Rom, do you get what any of this means?"
"I don't know what that brat did before I arrived in the hall. So I can only imagine based on what I've just heard."
"What do you think that guy did?"
At Felt's question, Rom rested his chin in his hand and was silent for a moment.
"From what I could sense of the atmosphere—acting recklessly, playing the fool in front of everyone, cutting a swaggering speech, picking fights back and forth until he'd managed to offend everyone in sight, and then being escorted out because he had no comeback. That's the sort of vibe I'm getting."
"Damn, Old Man Rom. Were you secretly watching or something?"
Felt praised Rom, whose imagination was essentially correct. In response, Rom touched his bald head with a pained expression. "I was just suggesting the worst of several somewhat bad possibilities, but…" he muttered, frowning. Then he nodded as though something had clicked.
"If my guess is right, then hmmm… this knight everyone's been talking about must be a thoroughly aristocratic, insufferable sort. Or perhaps…"
Rom was about to offer another possibility, but he was betrayed by the one thing Felt had been waiting to hear, as a sound tore through the room and shifted the atmosphere entirely.
A hard, sharp footfall struck the conference floor with a dry crack, sending a jolt through the hearts of the people who had been sitting in quiet.
Startled—or carrying traces of mild displeasure—their gazes converged on the culprit: Al, who shrugged under the stares and flicked the brim of his metal helmet with his one arm.
"My bad, my bad. See, I'm missing an arm, so I can't exactly clap to get people's attention. Had to stomp instead. That's my whole deal."
Al offered an unrepentant shrug of apology with a chopping motion of his hand, then spun on the spot, stepped forward, and pointed straight ahead with a snap.
"Now, now, now—the conversation's drifted a bit off-center, y'know that? Two guys, can't stand each other, so they throw punches—nothing unusual there. Before they're knights or self-proclaimed knights, they're just guys."
"I don't think it's that simple…"
"You're overcomplicating a simple thing, sweetheart. The real issue isn't that they're duking it out—it's the reason someone dragged this secret report in here."
Wagging a finger, Al turned from Emilia back to the person he had pointed at—the young guard who had brought the report in the first place.
"If it were just a fight, a post-facto report would've been fine. So why are you so panicked that you had to fetch the commander?"
At the question Al posed, the guard's face visibly worsened—anyone could see it. His eyes darted uncertainly, searching for how to respond, and they locked with Priscilla's, who stood beside Al, smiling beatifically.
A grin that stretched sideways into an expression blending the face of a lovely angel with something cruel—pure ecstasy.
The guard cast one last desperate look toward Marcos, but Marcos's only answer was a merciless shake of his head.
"The reason I called for the Commander was, well…"
"Loudly, clearly, and enunciate, if you would."
"The mock duel between Knight Julius and Natsuki Subaru has become… so overwhelmingly one-sided that I came to seek instructions!"
Half-resigned, the guard straightened his back and declared this in a strained voice. Upon hearing it, even Marcos—the composed, ever-stoic Marcos—changed his expression.
"…One-sided, you say?"
"I believe Knight Julius is holding back to some degree, but… it has become difficult to watch."
The guard sent an awkward glance toward Emilia, and in doing so involuntarily recalled for everyone present the brutal scene he had just witnessed.
Reading the bitterness in his attitude, Emilia belatedly realized that the situation had grown far worse than she had imagined. Every trace of hesitation vanished.
"I have to stop them…!"
Letting that urgent whisper escape, Emilia lunged past the guard standing by the door and sprinted out of the room toward the Knights' Corps building—the path to the training grounds in question.
"Please wait, Lady Emilia! You there—follow Lady Emilia!"
"Y-yes!"
Dispatching subordinates after her, the guard took off down the corridor in pursuit of Emilia himself.
Left behind in the room, the remaining people saw Marcos turn back to them.
"I am terribly sorry for the disturbance. I will see to the resolution of the matter at once…"
"No, it's fine. Rather than that, let's go check out the mock duel ourselves, yeah?"
Al stopped Marcos from bowing, declaring this with breezy nonchalance. He shrugged toward Priscilla beside him, seeking her assent.
"You love those kinds of shows too, Princess—weak creatures getting mauled by a wild beast."
"Don't mistake me with your own crude imagination, Al. …Though, yes, I do love them."
Her attendant's words endorsed with a caveat, Priscilla rose from the chair she had been leaning back in, arching her back slightly and letting her ample chest sway.
"Very well. It has been a tedious business that dragged on far too long and made things stifling. Watching the wretched spectacle of common fools and looking down on them with scorn—that doesn't sound half bad."
With a snap, she closed her fan and pointed its tip at Marcos, who stood by the door.
Then, maintaining that same imperious haughtiness: "Take us to the training grounds. —That is my command."
※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ Blood dripping from the shallow cut on his forehead ran into his good eye, and Subaru roughly wiped the red from his vision with a curse.
He had already lost count of how many times he had been knocked to the ground.
His swollen left eye was completely shut. Whether his lip was split or the inside of his mouth was cut, the taste of blood was too strong to tell anymore.
The pain wasn't particularly intense.
Depending on the severity of the wound, when injuries became too extreme, the brain would refuse to accept them, and the body simply would not register the pain. This was not uncommon among humans.
In truth, Subaru had been well-acquainted with life-threatening injuries since being summoned to this world. As someone who had experienced fatal wounds on multiple occasions, he could say with authority: pain so severe that you feel nothing at all—that was a very real phenomenon.
Modern knowledge would attribute it to the adrenal glands' overproduction of adrenaline, and one could go on at length about the science behind it. But if one were to describe the current situation in more primitive terms—what had made Subaru forget the pain was nothing other than pure, undiluted fury.
"—Son of a bitch in a bitch-filled bitch-pit of bitches."
Spitting foul words, Subaru seethed with the pent-up frustration churning in his chest.
It was anger at Julius, who stood before him with that infuriatingly composed expression. It was anger at his own inability to land even a single blow in return. It was anger born of throwing a childlike tantrum over a situation that refused to bend to his will.
Anger. Nothing but anger. Anger was all Subaru had left.
Now, too, having taken another brutal wooden sword strike to the gut and vomited across the ground, he rose laboriously from where he had been sitting.
His knees shook. His breath came in ragged gasps. The smear of blood he had not managed to wipe away turned his vision a hazy red.
And yet, propelled by that inexhaustible rage, Subaru refused to stop facing an opponent against whom he had no chance.
"Perhaps it is time you acknowledged your own limits?"
It was not admiration that prompted Julius's response to Subaru's extraordinary determination—but exasperation.
He was still immaculate—not a speck of dust, not a drop of sweat on his dashing features—merely swaying the tip of the wooden sword that bore the strong imprint of how many times it had struck.
"The insurmountable gap between you and me—your body should have driven that home by now. You should also understand now what the 'knight' you insulted truly is, and what that gap means."
His words were not reaching out to Subaru's heart. They were trying to crush it.
That was only natural. A resolution born of mutual recognition at the end of a duel—that could only happen if both parties felt something meaningful between them.
Julius was merely demonstrating the way of the knight by beating Subaru down, and Subaru, too, was showing his futile resistance to that reality by continuing to rise. There was no room for anything to be born between them. Even after all this time fighting, nothing had emerged.
"I would think this could go on to the point of costing your life, no?"
"Huh?"
Perhaps trying to shift his approach to breaking Subaru's spirit, Julius changed the direction of his provocation. But Subaru met it with anger clearly audible in his voice.
"You think I'll die from this garbage? Don't try to sound like you know shit."
"You sound like someone who's been there."
"In this world, I'm the man who knows more about death than anyone else."
This was no bluff, no joke. Subaru said it with complete conviction.
Seven times—that was the number of times Subaru had had his life trampled since coming to this world.
Previous world or this one—no, across all three thousand worlds—if you surveyed every corner of existence, no being had confronted their own death more times than Subaru.
His instincts told him so.
It hurt enough to die. It was agonizing enough to die. It was humiliating enough to die. But in the end—people did not die from this.
"I can't figure you out."
Julius shook his head and let out a sigh at Subaru's defiant retort.
Glancing sidelong at the swaying Subaru, he continued: "Why are you so insistent on being stubborn? You should know full well that you are no match for me. No—I know that you already recognize you cannot win."
"…What are you—"
"Pointless exchanges are unnecessary. Your goal is no longer victory—is that not right? Rather, the victory conditions you and I are looking at are different altogether."
With Subaru in his sight, Julius gestured as though delivering a speech, raising his chin slightly and ensuring his voice carried not just to Subaru but to everyone around them.
"Your condition for victory is not to defeat me—it is to 'land a single blow on me,' isn't it? Whether that means getting a wooden sword to connect even once, or merely scoring some kind of point against me—I cannot be certain."
"—!!"
Subaru bit down on his lip, desperately stifling the scream that threatened to erupt from deep in his throat.
It was a direct hit.
The truth was simply that he had been struck where it hurt most.
Humiliation. Shame. They dyed Subaru's heart black, and the trembling of his lips as they tried to form an excuse—he managed to hold that back, clinging to what little desperate pride remained.
"Hmm. I thought you might say something pathetically evasive, but… it seems you had just enough sense to restrain yourself. Still."
Watching Subaru wring out every last shred of his meager dignity, Julius continued: "Pride is all you have left—and even that is more than someone who misjudged his opponent's skill, lowered the very conditions of battle mid-fight, and debased his own worth to that degree deserves to keep."
"—You son of a—!!"
Julius's exasperated gesture—so familiar now from the many times it had been repeated throughout this fight—burned into Subaru's eyes.
His mind, already painted entirely in fury, was further ignited by the sting of having his innermost thoughts laid bare. He launched himself forward with every ounce of strength he had, ignoring the pain wracking his body, the haze of red obscuring his vision—swinging the wooden sword at that immaculate face— "You really have no grace about you."
Just before the swing descended, a thrust lanced out, piercing Subaru's right wrist. The wooden sword flew from his grip, and his eyes involuntarily followed it for an instant—until a second strike hammered into his solar plexus, and Subaru's body was sent tumbling effortlessly to the ground.
Choking, unable to even brace for the fall, he rolled across the dirt, his world spinning five times over before he finally lay flat on his back, limbs splayed.
Literally vomiting blood, Subaru gasped on the ground. The wooden sword that had been sent flying landed point-first right beside his face, spinning as it embedded itself in the earth—as though mocking its master's pathetic charge.
"Just give up already."
Julius looked down at Subaru, who coughed and writhed, trying to spit out the blood and grit, and delivered the surrender appeal he had made so many times before.
"You cannot reach me. No matter how you reframe your conditions for victory within yourself, the result will be the same. —I will never allow you to achieve it."
"———"
"I will shatter your heart completely, crush your spirit, and make you regret what you have done. I will make you reflect on your own words and actions—the arrogance of someone who does not know his own place. And then—"
"———"
"I will have you make the decision—to withdraw from Lady Emilia's side—!"
"———?!?!"
Subaru, who had been panting weakly, threw his upper body upward with violent force at those words.
His battered chest screamed in pain, and his entire body howled in agony—but he could not afford to care. Twisting his body, baring his teeth: "What the—hell gives you the right to say something like… to me…!"
"Of course, I have no personnel authority over your fate. That is why I cannot dictate what you do. But I can say this."
Julius looked straight at Subaru, pausing for a single breath.
"You should remove yourself from Lady Emilia's side—of your own volition."
To the dumbfounded Subaru, Julius added, as though instructing a child: "Everything you do, everything you say, leads Lady Emilia into nothing but hardship. I became certain of it watching the exchange in the courtyard, and your behavior here today."
"What are you… even—"
"You are selfish, self-centered, and above all, your thinking is shallow, immature, and naïve to an extreme."
One by one, Julius counted off the flaws and shattered Subaru's flippant thoughts.
"You are nothing but a burden to Lady Emilia. You cannot do a single thing for her, nor is there anything you can do. Until now, perhaps she tolerated your presence at her side because she clung to her own kindness."
Subaru had tasted that powerlessness many times.
Since arriving in this world, Subaru had been forced to grit his teeth and struggle against irreversible reality after reality, all because his own strength was insufficient.
"But from now on, there is no room at her side for someone who can only lean on her. What she walks toward from here is the path to the throne. The obstacles standing in the way will be tall and numerous, and all manner of suffering will descend upon her—that much is easily imagined."
And yet, Subaru had endured every one of those calamities.
When his own strength was not enough, he borrowed the power of those beside him, or leveraged his one advantage—information from the future—to restructure the situation.
"Those who walk that path with her should possess both the resolve and the strength to overcome those hardships together. They should be someone who can push powerfully at her back as she aims for the heights."
All of it—all of it—had begun with feelings for a single girl.
No matter how painful, how bitter, how sorrowful, how frustrating, how inadequate, how unattainable, how agonizing—the reason Subaru had endured and made it this far was because of feelings for that single girl.
And this man— "In no uncertain terms, you must not be someone who clings to that kindness, sags under it, and holds her back."
This man was— "You do not belong at her side—at Lady Emilia's side."
Was this man trying to take even the reason Subaru lived?
"Rrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaahhhhh—!!"
Emotions exploding, Subaru leapt to his feet as though launched from the ground, ripped the embedded wooden sword from the earth, and with the full momentum of his body's spin, swung it at Julius's torso.
The tip sheared through the air. That centrifugal blow, if it connected, would shatter bone with ease.
This was the culmination of all the frustration that had been building throughout the exchanges—a true do-or-die strike aimed squarely at Julius's face— —and the sound of the bones in Subaru's own wrist shattering rang out in his ears as though in a silent world, impossibly high and clear.
His right arm, swinging the rotating wooden sword, had been intercepted by the waiting blade of Julius's own weapon. Subaru caught a glimpse at the edge of his vision: the wooden sword was crushed to splinters from wrist to tip.
His wrist was now bent completely the wrong way, with bone jutting through the flesh to expose a white point. In a few seconds, the stabbing pain and the bleeding would begin.
Subaru registered all of this with clinical clarity, and his consciousness drifted to follow Julius's slow, deliberate movements.
The world was spinning—only Julius could move in this soundless universe. Caught in that sensation of time slowing under a near-death despair, Subaru was struck by the sheer stupidity of his own irrelevant thoughts.
Before him, Julius was about to follow up on the collapsed, pathetic Subaru—the fluid motion of it all conveyed a terrible, vivid pathos even to Subaru.
"I pity you."
The wooden sword's follow-up blows drove countless impacts into Subaru's entire body in an instant.
An arm broke. Several ribs shattered—there might not have been a single crack-free section left. His forehead, which had only been split before, was now completely split open. The tip of the sword raked through his mouth, knocking loose several permanent teeth. A blow to the throat left a scar that Subaru could not fail to register. And the final blow—a swing rather than a thrust—struck his abdomen dead center with a thick, wet sound, and he felt as though his organs had burst.
He was sent tumbling in a directionless spin, and with a tremendous gout of blood, the red-brown earth of the training grounds deepened to a richer crimson.
The result was so savage that even Julius—and indeed, not a single person—could raise a voice.
The training grounds were still packed with knights and soldiers who had gathered to watch Julius's public beating of Subaru. And yet every last one of them had fallen silent, watching the rag doll that was Subaru roll across the ground.
Their fervor had controlled them too—up until the first few exchanges.
The man who had belittled the dignity of knighthood and insulted the Royal Selection itself—the man being thrashed by the captain of the Royal Knights, forced to taste the consequences of his actions in pain and beg for mercy—this was the spectacle they had come to see.
In truth, for the first ten minutes or so, they had cheered, or sneered as they looked down on Subaru's wretched state, and showered their fellow knight Julius with unstinting praise.
But that atmosphere had begun to shift the moment they all realized that what was unfolding was, in the literal sense, nothing less than a true public lynching.
The vast gulf in ability that separated Subaru and Julius had laid itself bare.
Compared to Julius, who ranked among the best in the Knights' Corps even with just his swordsmanship, Subaru's sword skill was, to put it charitably, firmly amateur. What's more, Subaru possessed no special abilities—his fighting style was barely more threatening than a child's game.
His attacks were parried. His clumsy defenses were exploited. He was knocked to the ground over and over.
For the first few hits, mockery dominated. Once it passed ten, the sighs of exasperation accumulated. And by the time they had lost count: "This is too much."
"Why won't the bastard just give up already?"
"Meaningless and boring stubbornness. Dammit—stop making us watch this."
Cursing filthy words, they covered their faces with their hands as Subaru rose yet again.
That was what it meant to say "I can't watch." He was too weak, too pathetic, and his humiliation deeply stung their own sense of shame.
He should just stop. The outcome was obvious to everyone. Everyone had been able to reaffirm the superiority of what a "knight" was. Anything beyond this was a pointless contest.
And yet Julius never once eased the wooden sword he used to beat Subaru.
Felis, who as the arbiter had the right to stop the fight, showed no sign of calling it off, no matter how badly Subaru was hurt.
And Subaru himself, brushing aside the knights' pleas, continued to rise.
What meaning did such a fight, such a contest, possibly hold?
Without a word, staring down at Subaru being beaten into a wretched state, the audience searched for the meaning of the scene before them.
Everyone knew. This fight had no meaning, no significance.
All that existed was stubbornness—pathetic, pitiful, worthless stubbornness.
If that was the case, then at the very least, they had to see how that stubbornness would end.
The knights and soldiers gathered there, facing a scene they wished they could turn away from, yet refusing to leave the grounds—they bore the responsibility of having been present, if only as spectators.
The blood from his shattered wrist, the prodigious amount of vomited blood—it dyed the ground of the training grounds red.
Subaru's small, trembling body lay prone, its previous manic fighting spirit utterly spent, having now slipped entirely beyond the threshold of a functional combatant.
This is the end, everyone thought.
In Subaru's thoroughly demolished form, every spectator sensed the conclusion to this one-sided brutality. And yet Julius, sword still red with blood, did not release his stance.
Eyes fixed on Subaru—whose consciousness was barely there—Julius maintained his combat readiness without the slightest wavering in his fighting spirit.
That resolute posture was read by the surrounding spectators as the knight's will, and they held their breath.
It was not over yet. For this fight to end, it was not enough for merely one side to be knocked down. There had to be another reason—and that reason was— "That is enough."
A voice that had not once been raised throughout the entire tragedy on the training grounds.
Amid the audience's cheers and their gradually mounting sighs. Amid Julius calmly and passionately demonstrating the way of the knight. Amid Felis, presiding as arbiter, occasionally letting slip sighs that hovered between admiration and despair— A single young man who had maintained his silence stepped forward to the center of the training grounds—between the fallen Subaru and the poised Julius.
The red-haired youth had erased all expression from his handsome face, and with blue eyes driven solely by righteous indignation, he pinned Julius in his gaze.
"If you intend to continue, then I will be your opponent."
He had said nothing special—just those few words.
But hearing them, even the knights—who were not even parties to the fight—felt chills run through their bodies. Startled by their own physical reaction, they realized that the chill reached their hearts a beat later and began to freeze them.
The Sword Saint, Reinhardt—the mightiest being in the Kingdom of Lugnica, a land blessed by the Dragon, or rather a being without equal across the entire continent. The overwhelming pressure of his fighting spirit enveloped the training grounds and refused to let go.
And this was merely the aftershock. Imagining what it would be like to stand on the receiving end of that pressure directly, one could only worry for the state of Julius's heart under the full brunt of Reinhardt's azure gaze.
But just as the crowd had underestimated Reinhardt, they had also underestimated Julius far too greatly.
The fighting spirit that could make even knights—who had steeled themselves to risk their lives in battle—tremble. Julius, standing in its full force, did not so much as flinch. Felis, standing beside him, was the same. They, too, were a cut apart—and this scene made that abundantly clear.
Ignoring the crowd's calculations, Reinhardt, who had done nothing more than turn his gaze, narrowed his eyes slightly at Julius's immobility.
"I'll say it again, Julius. What you are doing is nothing more than an act of violence. As a Royal Knight… no, before even that—as a human being, I cannot turn a blind eye."
"———"
Julius's eyebrows, which had not moved until now, twitched at those words.
Reinhardt frowned at the response, but Julius, still maintaining his stance, lightly waved his free hand.
"Reinhardt—I think of you as a very dear friend."
This only deepened Reinhardt's confusion.
Furrowing his brow further at the strange remark, Julius shook his head slightly and continued.
"Your nobility as a knight is unmatched among the Royal Knights. Your loyalty to the kingdom is beyond doubt, and you possess both the skill and the effort to fulfill it. If anyone were to ask me what a hero truly is, I would answer without hesitation: my friend,
"…That is far too generous an evaluation."
Whether or not he understood what Julius was driving at, Reinhardt declined the praise with what looked more like sincerity than humility.
"I think of you as a good friend too, before being colleagues. That is precisely why I cannot stand to see you degrade yourself any further through your own actions…"
"No matter what anyone says, no matter what you yourself believe—you are a hero, Reinhardt."
Julius cut off Reinhardt's attempt to persuade him.
The content was praise, but the tone carried not the faintest warmth.
"You are so much of a hero that it is almost too much. The blessings you were born with. The Astrea family, which demonstrated your very existence in its most fitting form. And a soul so noble and pure that there is not the slightest reason to doubt any of it. That is why you are a hero."
"What… are you trying to say, Julius?"
"You are a hero. —A hero is all you can ever be."
Shaking his head feebly, Julius delivered those words to the bewildered Reinhardt.
Then he lifted the wavering tip of his wooden sword and gestured past Reinhardt to what lay behind him.
"Because you can only live as a hero, you will surely never see the meaning of the fight taking place here. You cannot see why I refuse to lower my sword, and also…"
Sensing a stirring behind him, Reinhardt turned with a flash of surprise in his eyes.
There— "Why he continues to stand—still."
In a ghostlike, dragging motion, Subaru was hauling his battered, broken body upright once more.
※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ Through his vision, he could see Julius and Reinhardt exchanging words.
Having purged the impurities from his body with all that magnificent vomiting, he almost felt lighter.
The pain came in intermittent waves. His limbs were still heavy as lead. And most importantly, his right hand—the one he had tried to put on the ground—was destroyed beyond recognition.
And yet, the lethargy that might have stolen his will to stand was gone, and his body, though moving sluggishly, had begun to obey his commands.
Since his right arm was useless, he dragged his elbow and shoulder against the ground and used his left arm—not exactly in great shape, but functional enough—to lever himself up. He fed defiance into his trembling lower body like fuel, and after taking all the time he needed, he finally, barely, managed to stand.
And then, in the process of rising, his left hand brushed against a wooden sword that had fallen nearby. He picked it up, planted it like a crutch, and straightened his torso. He was standing. He stood.
"—Subaru."
He looked, and there—close enough that their breath might have touched—was a handsome, sharp-featured face with red hair, looking directly at him.
Clear worry filled those eyes, and alongside it, the flame of righteous anger smoldered.
Reinhardt had stepped between Subaru and Julius, shielding him.
His head, which should have been foggy from the spinning, easily supplied the answer. And the moment it did, a thin crescent of a smile slowly spread across Subaru's face.
His mouth was cut in several places, and he was missing a number of teeth—smiling hurt. But could he possibly not smile at this?
"You don't have to push yourself. I will avenge you. This is far too unjust. It must not be allowed."
Reinhardt's eyes stayed on Julius even as he remained conscious of Subaru.
Julius regarded Reinhardt with a sad, quiet gaze.
He did not know what words had been exchanged between them. He didn't know. But there was one thing he did know.
"Subaru, for now, just leave this to me…"
"Reinhardt."
Calling the name of the young man standing before him, Subaru met those azure eyes clearly—even with only one functioning eye.
This was the third time he had been shielded like this.
The first time he had shamefully begged for help. The second time he had been saved from the brink of death. And now—this.
When it was the third time, a certain optimism took root: if he just left it to Reinhardt, things would work out somehow. The repeated bond of protector and protected—what Subaru held firmly inside him—offered once again the method that would navigate this situation most smoothly.
All he had to do was take that outstretched hand and entrust everything to that powerful back.
If he did that, the pain Subaru had endured, the suffering of the spirit—all of it would be sublimated in the finest possible way by the young man before him.
It was perfect. A grand finale. Everyone happy. A mammoth happy ending was right there.
And so— "—Move."
"…What?"
"…I know you're an insanely good guy, and this move of yours is completely free of malice or bad intentions—pure, distilled, one-hundred-percent uncut goodwill through and through. …I know that."
But— "…Even so, I can't let you. Not here. Not this… I can't give this up."
Subaru had started this. Subaru had accepted the fight.
There was a stubbornness that only Subaru could see through, and an ending that only Subaru could reach.
The one who had to witness this conclusion was Subaru—by obligation.
He could not abandon that obligation, hand it off to someone else, and sink into an ending handed to him.
If he were to say it in the simplest, plainest terms, just one sentence— "I've got my pride, you know. —That's what a man's got."
Bloodshot eyes, bleeding lips, face red with blood—spitting blood from his heart, Subaru clung to the stubbornness that was beyond all saving.
At that utterly unexpected answer, Reinhardt was struck silent, unable to hide the shock jolting through him. He blinked again and again.
"Pride…? For something like that…?"
"—El Dona."
The trembling negation was overtaken before it could even be fully formed—the mana in the atmosphere responding to the incantation faster than the words themselves.
※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ The mana saturating the air reacted to the incantation that transformed it, and at the will of the caster, its effect was activated.
"———!!"
Without warning, the ground at Reinhardt's feet exploded, and earthen fists with razor tips burst upward through the cracks. They surged from his feet toward his torso, striking with tremendous force— "Hah!"
A thrusting step that shattered the earth-surge—a phenomenon comparable to a charging beast. The impact rippled outward through the air, and Subaru, standing nearby, was buffeted by what felt like a sudden gale.
In Subaru's wide-eyed view, the earth was crushed flat beneath Reinhardt's heel before the rise could even reach its full height, failing utterly to achieve its purpose and returning to its normal state.
Having countered the magic with brute force, Reinhardt nimbly flipped backward to cushion the impact of the collision, and the moment he landed, he flicked his coat's hem and returned to his usual composure as though nothing had happened.
He then turned his gaze—now carrying more seriousness—toward the figure leaping down from above. His expression grew sharp.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"What is the meaning of this, he says."
Landing in a cloud of dust was a man in a jet-black helmet—Al.
He pressed his one arm to the hilt of the greatsword at his hip, cracked his neck audibly, and let out a weary groan.
"Same thing you're doing, pretty boy."
With a clang, he drew the greatsword and aimed its dimly gleaming tip at Reinhardt.
The well-used blue dragon blade was a perfect weapon for Al's muscular, one-armed frame—but even so, it was hard to see it posing a threat to Reinhardt.
In truth, Al himself should have been aware of that.
"You cannot beat me. I would not say you are so immature that you cannot see the gap in our abilities."
"I wouldn't normally pick a fight with someone I can't beat. My motto is: if you can't decide whether to do it or not, don't do it. …But once I've seen a scene like that, it's different."
Al swung the tip of his blue dragon blade idly, pointing at each of the parties present in turn.
"Read the room, pretty boy. Can't you see the stale air in here?"
"Stale…?"
At Al's words, Reinhardt glanced around with a puzzled expression. And then, belatedly, he noticed.
The knights and soldiers watching him—dozens of spectators—their eyes held not only the remnants of fervor and the rationality that followed, but also a separate, ragged wave of emotion.
"Really don't get it, huh. I guess that's how heroes are…"
Al started to say, then paused.
He surveyed the area, taking in Julius, Felis, and the other knights observing the situation, then shook his head.
"No, it's not knights in general. Yeah—heroes. Heroes are the worst."
"What is it you're trying to say?"
"Nothing. There's nothing to say. Is there really anything worth exchanging between you and me that would produce anything meaningful? Our values are different, after all."
With a shrug, Al declared a one-sided severance in response to Reinhardt's question. He maintained his combat stance even as he withdrew his fighting spirit—a posture steeped in contradiction.
Ignoring Reinhardt's questioning look, Al turned toward Julius and Subaru, who had once again become the focal point after Reinhardt's movement.
"Go ahead, keep going. I'll hold off the superman over there who can't read the room."
"I thought you two were acquainted?"
At Al's inscrutable approach, Julius raised an eyebrow slightly and gestured toward Subaru with his head. Looking at Subaru, who was in tattered condition and had barely managed a reaction since Al's arrival, Al scratched the back of his neck deftly with the tip of his blade.
"Something like friends at best, and forever more than acquaintances but never quite lovers, you might say."
"Then could you not call upon that friendship to find some way to resolve this?"
"I don't think there's a more friendship-worthy judgment than what I'm doing right now. See, the heart and body can heal no matter how badly you damage them—but there are things that, once broken, can never be mended. And I'm saving him from that."
"I see."
Julius nodded in understanding at Al's subdued answer.
"Thank you."
"Don't need thanks. Turn that gratitude into cash."
While keeping Reinhardt pinned in place, Al answered Julius curtly.
Accepting this, Julius had already turned his consciousness away from the non-participants.
"Sorry to keep you waiting."
"In that brief opening just now… normally, I could've killed you ten times over…"
To the short apology, Subaru—still foul-mouthed despite being covered in wounds—retorted.
Julius readied his wooden sword once more. Subaru, having given up on his shattered right hand, shifted the wooden sword to his left hand alone and gripped the handle tight.
Watching this, Julius quietly confirmed it.
—the next clash would be the final blow of this pointless fight.
※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ —The next blow will be the last, Subaru concluded internally.
He was at the limit of his body. He was already in a state of grievous injury where standing was a miracle. A filthy tenacity alone kept his knees from buckling—but even that would not last forever.
If he was hit again, the dam held up by sheer grit alone would crumble without resistance, sweeping away his consciousness, his pride, everything.
Conversely, even if he landed a blow, he had nothing left inside to follow up. The torrent of pain and fatigue would pull Subaru under regardless.
Then why fight?
If the outcome waiting ahead was the same either way, why did he continue to challenge?
The answer eluded him. What was still driving Subaru was nothing more than anger—anger that resembled nothing so much as a tantrum.
The man standing before him, watching with that infuriatingly calm expression, irritated him to no end. He had tried repeatedly to break that nose, but the only things that had been broken and smashed were his own body parts.
So he had decided. He had decided now.
The reason he fought was because he wanted to break that man's nose.
One hit. He would land one hit. If he could do that, he didn't care what it cost.
Breathing alone made his lungs hurt. Exhaling made his mouth scream.
Clearing his mind through sheer pain, Subaru gathered what little strength remained in his body and waited for his moment.
For the instant Julius's attention wavered. For the possibility of that heaven-sent instant where he could break that nose. For that one sliver of a moment—he would not miss it.
It hurt it hurt it hurt it die.
Julius's gaze flickered—for just an instant.
The moment Subaru saw it, his body was already lunging forward.
There was no sound. Everything had been left behind.
Without even room for a battle cry, Subaru raised the wooden sword clenched in his fist and charged at Julius. The knight, whose attention had shifted away from Subaru for a heartbeat, had not yet reacted.
Whatever had drawn his focus, Subaru had poured every remaining brain cell into this single strike.
"———!!"
He thought he heard a voice.
In a world without sound. In a world where everything had been abandoned except for himself and the man he needed to hit.
He heard a voice.
Someone's voice. Someone's voice reached Subaru's ears.
"———baru!"
It became sound. It became a concrete, real sound.
His consciousness was being pulled back. Everything—he wanted the blazing rage to drown it all out and make him forget.
Right now, his sole reason for existing was to close the distance to the man before him.
"———subaru!!"
The voice grew clearer. It began to carry meaning.
If he heard it clearly, it would be irreversible.
So Subaru, casting everything aside—pouring his entire soul and body into one final effort to escape the overwhelming terror bearing down on him—screamed.
"———Subaru!!"
"—Shamac!!"
He shouted the incantation, deliberately betraying the clear, bell-like voice he had heard.
Black clouds swallowed the red-brown earth of the training grounds— A world of misunderstanding展开-ed. Through it Subaru charged, acting on nothing but his brain's commands in a world beyond his comprehension.
His vision was not secured.
His purpose was no longer recognized by his brain.
His heart could no longer see anything.
—He simply raised his left arm and swung it downward in front of him.
It was an act beyond comprehension, but his left arm had already begun the motion before the black clouds could consume him. And so, regardless of consciousness or awareness, the action was carried out.
Subaru, who had shut out the world, could no longer know what his judgment, his action, would lead to. He shouldn't have known.
But— "So this is your trump card, then—"
In what should have been a world without sound, that voice clearly rang through his eardrums— And the next instant, a blade descended from beyond the now-clearing black clouds and struck his body. Subaru was hammered savagely into the ground.
Not pain—surprise.
The massive volume of black clouds that had erupted dissipated completely, and stretching across the sky was the same insufferably clear blue that had been there from the start.
Lying flat on his back, arms and legs splayed, Subaru realized this at last.
"Using magic of the 'Shadow' affinity was unexpected. I'll concede that caught me off guard."
The voice came from above.
Still staring up at the sky, Subaru listened in a daze, barely able to process the reality cascading over him.
"But the proficiency is far too low. Moreover, low-level Shadow magic is useless against anyone stronger than yourself, or any beast with intelligence. Against me—indeed, against any one of the Royal Knights—this strategy would not have worked."
Denial rained down.
He couldn't move. He wouldn't move.
His consciousness was clear, but his body would no longer obey.
"You played your trump card, and still—this is all you have. Surely you understand now."
A pitying voice was being directed at him.
A voice that demanded he give up everything, hammering at Subaru's heart.
He had thought he could change things.
He had clung to what he could, spat out what he had, and thought he could do it.
And yet— "You are powerless and beyond saving. —You are not worthy of her."
That was the one thing he wanted to deny. Subaru forced his creaking neck to move, dragging his vision away from the sky, trying—trying—to glare at the man standing there.
"———"
—His eyes met with the amethyst gaze of a silver-haired girl.
She was leaning out from the narrow corridor connecting the wing adjacent to the Knights' Corps building with the royal castle. Behind her stood other familiar women, each with their own emotions filling their eyes as they looked down upon the training grounds.
But none of that mattered anymore.
No matter what anyone else thought of him, Subaru could not have cared less.
If only—one person, the one person in this world, in this existence, whom he had wanted least of all to see him in this moment—if only she had not been standing there.
Something inside him snapped—a sound like a thread finally breaking.
That was the last thing he heard before consciousness began to recede.
The clarity he had maintained was severed, the world rapidly blurred, and this time truly leaving everything behind, Subaru's awareness sank toward the bottom of the abyss.
"—Subaru."
He thought he heard himself called by a whisper that should not have reached him—and then everything vanished.