——There was a woman. One woman alone.
The woman was mad. The woman stood at the abyss of insanity. The woman had reached the pinnacle of starvation.
In a lonely fortress she groaned, gnawing at an empty throne, breaking her teeth, splitting her mouth, starving.
The day she was born, the woman had been human. By this point, she was no longer human.
It all began several years ago, when the man who ruled this land fell terminally ill.
Day by day he wasted away, and terrified of the encroaching death, the man reached for every conceivable means to prolong his life.
Eventually, this extended to forbidden sorcery, and for the sake of lingering on, many lives were gathered through unspeakable atrocities.
Many lives were sacrificed, many lives were rendered meaningless, and among those sacrifices was the woman.
Who she had been, what her name was, where she came from, who her family was—those memories had all burned away.
The woman was nothing but a tool. A bed of life for a man ravaged by illness, waiting only to die.
A life spent and wasted, nothing more—and yet the woman survived.
An undying body, power welling from within, a lamp of life abandoned by the flow of time itself.
The man's desperate wish, his deepest yearning, had been made flesh in the woman's body.
The man rejoiced at the result, put off even the mourning of his victims, and forcibly tore apart the woman's restraints.
——When she came to her senses, the woman was alone, writhing in starvation within the deserted fortress.
Thought was scoured away by hunger so cruel it bordered on the absurd, and her memories were gnawed white by a violent thirst.
She remembered nothing. She understood nothing. Only that her entire body was bound, and she had no freedom.
The food in the fortress had been devoured entirely, so she vomited up what was in her stomach and chewed it down again, repeating the process over and over.
In the end, starving beyond endurance, she bit into the stone walls, crushed the throne between her teeth, and tore shreds from the carpets.
At this rate, she would starve to death. In a body that could not die, she would starve to death.
"Round and round, round and round. Round and round, round and round…"
In the extremity of starvation that brought oblivion, the woman finally began to see visions.
Running freely throughout the fortress were packs of dogs cloaked in beast fur.
Hallucinations—fine. If she could not be filled in body, then she would be filled in heart alone.
With that single determination the woman crawled forward, biting into the beasts. Being bitten. Devouring them completely.
Being filled. Immediately after, vomiting. Licking up what she had vomited. Chewing. Vomiting again. Eating.
In the visions, in the misperceptions, in the illusions, in the desires—there was taste. There was shape. Something rolled across her tongue.
Before she knew it, the fortress had become a wretched den for those abominable beasts.
"Aha—ahahaha—ahahahahaha!"
She was overjoyed. Buried in days of eating and being eaten, she ate and was filled, was filled and vomited.
Caught between starvation and refusal, the woman ate and vomited, sipped and spilled.
Dropping from the void—no, *reborn* from the void—those beasts of an abominable aura came forth.
Before long, the woman's restraints gave way under the strain of fighting the beasts, and she was freed.
With her freedom, the woman crawled out of the fortress.
The beasts followed the woman out of the fortress as well. They scattered across the earth, here and there.
Her appetite, her hunger—they never ceased. The woman tore and ravaged, then abandoned the city she had eaten to ruin.
She prayed that someday, the day would come when this hunger and thirst would finally be sated.
——The "
※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ——The "trial" on the second floor of the
The location was the Watchtower, second floor, the white realm.
The examiner was a red-haired man standing casually at the back of the room, grinning like a shark.
The man who called himself "the Club-Wielding Man"—the sword aura emanating from his entire body was anything but ordinary.
His manner of appearing was suspicious enough on its own.
Therefore— "Right from the start—let me go all out!"
"————"
One step forward, Julius moved into a forward-leaning stance in tandem with his declaration.
From his arm, cast softly toward the man, was the designated sword that had originally stood embedded in the floor of this "Electra." The blade spun vertically, tracing a parabolic arc, and embedded itself precisely at the man's feet.
As if to say: *If he reaches out, he can pull it free easily.* "What the hell are you? Handing me a sword—what's the deal, you want to die?"
"I regret to inform you that cutting down an unarmed opponent is an unsightly act—behavior unbefitting of a knight!"
"Ha! You're killing me. —It ain't bare hands, take a closer look, you idiot."
As Julius closed in, the man bared his teeth in a vicious grin. Without the slightest care, he swung his bare foot forward and kicked the sword away with brutal force. The designated sword went flying with a dramatic clang.
It shot right past Julius as he charged in—provocatively close to his side.
"Don't—you dare regret saying that!"
Righteous to the last, cheeks flushed hard at having his courtesy so callously dismissed, Julius drew his knight's sword.
The slender blade shot forward in a straight line—a hammer of justice upon the rude interloper desecrating this arena of true combat.
That lightning-fast thrust— "Don't bark so cutely, you idiot. You've got such a pretty face. If I made you cry and got excited, that'd be a problem, right?"
"Wha—!"
The thrust that should have pierced the man's torso came to a halt with a sound like a peal of thunder.
Naturally, it was not Julius who eased up. He always fought at full power within his capabilities. So the one who stopped it was not Julius—but the shark grin facing him.
"Impossible."
"Believe what you see. That's where you start—from there."
Laughing heartily, the Club-Wielding Man scratched at his own chest with his right hand. His mannerism was no different from moments ago. The same attitude he'd worn while spouting nonsense.
But his left hand had caught Julius's thrust with terrifying precision.
And that was— "…A wooden branch?"
"Wrong. Look closer—are you blind or something? They're chopsticks. Chopsticks. You need them to handle your food, right? That's why I carry them around."
From a distance they looked like a crooked stick of wood—but the Club-Wielding Man deftly manipulated them with his left hand, demonstrating a familiarity that matched the knowledge in Subaru's mind. That this world also had chopsticks was something Subaru had confirmed firsthand during his stay in
—No. No matter how perfectly one could wield them, catching a first-class sword technique with *chopsticks* was beyond the bounds of anything human.
"You're not funny, you idiot. With the perfect angle, the perfect speed, the perfect feeling, the perfect swing—whether they're chopsticks or anything else, there's nothing you can't cut."
"Gu—!"
At the spectacle that defied comprehension, the Club-Wielding Man spoke with an expression so bored he looked ready to yawn. Everyone present was equally speechless at the sight, but Julius—being the one involved—could not afford that luxury.
He gripped harder, trying to wrest his knight's sword free from the tips of the two chopsticks. But no matter how much force he applied, the blade did not budge.
"Let me tell you, these chopsticks ain't made of anything special. Bad materials are rough on the hands, so I didn't use anything fancy—just some plain old wood I found lying around somewhere."
"Kuh…na—"
"Don't strain yourself, don't strain… Laugh, you idiot. You look better when you laugh. Not that it matters for a man."
Suddenly the hold on his sword loosened, and Julius—having put all his weight behind his push— faltered for just an instant. In that instant of opening, the man twisted his body, and his bare foot lashed upward. The kick delivered staggering force directly to Julius's slender waist, sending him flying.
"Julius—!"
Subaru didn't know who had screamed it like a cry of despair. All he could do was watch Julius's thin frame go hurtling away, stripped of any ability to control his movement midair.
And then, pursuing Julius as he tumbled through the air— "Ha!"
The Club-Wielding Man leaped, his long body closing the distance at bullet speed. With impossible physical ability he caught up directly above Julius. A chopstick in each hand, he unleashed a storm of strikes—calling them "slashes" felt like a stretch, but it was violence delivered via chopsticks.
The arms swinging them were so fast they seemed to vanish from sight. It looked the same to every eye present, and Julius—already disadvantaged in midair—had no means of evasion.
With only the knight's sword in his arms to rely on, Julius desperately matched his defense to the chopstick assault. But the man's chopsticks slipped through his guard as if mocking him, and they stabbed, stabbed, stabbed, stabbed, stabbed, stabbed into Julius— "Jiwald—!!"
A beam of heat was unleashed toward the two battling in the air.
The white light, true to its simple nature, was terrifyingly concise in how it carved away the world. In other words, it was a blade of thermal energy that burned through, burned apart, and severed anything in its path.
Its linearity and apparent ease of evasion seemed like a flaw—but the heat beam overwhelmed that concern at speeds that put even light to shame, surging straight toward its prey.
Even the Club-Wielding Man could offer no resistance against this third party's flash of light— "My sword cuts through light too, you know."
Before the sound of his voice even registered, the chopstick strike he unleashed cleaved the heat beam head-on.
It was a spectacle beyond imagination, an impossible illusion that made every onlooker's eyes bulge. Only the man treated it as a matter of course, laughing mockingly as he continued tormenting Julius with his free hand.
Toying with him—no, in truth, *grandly* toying with him.
"Jiwaldddd!!"
Bloodshot eyes at the reality of it, incantations overlapping— Arms spread wide, casting the spell to fire the heat beam, was Anastasia, her delicate features painted with the hues of desperate resolve. From her outstretched five fingers—the tips of all ten fingers across both hands—she simultaneously fired ten beams of heat, ten lines of death that danced toward the Club-Wielding Man all at once.
——The Club-Wielding Man dodged them with a staggering method.
"Ha!"
He swatted the incoming light aside with his chopsticks just as before, then kicked at the empty air where nothing should have been, and in a single motion plummeted straight down—bringing Julius, whom he'd been using as a cushion, with him. They landed on the white floor, and he pressed the tip of a chopstick to Julius's solar plexus, then began sprinting while dragging Julius across the ground.
"Hahahaha! Aim carefully, you idiot. A fly could land on you, you idiot. That's no way to win back your lady, you idiot. Hahahaha!"
"Jiwald! Jiwald! Jiwaldd—!"
Even as the man sprinted away cackling, Anastasia launched pursuit. But no matter how powerful the magic, it meant nothing if it didn't hit.
Heat beams flew in every direction, but the man deflected them with his chopsticks, ducked beneath them, twisted his body around Julius's—and dodged with ease.
Overwhelming skill and combat prowess, and at the same time, the inadequacy of Anastasia's technique was laid bare.
Rather—the inadequacy of
And then— "—Ah, guh."
"Aaan?"
Time ran out—that came first.
The Club-Wielding Man, who had been cheerfully dodging the heat beams, raised an eyebrow at the sudden cessation of pursuit. At the end of his gaze, Anastasia's slender body crumpled to the ground.
Nosebleed flowing from her nostrils—it was proof of the enormous strain she'd placed on her body. She had said it herself once before: her trump card could not be used frequently, as it carved away at her own vitality.
"Lady Anastasia—!"
"Ohhh!?"
At the sight of his collapsed master, the knight—who had been on the defensive alone—rallied. Julius had been forced along the ground on his back, taking a hailstorm of chopstick strikes to his entire body, but he finally wrenched himself free from the Club-Wielding Man's onslaught.
He'd unbuttoned his collar and removed his knight's mantle to change the friction against the ground, escaping the man's exquisitely calibrated force.
From that position, Julius whipped his long, thin legs around and launched a kick from the ground aimed at the man's temple. The man dodged with a slight tilt of his chin, but in that opening Julius executed breakdance-like movements, throwing two more kicks—both dodged—as he controlled his momentum and rose to his feet.
"That last move—that's more like it. Gets me going, you know."
"I have no time for nonsense! Move—!"
Despite understanding the overwhelming disparity in strength, Julius roared and charged at the man. The knight's sword—never released even through that barrage of blows—howled as it bit in like a serpent.
Driven by righteous fury and a sense of duty, his strikes were fluid and graceful—and perhaps they represented the very pinnacle of swordsmanship that could be achieved through a knight's training.
How many days, how much practice, how many blood-sweating efforts it had taken to attain that level—no one could say.
And yet— "You playing around? Are you playing around with me? Don't hold back on me, you idiot."
"—!"
"What's this? Don't make me laugh. Show me your real strength. Are you even fighting seriously? If this is you at your best… forget it, what a disappointment."
Thrusts were stopped. Slashes were deflected. Combo strikes were knocked down. Killing blows were evaded.
Everything Julius had built up, everything he had honed as a knight—all of it was cruelly, beautifully, viciously brushed aside by two chopsticks wielded with a bored sigh by the man who called himself the Club-Wielding Man.
With nothing more than two sticks of wood, Julius's "life's work" was trampled into the dirt.
"This ain't it, you idiot. What—you're fighting alone? That ain't your style. That's why it's boring, you idiot."
"I—"
"If you want to go to your woman, I'll let you. Go borrow her soft knee and cry while you whine. You broken-down, ugly swordsman."
For a fleeting moment, something crossed Julius's face—was it anger? Pain? Grief? Despair?
Whichever it was, no outsider could glimpse what lay within.
"————"
Julius's blade flashed, the slender knight's sword tracing the same silver arc it had traced countless times before.
And yet—by anyone watching—it was an uncertain strike.
The chopsticks slipped in from the side, into that flash of steel.
The next instant, the wooden stick turned over and, with effortless ease, severed the steel knight's sword clean in half—with nothing more than a light, delicate sound, Julius's sword snapped into two pieces.
Julius's yellow eyes watched the tip of his beloved blade fly away in a daze. What story that sword held, how long he had been using it—none of that was known.
But what had broken in this instant, for Julius, was surely more than just a sword.
"Sleep."
With that spat-out word, a terrible fist drove into Julius's cheek.
It was the most primitive violence this world had ever known, devoid of all refinement. A blow delivered by the earliest weapon humanity had ever wielded—before tools were even invented—the bare fist that was the human body itself.
"————"
The merciless strike punched through with enough force to distort Julius's refined features. Its crushing weight swept away his consciousness in an instant, and like a puppet with its strings cut, his body obeyed inertia—flying, tumbling, sliding furiously—and came to a stop right beside Anastasia.
Master and knight lay unconscious, side by side. It was almost like a bizarre gesture of concern from a man who belonged to the wild.
"Alright, next up…"
Cracking his neck as if finishing a warm-up, the man turned toward them.
In truth, that was exactly what it had been. From the moment Julius charged into the fray, to being toyed with unilaterally, to Anastasia's support, to both of them collapsing—all of it had taken mere dozens of seconds. In that time, Subaru had not found a single opening to intervene; he could only stand rooted in place.
The same was true for the others remaining—
"————"
—Absolutely not.
As if to prove it, light danced across the white space.
It was a swirling dance of pale blue luminescence—the barest glimmer of ice particles that the eye could just barely catch. Emilia's absolute magical power had created it: the ice barrier "Icicle Line."
"There's one thing I'd like to ask."
Emilia, who had expanded her mana to create a sort of bounded field in a limited area, called out to the man who was scratching under his eyepatch with his left index finger.
"Aaan? Go ahead, gorgeous."
"I'm Emilia. Just Emilia. —Wasn't the goal just to make you move even one step? You were running around like crazy, you know."
She introduced herself, then posed what she considered an obvious question.
Before the fight began, the Club-Wielding Man had indeed said something to that effect with a grin. *"Try to make me move even one step."* By that condition, he had clearly broken it.
His fight with Julius hadn't even been a matter of flying around the room—it had been far beyond that.
But the man shrugged his shoulders at the observation.
"Don't take that seriously—I just said it on impulse, you know? Everyone has those moments where they say something cool for no reason. That's all it was. You get it, right? Or do you? You're a woman after all. A gorgeous woman. Keep me company tonight, won't you?"
"Sorry, I really have no idea what you're talking about. Also, I don't think I can beat you even if we fight."
"E-Emilia…?"
Even as she fully deployed her magical power and prepared for battle, Emilia declared this with complete composure. The Club-Wielding Man's eyes went wide at her words, and Subaru—frozen stiff—finally managed to squeeze out a voice.
To Subaru's call, Emilia said "Sorry" and then— "You are—very strong. I could see that just from watching. But we have to pass this 'trial.' So please set up a condition we can win."
"…………"
"If we can make you move even one step, it's our victory. Let's settle it on those terms. …Is that no good?"
With her eyebrows slightly lowered, Emilia proposed this to the silent man. She added that last part with just a hint of uncertainty, and Subaru stared blankly, dumbstruck.
It was, by any measure, the most brazenly audacious proposal imaginable.
At this shameless declaration, the Club-Wielding Man fell silent for a moment—and then— "Ha!"
He let out a short laugh, as if clenching his teeth, and opened his blue eyes wide to look at Emilia. Then, studying her entire body at leisure— "—I like it. Not bad at all, gorgeous. To say that to me—first time since Trisha. You've got guts. I like you."
"Then does that mean we pass the trial?"
"I'm not going to be *that* generous! But alright. I went and showed off in front of a beautiful woman, so if I don't keep it up to the end, I won't rest easy even in death. —I'll do as you say."
"We pass…?"
"If you move me even one step, it's your win!"
The Club-Wielding Man raised his voice with an expression that seemed to have lost some of its venom as Emilia pressed the point. Emilia nodded, then turned to Subaru.
"Take care of Anastasia and Julius. Please heal them both."
"W-Wait! Did you see what just happened?! If you go in without a plan…"
"It's all right. He doesn't seem like he wants to kill anyone… and besides, I'm going to give it everything I have."
With full fighting spirit, Emilia brushed past Subaru's attempt to stop her. Taking one step forward, her profile sharp and resolute, she aimed both arms at the Club-Wielding Man.
They had kept their distance—this was long-range, where her magic could strike unilaterally.
"Pretty face, but tough as nails, huh gorgeous."
"I'll do everything in my power—that's what my knight taught me to do!"
Folding his thick arms, the man grinned ferociously despite being at an overwhelming disadvantage.
Aimed at that grin, Emilia poured power into her voice—and the instant she did, the field of swirling pale blue light rang with the sound of atmosphere cracking, and one by one, ice weapons took shape.
Swords. Spears. Axes. Halberds. Arrows. Countless weapons.
Ice Brand Arts, Icicle Line—Emilia's vast magical power channeled into a bounded field of absolute destruction, an ultimate technique devised by Subaru, was now unleashed.
"Hee-yah!!"
The battle cry lacked force—but what followed was anything but limp.
Simultaneously with Emilia's voice, the weapons—all with their sharp tips aimed at the man—launched from every direction at once, converging on the Club-Wielding Man.
A synchronized assault from blind spots—an attack with no conceivable defense.
Against this, the man once again took a chopstick in each hand, and a tempest of chopstick violence raged forth in place of countless sword flashes.
The sight of ice being beautifully severed unfolded like art.
"————"
Following Emilia's words, Subaru dashed to where Julius and Anastasia lay. Confirming they were alive—and that they had merely lost consciousness—he breathed a sigh of relief.
Anastasia had pushed herself too far, likely as Echidna had feared. The nosebleed had already stopped, and while it couldn't be called safe, she was merely unconscious. And Julius—despite being toyed with one-sidedly—the chopstick strikes had battered his body, but the injuries were no worse than blunt trauma.
Being struck a hundred times would prove a hundred kills if those were swords, but Julius had received preferential treatment and survived.
"They're both all right, I think. But…"
"I know."
Subaru cut off
They had confirmed both were safe. But the beast who had done this was locked in direct confrontation with Emilia at that very moment— "Ha!"
Shattering ice—the man bit the fragments into his mouth, crunched them, and swung his chopsticks with delight. A single sweep split an ice sword and an ice axe in two simultaneously.
The destroyed ice weapons dissolved into pale light in an instant, and as the beautiful savage rampaged wildly, light scattered around him—a scene so fantastical it was almost dreamlike.
But even so— "He's not moving."
"You went and showed off, so let me show off to the end. Don't be uncool—if you can't be a man on the brink of death, where else are you going to hold your ground?"
Hearing Subaru's strained muttering, the Club-Wielding Man countered the magic attack while humming a tune. During all this, his upper body danced wildly as if in a fierce performance, but his two feet remained planted firmly on the ground—immoveable as a mountain.
In that state, continuing to fire magic like rain would accomplish nothing. That frustration was felt not only by Subaru, who watched from the sidelines, but by Emilia herself.
Therefore, to break the stalemate, Emilia took a step forward— "Ugh—yaah!!"
Emilia launched herself straight ahead, her slender yet supple body surging forward, silver hair streaming behind her. Both arms raised overhead, a massive battle axe of ice materialized between her palms.
Spinning her body in a full vertical rotation, Emilia swung the axe down from directly above at the man with a powerful, sweeping motion.
"Ha!"
Against the ice axe's overhead strike, the man flicked his chopsticks up without panic, inserting them into the weapon's path. The axe fell straight down, but its trajectory was diverted by the slightest nudge from the chopsticks—a small deflection that grew steadily as the axe continued its descent, until it missed the man entirely, grazing only the sleeve of his loose kimono before slamming into the floor.
With a tremendous impact, a shockwave erupted, and the ice axe—unable to withstand its own force—shattered into splinters from the base. But in an instant, Emilia released the axe and snatched a halberd launched from behind, spinning into her next attack.
"Hee-yah! Take that! And this! And this! And this and this! Haaaah!"
A halberd strike, twin blades flashing, a longsword slash, a katana's iai draw, a whip's sonic crack, an axe's crushing power—every conceivable attack hammered down, and the man blocked them all with ease.
Of course, this was not because Emilia's skill was lacking.
Emilia's physical abilities were high, and her Ice Brand Arts—combining her immense magic power with hand-to-hand combat—could be called, without exaggeration (even from Subaru, its creator), a combat technique that fully utilized Emilia's capabilities.
"…Subaru."
Beatrice squeezed his hand and spoke with a worried tone. Subaru regained some measure of composure through her touch and stared desperately at the battlefield.
He couldn't find an opening to intervene. Emilia flowed seamlessly from one weapon to the next, leveraging her strengths, maintaining her physical assault while simultaneously unleashing a storm of magical attacks. It was the very epicenter of a carpet bombing conducted with every weapon imaginable.
And at the dead center of that epicenter, without moving a single step—the man who processed it all, the monster who called himself nothing more than "the Club-Wielding Man"—was the anomaly.
If Subaru blundered in, he would only serve as a distraction for Emilia.
That concern kept Subaru rooted in place. Beatrice, gripping his hand and silent beside him, shared the same helpless frustration, watching the battle unfold with gritted teeth.
Would the situation remain unchanged until Emilia's stamina was completely spent?
Into that state, an unexpected change came. And suddenly.
"Hmph! Hah! There!"
Emilia grabbed twin swords and slashed from both sides at the man's neck. He ducked with ease, and the twin swords slipped from Emilia's grasp. But she immediately generated another pair of twin swords in her palms and opened her crossed arms to launch a follow-up—this time the man dodged with a dramatic lean backward, his body nearly parallel to the floor.
"Ha!"
"Wah!"
Bending his knees into a crouching stance, the man supported his body with nothing but the strength of his ankles. Meanwhile, Emilia's momentum carried her forward, and she took one step back with her arms spread wide.
In this battle, it was the first time Emilia had shown a fatal opening—for the man, there must have been countless opportunities, but this was the worst of them all.
In that instant, the man extended his bent knees to spring back upright, and Emilia—her guard completely open—ground her teeth at his return.
At that moment, the man bared his teeth more viciously than ever before, shark grin intact, and leaning forward— "Opening detected."
He used the chopsticks in his hand to stroke upward beneath Emilia's breasts.
"Wha—"
Emilia wore her usual white outfit, her fair skin visible. The chopstick traced across her chest, distorting the generous swell in a vulgar manner, and the man's crude grin deepened.
At this indecent act, the man let out a satisfied "Ha!" and— "Perks of the job. Don't get too worked up over a little thing like—"
"Take this!"
"Gwah—!?"
Both hands clasped above her head, an ice gauntlet formed over them—and Emilia brought it crashing down, shattering it against the crown of the grinning man's head.
The impact was forceful enough to shatter the ice, a sharp, resonant crack echoing through the room. The man screamed "GUOOOOH!" and clutched his head, rolling across the floor.
"That huuuurts! What the hell were you thinking?! Normally, when someone does that to a woman, she'd hesitate—even for just a second! You didn't hesitate at all, you lunatic!?"
"…? He just touched me, didn't he? You were completely open."
"Bullshit! How were you raised?! What the hell were your parents doing?!"
Rubbing his head, the Club-Wielding Man sat cross-legged on the ground and protested at the top of his lungs. Emilia blinked, then touched her own chest where the chopsticks had grazed it.
"…Did I say something weird?"
"Hey! Someone do something about this gorgeous lunatic! Don't let her outside! You—flea! You're her attendant, aren't you?! Get your act together, you! I'm in pain, you, damn it…!"
"I— I have no business being lectured by you about Emilia. Besides…"
"Aaan!?"
Though somewhat cowed, Subaru managed to talk back to the raging man. And then, putting aside for the moment his anger at the man's lecherous advance, he pointed at the man.
And declared: "You've moved more than just one step."
"————"
"Oh! That's right! I did it! I win!"
At Subaru's observation, the man fell silent, and Emilia clapped her hands together and bounced in place.
Around her, in response to her emotion, the ice magic bloomed into flower after flower, blossoming as if celebrating her own victory.
The man's condition—making him move even one step—had been fulfilled.
It was obvious to everyone, and unless the man reneged, the result should stand.
"What are you going to do?"
Subaru did not trust the man's sense of honor anywhere near enough—not after everything that had transpired. Emilia, who was overjoyed at her undeniable victory and the completion of the trial, might believe it, but Subaru could not.
That the man might rage against this defeat, discard all restrictions, and lunge at them—rendering the entire "trial" null and void—would not have been surprising.
As Subaru held that suspicion, a trickle of sweat ran down his forehead and along his cheek— "Oh, fine. A promise is a promise. Getting caught by lechery and having it backfire—that'd be a laughingstock, but what can you do."
"You… you accept it…!?"
"What do you take me for? If I went back on my word now, the cool factor I just built up would plummet. That'd be irreversible. And if that happened, women would stop coming near me. Can you take responsibility for that?"
"At this point, your reputation couldn't be any lower—this is literally the worst defeat imaginable…"
"Shut it, flea! Or should I say—fry! Stop yapping, fry! Either way, the gorgeous one wins. I'll let you through. That's the deal. What can you do."
Roughly scratching his head, the Club-Wielding Man openly acknowledged his defeat.
It was unclear whether this was gallant or graceless—a declaration that made no sense. But having received it, Subaru had no intention of pressing further.
Julius and Anastasia had both fallen in the clash with the man, but transporting them to the green room should allow for sufficient recovery.
As a second "trial," it felt like there was far too little sense of accomplishment—but— "So, next up—is it the fry's turn? Or one of the two fleas?"
"Huh?"
Subaru, who had been processing the understanding that they could advance to the upper floor, was caught off guard by the man's next words. At his reaction, the man slowly rose and shrugged off his left shoulder of his loose kimono—just as he had exposed his right shoulder earlier—and turned to face them.
——The air smelled of something burning.
The man was emanating a sword aura of vastly different magnitude—so powerful that everything before now seemed like child's play. Subaru belatedly realized this was the instinctive alarm triggered by that dramatic shift.
"There are seven people total in this tower… and one who slipped through—the gorgeous one, to start with."
"————"
"Next—who's going to get past me? —Hey, you."
The Grand Library Pleiades, second floor "Electra" — Trial.
Time limit: "Conditional unlimited." Attempts: "Conditional unlimited." Challengers: "Conditional unlimited."
——Completed: Emilia.
——Incomplete: Subaru, Beatrice, Julius, Anastasia, Meili,
——Trial: to be continued.