"—Gorgeous Tiger?"
The instant he heard that voice, Garfiel's consciousness was shaken violently.
He coughed, spewing out the massive amount of water he had swallowed. Shaking his entire body to cast off the water, Garfiel hammered visual information into his oxygen-starved, trembling head.
It was a dim, cold underground space.
The hard stone floor was flooded with the torrent of water now pouring in. He could hear the muddy current crashing into the room through the hole in the wall behind him, echoing through the clear air.
Eyes were fixed on him. Unease, wariness, fear, defiance—a tangled mixture of glances.
From the number of people present and the color of their gazes, Garfiel concluded at the edge of his awareness that this was one of the city's evacuation shelters.
The collapsed waterway was adjacent to this shelter, and the breach in the wall had connected the two. The result was that he had been swept into this shelter along with the water.
"—"
Reaching that conclusion, Garfiel struck his foggy consciousness awake.
He snapped his head up, and every fine hair on his body stood on end as he recalled how he'd ended up here. He whipped his head around in a panic, immediately searching his field of vision for the massive figure that had tumbled into the waterway alongside him— "…Ah."
His emerald eyes locked with those of a young boy with golden hair.
A familiar face. A face bound to memories that squeezed his chest and grated at his heart.
The boy connected to Garfiel's mother—the one-sided reunion that had brought them back together.
A younger brother who had settled into the place where Garfiel should have been, receiving a mother's love— "—?!"
The consciousness he had just knocked awake was seized once again by unwanted sentiment.
Right after, a violent spray of water erupted beside him, and an aberrant giant burst through the shallow surface to stand. The massive figure brought its raised arm crashing down mercilessly at the stunned Garfiel.
Garfiel reacted a split second late to the descending blow.
Slow. Fatal.
A moment's lapse hands one exchange to the opponent.
And the exchange of this God of Combat that Garfiel now faced was no half-hearted onslaught.
Eight blows rained down upon Garfiel in succession.
The first two he blocked. But the remaining six struck him clean.
His cheek was slapped away, two blows lifting his torso. His airborne body was hammered down by a piled fist, and a punch drove straight into his head as it hit the water's surface.
His face plunged underwater and was crushed against the hard floor, devastating his nose and fangs. The blood that burst forth dyed the surface red, and when he leaped back up, nosebleed and vomited blood trailed in strings from his mouth.
"Buh—ghoh…raaaaaa!!"
He roared through the gaps of his broken teeth, driving away the reverberations rattling his skull from the impact. Splitting the underground air with sheer fighting spirit, the God of Combat before him stepped forward as if welcoming it.
Their fists collided. Tilting his head aside, Garfiel let the fist that grazed past his face slide along his fangs, tearing from wrist to elbow in one motion. At the same time, his reaching right arm hooked around the giant's neck, claws gouging downward to the belly.
Blood sprayed from the sharp wound, dealing no shallow damage to the God of Combat's body.
But the God of Combat's assault continued with seven more blows. Against every single one, Garfiel had to use his entire body to evade.
One exchange clashing—for every one move, eight in return.
Overwhelming disadvantage, overwhelming disparity in mass, overwhelming gap in fighting power—that was what ignited the fire.
"O—oooooh!!"
Closing in, closing in, closing in, closing in, closing in, closing in, closing in— Block, deflect, evade, redirect, duck, parry, trade—!
Fist met fist, and the shockwave that erupted singed the fine hairs of both combatants with raw fighting spirit.
The head-on collision of mighty arm against iron arm produced a thunderous roar that seemed impossible for mere flesh and flesh, and both bodies were blown backward, unable to withstand it.
Spraying water in all directions, the tiger and the giant tumbled end over end.
No words were exchanged, but their understanding was instantaneous.
Garfiel rose to his feet, stomping the stone floor in water that reached his ankles.
The power of the Earth Dragon's Blessing he felt through the soles of his feet activated, and the floor beneath Garfiel was cut into a square and lifted up. Kicking that raised platform aside, the water that had been filling the underground space rushed into the newly created hole all at once. The water level plummeted.
While Garfiel carried out this drainage operation in parallel, Kurgan headed for the hole through which the water was flowing.
The hole that had dropped both of them underground was large, and the volume of water pouring in was immense. Left alone, it would take less than a few minutes for the underground space to be completely submerged.
In the midst of this, Kurgan drew one of his demon cleavers. The ones Garfiel had crunched through had reduced his stock—three demon cleavers remained. Raising one above his head, Kurgan aimed at the wall directly overhead, and the ceiling shattered where a crude iron mass had been driven in.
The soldier's keen eye judged the extent of the collapse, and the crumbling rubble fell to roughly plug the hole in the wall. Of course, it didn't seal completely and water still seeped in, but it was no longer enough to flood the underground in one go.
The hole was sealed, the drainage complete, and the water that had reached their ankles vanished.
Without a word, both warriors secured their footing and returned to their original positions, facing each other once more. A fist bracing a shield, and three demon cleavers drawn.
The hero "Eight-Armed" Kurgan, and the challenger "Golden Tiger" Garfiel.
Both at full strength, ready to crush the other. That was, by now, the unspoken code between warriors.
"————"
He knew full well this was not the time for such things.
The role Garfiel was meant to fulfill was to race back to the city hall—which was highly likely under attack—and save the noncombatants sheltering there.
But the issue of whether he could turn his back or not was something he had confronted long before that even became a question.
—Garfiel felt, in an untimely flood of emotion, glad.
After being defeated so mercilessly by Reinhard, after the trust he'd rekindled with his mother was sealed away along with his memories, after he couldn't even avenge the gentle girl who had shielded him, after being manipulated by the enemy and putting his allies in danger— He had felt helplessness and a sense of loss, as though everything was being torn from his palms.
Leaving the
The version of himself still inside the Sanctuary had surely been far stronger. Of course. Back then, he'd had no point of comparison and harbored no doubts about the martial skill he had honed.
Leaving the Sanctuary, learning of the world, Garfiel had come to know great many forms of strength.
He did not believe his own power had diminished compared to when he'd been in the Sanctuary. But once the point of comparison was no longer his mirrored self, he had become relatively weaker.
These past two days had driven that shift in awareness—its consequences—vividly home.
Helplessness and loss had stripped Garfiel's heart bare, reminding him that he was nothing more than a loud-mouthed brat. Confusion, regret, and doubt pierced his chest, leaving his heart wavering, eroding, growing weaker.
—And the one who had poured heat back into that worn and shrunken soul was Kurgan.
The hero "Eight-Armed" Kurgan. Hero of the Volachia Empire. The strongest of the multi-armed race.
This man had taken up his demon cleavers and faced Garfiel as a fellow warrior, recognizing him as such. For Garfiel, who had lost sight of his own worth, that meant everything.
Having tumbled into the waterway together and unaccustomed to underwater combat, Garfiel's consciousness had been hazy. Kurgan, who had returned from death through his secret art, had no need for breath—and if all he wanted was to settle things, he could simply have waited for Garfiel to drown.
But the God of Combat had shattered the waterway wall, connected a path to the shelter, and kept Garfiel alive.
For what purpose?
"First time I thought… you were gonna go easy on me again."
"————"
At the outset, Kurgan had not recognized Garfiel—who lacked any settled resolve—as a warrior.
Knocking aside a charging child and kicking at a bawling one was not the act of a warrior. And so Kurgan had simply kept his distance from Garfiel, who surrendered himself to his tantrums.
But it turned out he was wrong.
Because Garfiel had risen, taken up his shield, and stared him down—and Kurgan had recognized him as a warrior.
He had witnessed the God of Combat readying his legendary demon cleavers to meet a warrior head-on.
After seeing that, there was no way Kurgan's actions toward Garfiel could have been mere pity or indulgence.
Kurgan was seeking something. A fitting conclusion to the fight with Garfiel.
—A battle between warriors could end in no way other than by a single decisive exchange between them.
"Hey, you guys… how long are you gonna stand there doing nothing?"
Feeling the weight of the shields fitted to both arms, Garfiel addressed not the Kurgan before him, but the scattered onlookers whose gazes were fixed on the two of them.
Since both fighters had washed in along with the torrent, these people had been silently watching the battle between warriors from a safe distance—the evacuees.
A motley crowd with no common thread in appearance, age, or even race. What they shared was a lack of fighting power—a collection of powerless noncombatants who could be blown away by a gust of wind.
If Garfiel fell, there would be no one capable of standing against Kurgan. It seemed unlikely that Kurgan would resort to massacring unarmed civilians, but only Garfiel—who stood across from him now—could know that for certain.
So— "Can't you see that? Standing back there watching, there's nothing you lot can do. You'd better get out of here while you still can and—"
"—Gorgeous Tiger!"
"Huh…?"
A shrill voice cut off Garfiel's words urging them to evacuate.
The one who had shouted was the only person present who called Garfiel by that name. Garfiel furrowed his brow in bewilderment.
The boy had tears brimming in his eyes, his face flushed red, and he was clutching the hem of his own clothes in a death grip.
Then, with those glistening eyes, he stared straight back at Garfiel—the one who was looking at him quizzically. His gaze was filled with such fierce will that Garfiel instinctively held his breath.
"Hey, kid… what are you—"
"Gorgeous Tiger!"
"————"
"G-Gorgeous Tiger!"
The boy's voice trembled as he called out to the silent Garfiel.
As if it were the only way he knew to express his feelings, he screamed that name.
It was the name of the Golden Tiger. The name of the strongest tiger that Garfiel Tinsel admired.
Why, of all times, was he calling out that name now? What was he trying to say to him?
Tears streamed down the boy's flushed cheeks.
Everyone underground heard the boy's shouting. And so everyone shared the wordless passion packed into that cry.
"I said, just run—"
"Gorgeous Tiger!"
Garfiel's exhalation was drowned out by the voice calling for the Golden Tiger.
From behind the shouting boy, a girl with the same golden hair embraced him. His older sister. Holding her brother as if to protect him, her trembling gaze was fixed on Garfiel.
Her lips quivered. An inaudible voice was calling for the Golden Tiger.
"Win for us!"
It was neither the boy nor the girl, and certainly not Garfiel.
A man somewhere underground had clenched his fist and raised his voice.
"No, I'm telling you to just run—"
"Fight and win!"
"Don't lose!"
"We can only watch… but still!"
He was stunned.
Every voice urging Garfiel to flee was drowned out, one after another, by voices shouting the opposite.
Before he knew it, the fervor that had begun with the boy's cry had spread to everyone underground, and not a single person watching Garfiel and Kurgan's duel so much as moved.
By any rational measure, who could possibly think that staying here was the right choice? Every one of them was swept up in the heat of the moment, surrendering themselves to a conclusion that could cost them their lives for the sake of some meaningless stubbornness or conviction.
"————"
What the hell is this, Garfiel thought.
What was the point of staying here? What could shouting words of encouragement possibly accomplish?
It would be far better if they ran. There'd be no risk of collateral damage, the chance of sacrifice after he fell would be reduced, and it was simply more rational.
So why wasn't anyone fleeing?
"Chief… the speech really was too effective…"
He remembered
Subaru's call had swept up the hearts of everyone in the city, and his strength-in-weakness had forcibly lifted the spirits of people cowering in fear and anxiety, kindling a faint flame of hope.
That smoldering ember remained as warmth within their chests, ready to blaze up the moment they were given the chance.
Just as this place had become that moment for them.
Just as this instant had become that moment for Garfiel.
"Gorgeous Tiger!"
The cries of encouragement wouldn't stop.
The first to lead the chant for the Golden Tiger was Garfiel's little brother—the brother he didn't even know he had. And embracing that youngest sibling protectively was his sister—another sibling he hadn't known existed.
His brother, and his sister, were watching Garfiel.
The city that had accepted his mother, even though she had lost her memory—its people were watching Garfiel.
"A warrior's duel… it's way too loud for a simple match, don't you think?"
"————"
"Really, my bad. I've been nothing but trouble for you. Especially the loudest ones over there—those two are my brother and sister. I'll have a proper talk with them later."
"————"
"So—"
The silent God of Combat's stance brimmed with fighting will.
No words were needed. That posture alone was the most eloquent declaration.
He pulled his clenched fists together, clashing shield against shield.
The ring of steel meeting steel threw off sparks, and Garfiel bared his fangs and drew a breath.
"The Sanctuary's shield… no."
"————"
"Gorgeous Tiger—Garfiel Tinsel!"
A warrior's declaration of identity, heralding the opening of the duel.
To Garfiel's declaration, Kurgan offered no voice. Silently, the God of Combat scraped his demon cleavers together, expressing his ultimate fighting resolve toward his opponent.
That alone was enough.
"G—aaaaaah!!"
The stone floor shattered from the force of his launch, and Garfiel's body rocketed forward.
Kurgan stepped in to intercept at the same instant, and the distance between them vanished in a flash.
Strike with sharpness, slash with bluntness, and between those extremes—a crushing thrust was unleashed.
The compressed air torn by the demon cleavers killed neither through compression nor cutting, and the warrior's instinctive nose caught the lethal scent of the incoming blade.
For every one exchange, eight moves. For every eight moves, one counter.
The difference in the number of moves between Garfiel and Kurgan—it was like trying to reach a summit impossibly far away.
But unless you reached out, you'd never get there. And so he challenged, staking his very soul.
"————"
A thrust aimed at his midsection—if it landed, even without a clean edge it would bisect him. Garfiel raised his foot without hesitation and stomped the incoming demon cleaver straight down from above.
His heel bit into the belly of the blade, the thick steel being driven into the stone floor with a grinding roar so violent it felt like the entire city had trembled.
One move taken, but there was no time for relief.
The instant the demon cleaver was pinned to the floor, a second blade arced in from his left shoulder in a fierce ambush. The moment his right ear caught the sound of wind being sliced, Garfiel crossed both shields to guard his head. With hairline precision, the instant his arms were raised the thrust struck home, and his vision went white.
The impact shattered his right arm from the elbow down, pulverizing both the forearm and wrist. He bit down hard, cracking his own molars, and endured. That made two.
The third and fourth moves were unarmed strikes, arriving simultaneously.
If Kurgan's massive fists clenched tight, each knuckle would be the size of a small child's head. With power like cannonballs launched from a frame to match, the result upon impact could only be described in one word: catastrophic.
Fists that could pierce stone walls or iron plates bore down on Garfiel, whose mind had already gone white from the concussive force. Both aimed at his torso and head—either one would obliterate him upon contact.
A fist drove into his midsection, searing the surface of his abdominal muscles to nothing.
His brain hallucinated being scorched by flame—the fist was that hot, the power that overwhelming.
He twisted his body, limiting the damage to just the surface of his abs. Three moves.
Burning his nerves with the sensation of half his body being ripped away, he brought his ruined right arm up to meet the fourth blow aimed at his face. The right arm—already broken and pulverized—completely exploded under the superlative force.
From fingertips to wrist to elbow, everything was compressed and mangled beyond recognition. The shield that had been anchored at his wrist went flying, but the spent punch was far from a killing blow. He threw his head back, meeting the fist with his forehead. The headbutt crushed Kurgan's fist, avoiding the fourth move.
Remaining: five, six, seven, eight. Too far away. Too impossibly far. A grin spread across his face. His fangs trembled.
"—O—oooh!!"
The fifth and sixth moves were also unarmed. With only one demon cleaver left, Kurgan was saving the decisive strike.
Two arms from the left—one from below the shoulder, one from the ribs—lunged at him simultaneously. His right arm was dead and useless. His left arm couldn't keep up. Without a moment's hesitation, he stepped in with his right foot.
His sole kicked up a faint spray as his will flowed into the earth.
Drawing power upward, moving it at will, and borrowing its strength once more— The ground buckled and Kurgan's heel lifted.
But the God of Combat crushed that distortion without a split second's hesitation. No wavering in the movement. Not a tremor of doubt. But his total concentration did waver.
The instant Kurgan's attention was diverted to his footing, Garfiel slipped through the gap.
Raising his leg, twisting his body, he threaded his head into the narrow space between a lateral blow and the next. Dancing through the eye of the storm, he slipped past blow after blow that grazed his torso and back.
The instant his foot touched down, Garfiel was horrified by his own judgment.
He couldn't even articulate what he'd used to make the call—a decision made in a gap of less than a split second, where thought and action didn't even have room to exist. His brain was on fire. His heart was burning. His life was exploding.
Five moves, six—blocked. And then, the seventh and eighth came— "————"
A shiver ran through every hair on Garfiel's body.
Having been evaded through six moves, Kurgan intended to finish Garfiel with the remaining two. —A killing blow was coming.
The seventh move was skipped; the final eighth blow was the one that would come.
One arm was abandoned, and the demon cleaver was loaded.
His right arm gripped the demon cleaver's handle, and his right shoulder's arm seized the blade in a crushing grip. The same hyper-powered slash he had used in his earlier interception on the surface was now being readied.
Total encirclement—an overwhelming aura that screamed: wherever you are, you will be killed.
The six moves he had desperately defended against until now all paled in the face of this final stand.
No vision of evasion appeared.
Step back—chased. Dodge sideways—chased. Charge forward—chased.
He could visualize himself, reduced to a heap of meat before a single blow, with terrifying clarity.
Evasion was impossible. A counter was equally suicidal. —There was only one option: endure it.
Raising his still-intact left arm above his head, Garfiel lowered his center of gravity.
In this frozen instant of the world, he could still hear voices. His brother, his sister, so many others were shouting.
Judgment was instant, action was instantaneous, and the result came right after.
"————"
The moment the demon cleaver was unleashed, Garfiel was completely severed from the world.
Sound vanished, color drained, every superfluous sight was obliterated. In the depths of ultimate concentration, the only thing remaining in Garfiel's consciousness was Kurgan.
In an unnaturally sluggish motion, the tip of the demon cleaver descended toward Garfiel.
Looking up at it, he found his own movements to prepare for the catch equally sluggish. In a world stalled to an agonizing standstill, the only thing Garfiel could do was clench his molars.
No—he did have time to sink into memory.
He saw Subaru. He saw
In the battle of the Sanctuary, Garfiel had become aware of his own weakness.
Learning the vastness of the world and being defeated by Reinhard, Garfiel had believed—mistakenly—that he had grown weaker than before he left the Sanctuary.
—That was impossible.
If he grew weaker with every burden he took on, then what was the point of living?
As long as he was strong enough to protect what he'd taken on, that was all he needed.
"Ahh—what a relief."
With that, the weight that had been gnawing at his heart fell away.
In the same instant, the demon cleaver's strike slammed into the shield raised by his left arm, and lightning tore through his entire body.
"—!!"
The defense of his left arm shattered in an instant before the demon cleaver's onslaught.
Just like the destruction of his right arm, his wrist, elbow, forearm, and now his shoulder were all twisted and crumpled in one vicious sequence.
Both arms, once so familiar, were wrecked beyond nightmare. Searing agony burned his vision scarlet and his thoughts pure white. His mouth flew open and a scream tore free.
His clenched jaw broke open, and every injury sustained up to this point began a desperate chorus of despair.
The demon cleaver's momentum did not stop.
Shattering his left arm, the remaining force bore down on Garfiel's neck. At this rate, it would crush his small frame and reduce every last inch of him to scraps of flesh—more than enough power to do so.
What did the God of Combat think of this young warrior's near-death scream?
Did he feel compassion? Did he feel pity? —Neither, surely.
Until the very moment he ended the other's breath, there was no law by which a warrior could pity another warrior.
"—Aaah!"
A shriek of agony—Garfiel's head dropped. The anguished cry trailed off, and then: "—Ah… gah."
The scream cut short, and his jaw snapped shut. His teeth clenched once more, and there, caught between them, was a glint of silver.
The silver shield that had fallen from his destroyed right arm was clamped in Garfiel's jaws.
"Gah—aaah—!!"
He jerked his head upward, and his shield-bearing face drove into the path of the demon cleaver.
The second shield-block took the full force, and the impact mashed his face against the shield. Blood burst from Garfiel's nose. His fangs went flying. But his knees did not buckle.
The iron strength of his neck and jaw stopped the demon cleaver's blow dead.
Steel meeting steel threw sparks—flames erupted, and Garfiel's consciousness was blown to oblivion.
"————"
With his eyes half-rolled back, what kind of will made him still tilt his head?
Combat instinct? Perhaps the fighting spirit, survival drive, or sheer animal will of a beast?
Without warning, blood erupted. A massive spray of crimson burst forth, and scarlet flowers bloomed wildly across the underground.
The source was Kurgan's right arm—the final right arm still gripping the demon cleaver.
There, a wound from their previous clash—one Garfiel had inflicted—had torn open from wrist to upper arm, exposing bone. That wound had now split completely open from the force of this final strike.
There was no surprise on Kurgan's face. No groan of pain.
Of course. He was a corpse. Pain was a function reserved for the living—a lifeline for confirming the flame of life. The dead had no need for it.
And so Kurgan had overlooked the effects of his incomplete right arm.
If he had truly wished to be at his absolute best, the final strike should have been delivered by his intact left arm instead.
Whether that was what decided the outcome—he could not say for certain.
But— "—Ah."
Surviving the eighth blow, Garfiel exhaled through a blood-drenched face.
The shield clamped in his jaws fell to the ground. Before him stood Kurgan, every arm spent, body completely exposed. Garfiel's own right and left arms had been utterly destroyed, and both legs—battered beyond endurance by repeated impacts—had muscles torn in places. Still, he could manage about one more leap.
Leap, and then what? His arms—his claws—were useless. Then what remained was— "A—aaa—AAAAAAAH—!!"
He screamed, threw open his jaws, and launched himself at Kurgan.
Garfiel's fangs sank into the base of the stationary God of Combat's neck. They pierced taut skin with ease and tore through the vital organs sustaining life, ripping them out by the roots.
Still latched on, he twisted his body. His fangs caught muscle fiber, tearing and dragging, gouging away nearly half the neck until it was devoured completely in the beast's jaw.
"Gah—ah…"
He collapsed to the floor, defenseless, and spat out the torn flesh. Coughing and retching, he turned to look at Kurgan's back as rivers of blood poured from the ruined neck.
Both arms crushed, multiple fangs shattered, covered in blood—Garfiel.
And yet Kurgan, even with a fatal wound inflicted by this very Garfiel, stood tall in unyielding defiance. It was enough to make him shudder—that was the very image of a hero.
"————"
Eventually, slowly, Kurgan turned to face Garfiel.
Looking down at the warrior lying sprawled on the ground, the God of Combat quietly folded his arms.
And then: "—Magnificent."
A low, weighty voice offered a single word of praise to the victor.
"Ah…"
There was no time to respond.
Before Garfiel's wide-open eyes, Kurgan's form collapsed in an instant.
The towering giant crumbled to sand, his aberrant features dissolving into a mound of ash.
A death far too sudden—the inevitable result of returning the dead to death once more.
"…That's not exactly what I'd call a clean exit."
Garfiel spat bitter words at the departing sight of the God of Combat turning to ash and vanishing.
He didn't wish for the other to cling miserably to life, of course. In a struggle where lives were taken, an abrupt ending was simply the way of things.
This was nothing more than Garfiel's own pointless sentiment.
"Ah, damn…crap, I'm dying…"
He had lost too much blood.
He lay flat on the floor and drew power from the Earth Dragon's Blessing through his entire body, gathering the mana he'd collected to fuel healing magic for his body's repair. His arms and face were the worst of it.
The damage he'd sustained on the surface had never fully healed, and then he'd endured that barrage of attacks. It would have been miraculous if there weren't catastrophic injuries remaining.
"Gorgeous Tiger!"
That tearful voice called to Garfiel as he poured everything into recovery.
His brother and sister were the ones splashing through the puddles to reach him. Others were running over too, but only the two of them registered in Garfiel's eyes.
Both of them wore expressions on the verge of tears—no, they were already crying.
How could they not? Even to an untrained eye, Garfiel's condition was clearly dire. To a trained healer, it would be a miracle he was still alive—and they would have gone pale, declared an emergency, and immediately begun treatment.
This was the proof that he had crossed a line between life and death.
Of course, he felt a certain pride in that—but— "I'm alive, aren't I… but I can't stop moving."
Even after defeating the "Eight-Armed" Kurgan and claiming victory, he could not stop.
This was Garfiel's fight, but it was not Garfiel's alone. While he was pinned down here, comrades could be falling into desperate straits.
He had to get back to the city hall. Garfiel pushed himself upright.
Hearing his words and seeing his actions, his brother and sister—who had rushed to his side—went pale. His sister in particular was furious.
"Are you—are you an idiot?! Just stay down! Right now… yes, I'll go get a doctor right away—"
"There's probably someone out there who needs a doctor more than me. I've got things to do, squirt."
His sister's face flushed red as she grabbed at him. Garfiel, his own face caked with blood and no doubt a ghastly sight, nodded at her. She broke into frustrated, pattering sobs.
In the meantime, the shattered bones of both arms were knitting back together. The flesh wasn't fully repaired yet, but it probably wouldn't make him black out from the jarring. With that judgment, he stood.
"W-Wait… are you really going?"
"…Didn't you hear the broadcast?"
"Eh… yeah."
He gave a slight nod, blood dripping from his fingertips.
That voice had given his siblings courage—and had given Garfiel this final push here and now. That was why he had to answer that voice.
If Subaru had said it would be okay, then he had to make it okay.
"So like I was saying—"
"Hey!"
Blood-deprived and dizzy, his knees buckled and he nearly collapsed. His sister caught him in a panic, and Garfiel clicked his tongue in frustration.
Then, this time, his little brother stepped in front of him.
"Gorgeous Tiger."
"…What is it. Sorry, but if you're gonna try to stop me too, I'm not listening."
"No, it's not that. Gorgeous Tiger, your clothes are glowing."
At his brother's words, Garfiel looked down and noticed.
Near the waist of his tattered clothing, there was a faint light illuminating the fabric.
What he had stuffed in there was a Communication Mirror. A device he had deemed useless and tucked away because he couldn't establish contact with the city hall. If it was glowing faintly, that meant— "I thought it was busted…"
"Th-Then I'll take it out for you!"
Panting hard, Garfiel reached for his own chest, but before he could stop her, his sister pulled out the Communication Mirror. Light was spilling from the mirror's surface—from what he'd been told, that only happened when the paired Communication Mirror was calling.
In other words, someone at the city hall—or the other team—was trying to reach him.
"Wh-What should we do…?"
"Bring it here. —Who is it?"
His sister gingerly held the glowing Communication Mirror up to Garfiel. Peering into its surface, Garfiel called out.
The Communication Mirror began to slowly pulse with light.