For a long time now, she had harbored suspicions.
That
The Oni village, engulfed in crimson flames. There, Roswaal had saved Ram and [■■]. And in return, he demanded compensation.
And so Ram had chosen to pay that price, in exchange for the Oni's retribution.
She would cooperate — whether it was a plan to kill the "Dragon" or anything else.
The one question Ram had never arrived at an answer to was the most crucial of all: how to kill the "Dragon."
It would not be easy. Even with stratagems and maneuvering, it was no simple task. And when that time came, what could Ram possibly do?
"When the time comes, you will understand. — A role that only you, only you sisters, can fulfill."
It felt as though she had been addressed with words that were somehow incomplete, with pieces missing.
She had never once puzzled over what that truly meant — strangely, not until today.
"At last, I understand. What Roswaal-sama's aim was."
Everything Roswaal did was in service of his ultimate goal — one he had staked his long life upon.
To that end, he had infiltrated the Kingdom of Lugunica deeply. To that end, he had rescued Ram and [■■]. To that end, he had claimed the "
Even when the original plan had to be altered, the groundwork laid before was never wasted. — No. Not wasting it was simply who he was.
And so, the answer had crystallized within Ram as well.
The reason Roswaal had taken in the young Oni sisters as his final trump card.
[■■] had been taken in as a substitute for Ram's lost horn.
Ram and [■■] — the two sisters were to be kept at his side as a single Oni, to kill the "Dragon."
Of course, Roswaal was not immune to the effects of the Authority of "Gluttony" either.
As a result, he too must have forgotten why [■■] had been kept in his mansion. But even if he had forgotten, he surely would have intuited his own objective soon enough.
And yet, watching Ram and the others struggle to reclaim [■■] from the devastation of "Gluttony," he had not breathed a word of this truth. Truly, always and forever — "You never change when it comes to being thorough."
Though his plan had once been derailed by Subaru's actions, Roswaal had continued his machinations beneath the surface, ever watchful, pursuing his aim with unyielding patience.
What a troublesome nature. Who knew what he was doing right now, somewhere beyond Ram's sight.
And yet, she also thought this — That when Ram had been permitted to accompany Subaru and the others on this journey with [■■], perhaps Roswaal had foreseen this very possibility.
Perhaps she was overthinking it.
After all, the appearance of the Sin Archbishop of "Gluttony" at the
This might have been nothing more than the delusion of a woman who overestimated the man she admired.
But — "If it comes to that, I'd rather believe the man I love trusted me."
He had believed that if Ram was there, [■■] and the others would be protected to the last.
That when the moment came, Ram would see through Roswaal's hidden intentions and choose — of her own volition — to play the trump card meant to kill the "Dragon." That was what he had believed.
He had evaluated the ten years of this woman named Ram. The man called Roswaal L. Mathers had appraised her worth, and it was far more pleasant to think so.
And therefore — "Right now, I feel absolutely wonderful. So go ahead and crumble."
△▼△▼△▼△ The feat accomplished by Nigel Lockhart, the "Fist King," was a modest tale told among the gladiatorial circuits of the Sword Slave Island in the Sacred Volakia Empire. — No. It had been a tale.
Now, robbed of both his "Name" and "Memories" by the Authority of "Gluttony," there was no one left alive who knew of the feats he had achieved as a sword slave.
Nigel had fought in the Sword Slave Island's exhibitions — spectacles where strength was put on display — and was the only one to survive hundreds of death matches armed with nothing but his bare fists, ultimately earning the rights of a freed slave.
With his refined fighting spirit condensed in his fists, he could catch blades and shatter steel. Before his fists, every obstacle was as delicate as a maiden's skin, and he could rightly be called one of the greatest hand-to-hand killers in history.
Belly Hainelga, the "Beast," was a serial murderer of rare depravity whose gruesome methods had once sent the
Now, robbed of both her "Name" and "Memories" by the Authority of "Gluttony," the tragedies and lessons born from her murders remained in no one's memory.
Belly had exhibited abnormal growth from birth, achieving a physical constitution impossible for any ordinary human. She then committed numerous brutal crimes — embracing and crushing to death men who caught her fancy.
Her massive frame granted her monstrous strength, and her skin was so tough that not even a blade could leave a scratch. This murderer, who craved nothing more than human contact and warmth, was feared alongside the "Gut Hunter" as one of the most dangerous criminals in existence.
Dulkel's background was unusual. Once a mere merchant living in the Kalargi City-State, Dulkel was a deviant who had strayed from the path upon hearing the voice of something inhuman.
Now, robbed of both his "Name" and "Memories" by the Authority of "Gluttony," the fact that he had been laughed at by many as a deviant had been lost, and no one remembered it.
One day, Dulkel had suddenly abandoned his wife and children — his entire life — and chosen to walk the path of worshipping something that did not exist, choosing to make contact with the
Ultimately, Dulkel had manifested a power different from magic, one at odds with the Witch Cult's doctrine. He had been cast out even by the Witch Cult — a heretic among heretics.
In other words, each of them was a transcendent being of the same caliber: an eccentric, a madman, a monster beyond compare.
Not only were they beyond what any ordinary human could hope to match, but they were not merely complete in themselves. Within "Gluttony," they had been mixed together with countless "Memories," refined into something even more supreme.
What would happen if Nigel Lockhart gained Belly Hainelga's endurance and Dulkel's phantom-like abilities?
It would be the completion of a singularly malevolent existence — something seen but once in all of history.
Until now, the Sin Archbishop of "Gluttony," Rai Batenkaitos, had not done so.
He had feared that by mixing all those "Memories" together in his own great cauldron, his very existence would be swallowed by its contents.
But even if he drank the cauldron dry, he would not be consumed — at least, that was how it seemed from Batenkaitos's subjective perspective.
And since that was the case, he felt not the slightest hesitation in attempting what he had previously avoided, in breaking through the limits he had set for himself.
All of this world's exceptional talents, histories, possibilities — the "Gourmet" who had devoured every last morsel of "fine cuisine" and hoarded it within himself — that was Rai Batenkaitos.
And so on this day, in the Tower of Sand at the eastern edge of the world, a demon was born — one who had fused, at a higher dimension, every technique and supernatural ability, whether innate or acquired.
The demon possessed arms that could destroy all things, a body that could withstand any attack, magical techniques that could deflect any sorcery, and the wisdom to command all creation.
No matter where one looked throughout history, no being had ever excelled so profoundly in every conceivable ability, nor would one ever be born again, even after thousands of years.
This was the distillation of the world's potential — born from the accursed catastrophe known as the
The supreme "Gourmet" itself, born from a great cauldron in which only the finest had been simmered down — "I'll give you three chances."
Before that rare and extraordinary existence, the pink-haired girl held up three fingers and spoke.
Blood streamed from her forehead, and a cold light dwelled within her pale crimson eyes. She was covered in wounds, her slender body riddled with injuries severe enough to impede her movement.
Beyond even that, there were countless reasons she could not remain standing. She knew all of them.
The greatest factor was not the wounds or blood loss, but the fact that her frail body was not functioning as a vessel capable of containing her true self. — How pitiable, she thought.
"Three times. I'll let you strike first each time. There's something I want to test. Quite the bargain, isn't it?"
Yet the girl seemed entirely indifferent to such sentiments. Still holding up three fingers, she declared as though goading her opponent.
Three times. That was a fatal proclamation. She could not survive even a single blow in the first place.
And there was no particular reason to refuse the offer.
She did not even consider that it might be a trap.
The girl was not the type to make such a negotiation without purpose. But she did feel that excessive confidence could be one's ruin, and that she needed to convey that sincerely.
If they were to be absorbed into the same great cauldron, there were things that could be understood — "Sister, I'm coming."
She tensed her hind legs, then detonated with explosive force, delivering a single blow exactly as requested.
It was a strike that concentrated the Fist King's technique and destructive power to their utmost — an excess of force sufficient to obliterate a young girl. It hurtled toward the girl's delicate face — "First: one."
" — !?"
The instant she thought she had landed it, the girl's face tilted away from her fist at a distance close enough to brush her finest hairs. Then, guiding her outstretched arm, she launched a knee strike that snapped her right arm at the elbow with a sickening crack.
An impossible event. This was a body so resilient that even the swings of a holy sword could not penetrate. Yet the girl had driven her knee into the elbow joint — the one fixed point where it existed — and shattered it.
But — Without pause, her left foot swung upward toward the girl's face.
It was not revenge for her arm. She too was aiming for the face with a knee strike. Her long, slender leg drove her white knee into the girl's soft nose bridge, threatening to crush her beautiful face — "Second."
The words that slipped from those thin lips made her ears deceive her.
She was supposed to have rendered her incapable of speech. But the girl, with a fluid motion of her hand tracing the trajectory of the incoming knee strike from the side, softly deflected it upward.
The launched knee passed cleanly over the girl's head, as though it had been aimed at empty air from the very beginning.
And then — "Third."
Her right arm and left knee strike both dodged. Spinning with the momentum, she drove her left elbow strike — sharp and hard, a blow that, if it connected, would have crushed the girl's skull like ripe fruit and scattered its contents across the tower floor.
That was what should have happened.
The elbow aimed at the girl's temple only managed to stir a few strands of her pink hair.
And as though she had known it was coming all along, the girl dodged the elbow, then reached out with her extended hand and seized her face once more.
"You're an idiot."
She declared with utter ruthlessness, and then — with magnificent force — slammed her head into the floor.
△▼△▼△▼△ Ram pressed Batenkaitos into the ground as he twisted and morphed before her eyes, then held up three fingers in his face.
"Three chances. The kind of person who fights thinking they have three chances to win will lose all three. If you fight without a real will to win, even fortune itself will abandon you."
"Gu... gah..."
"Thank you. I've proven it. — Even the luck of timing is no longer Ram's enemy."
Her most terrifying enemy had been nothing less than the irrational fortune itself that defied Ram.
But Ram had subdued it with her own hands and forced even that to grovel at her feet.
There was nothing left to fear.
" — !"
Batenkaitos, sprawled on the ground, swung both legs up and brought them crashing down to propel himself upright. He drove his broken right arm toward her, but Ram stepped in without hesitation.
Blood streamed from her forehead. But that pain and sense of loss stirred Ram's blood to boil from its deepest recesses.
How infuriating. This sensation, this exhilaration — she had always found it irksome.
The loathsome Oni instinct — the welcome of battle, the elation of wielding power, the desperate craving to boil one's blood in order to slay the enemy who must be slain. Ram had always despised it.
That was why, on that night when the horn growing from her forehead had broken, she had thought she was finally free.
"How ironic," she murmured.
Catching the arm that was being slammed toward her, Ram hoisted the opponent onto her shoulders and executed a throw. She hurled the body to the ground, then kicked the head sending it tumbling down the corridor.
She would not allow anyone near the injured earth dragon or the girl propped against the wall behind her.
" — — —"
The girl continued to sleep, and from her forehead, a white horn glowed faintly, asserting its presence.
Normally, a person who continued to sleep of their own will — even an Oni — should have been unable to make their horn function.
Yet even though that sense of self was lost, Ram and the girl were twin sisters. What was called "Synesthesia" was an intangible bond that occasionally formed between those of closely related blood.
Its existence was something Ram had felt over this past year while caring for the sleeping
It was not merely a matter of physical resemblance. It was because of this bond that Ram had been able to so readily and objectively accept the fact that the girl was her sister.
But even that "Synesthesia" had produced no particular effect between Ram and the sleeping Rem.
If Rem had been having even one nightmare, perhaps that fear might have transmitted to Ram — but not once in this past year had anything like that been conveyed.
In other words, the sleeping Rem was not dreaming at all. She simply stared into the darkness behind her eyelids, breathing in a world of pure nothingness.
That was why Ram's discovery of how to exploit this "Synesthesia" had been entirely accidental.
It was infuriating, but it was thanks to Subaru's ingenuity. Because he had used his strange power to shoulder Ram's burden and grant her the strength to fight, the idea of doing the same had been born.
Those connected through "Synesthesia" could share strong emotions, and sometimes even injuries and pain.
Ram did not understand the mechanism, but she recalled a hypothesis she had once read in a book in
The hypothesis was that "Synesthesia" occurred when the Od of two different individuals became linked and acted in concert.
Od was the wellspring of power existing in the depths of a person — one could call it the soul.
It was sometimes used as a substitute for mana when casting magic, but in its truest sense, Od was the pure nature of what made a person who they were.
A domain inviolable by anything. When that was connected between two beings born from the same womb, the result — this hypothesis held — was "Synesthesia."
In the end, it had been dismissed as mere popular theory, unproven and unverifiable.
But the fact that it had been shelved in the forbidden library meant it was not entirely without merit. More than that, Ram had personally found the theory quite appealing.
To think that from the very moment of one's birth, one was connected to someone else — what a wonderful notion.
"Because of that troublesome horn, I had so many headaches."
She had despised the destructive impulse transmitted through the white horn.
She had loathed those around her who celebrated her as the reincarnation of a demon god. She had no connection whatsoever to that incomprehensible, archaic existence.
Rather than something like that, it should have been Ram herself who was given value.
And so, if she had been connected to someone entirely apart from that — then truly, what a wonderful thing it would be.
And if such a bond truly existed — "I'm sure that from the very moment I was born, I loved that child beyond measure."
Even if that child were but a babe in arms, Ram would not hesitate over means to protect that bond.
To protect, to cherish, to nurture, to love — she would give everything.
And therefore — "Forgive me. For making you bear this burden too, at a time like this — you have such a terrible older sister."
Through "Synesthesia," Ram channeled the physical burden upon her own body to her sleeping sister.
It was thanks to having once experienced Subaru's Authority firsthand. Ram could replicate most things after seeing them only once.
Subaru's ability operated on the same principle — it forcibly linked another's Od with his own, creating a strongly one-sided form of "Synesthesia." If he wanted to send his own burden to the other party, he certainly could, but Subaru was a fool, so he did not.
Instead, he would unilaterally absorb the burden, reducing the strain on his allies.
"You're an idiot."
The same words she had directed at Batenkaitos moments before.
But though the words were the same, they did not carry the same resonance.
What Subaru had accomplished with his Authority, Ram could only replicate through "Synesthesia" with Rem.
She did not know what had happened to Subaru. But this should lighten things somewhat. Ram would also be freed from the abhorrent state of being perpetually connected to Subaru.
In exchange, Ram's burden was now flowing into Rem — " — — —"
The sleeping Rem said nothing.
Quietly, with steadfast resolve, she channeled the mana flowing into her own horn — using the white horn held between her clasped hands, the broken piece of Ram's horn that had been hidden within the staff, as a catalyst — and continued to send it to Ram.
The immense amount of mana that Ram required — the toll this would exact upon Rem's body was beyond measure.
That was why this had to be a decisive battle.
"Come on now, come at me — !!"
Howling, Batenkaitos — who had been kicked flying — hurtled back toward Ram.
Using the power of the "Leaper" or whatever it was called, the magical technique that could erase distance in the blink of an eye. But such a phantom-like trick was meaningless once the opponent had fully seen through it.
"You're slow, you fool. At this rate, Ram will grow old."
She stole the opponent's field of vision through "Farsight."
The focal point, the movement of the eyes, the distribution of force — by synthesizing these, she could read the opponent's intent more easily than reading their heart.
She dodged the outstretched palm and twisted all five fingers in the opposite direction, attempting to slip free.
She drove an elbow strike into the throat that was about to scream, then delivered a sharp spinning back kick that slammed the opponent into the wall.
"Guah..."
"That said, Ram is cute even when she's old."
She grabbed the collar of the opponent's clothes, pulled downward, and slammed the back of their head into the ground again. Then she drove her heel into their face, shattering the nose.
She retreated to dodge both arms lunging at her, then unleashed countless blades of wind.
"Gyaaaahhh!!"
"What a pretty face, but what an ugly scream."
Batenkaitos was sent flying, his entire body carved apart by wind blades, spraying blood in all directions.
As always, his body continued to shift and morph restlessly — but from beginning to end, everything above the neck remained unchanged from the face she knew.
It made her want to vomit. Ram would never do something so tasteless, however.
" — — —"
Batenkaitos lunged forward with abandon, bleeding profusely and utterly lacking in finesse.
Properly speaking, he was probably employing technique after technique that bordered on the divine. By combining the powers of various transcendent beings, he was crafting moves that no one else could possibly replicate.
Ram crushed every single one of those finely specialized, superb attacks with overwhelming violence.
A hundred great techniques, a thousand great techniques — all of them twisted and shattered by a force of one hundred million. This had become precisely that kind of fight.
She would not let Batenkaitos so much as touch her. Everything was going well.
Unlike with Subaru, she was finally in sync. She had removed yet two more shackles.
Perhaps fifty percent of her peak strength — no. The Ram of that time had been young, so having grown since, the current Ram was far stronger than she had been then.
And the key to Ram's strength was not drowning in that power.
"Breaking my horn was the right decision after all."
Without that night, she might one day have succumbed to the horn's temptation.
She wanted to say it was impossible, but she did not know the answer to what might have been. That was why Ram could take pride in the clarity of the path she had walked, affirming that having this moment was the correct outcome.
Because she had lost her horn, Ram had been spared from becoming the "demon" she despised.
"Besides, if that night had never happened, I never would have met Roswaal-sama, so there is no comparison."
Presenting that most perfect of conclusions as her answer, Ram extended her palm directly forward.
At the very tip of that outstretched palm, Batenkaitos materialized — having jumped through space. His face registered shock at having his arrival point read. Ram seized it in her grip — "You can't jump consecutively, can you? I've grown tired of your little tricks. And your face."
"Wait —"
"I won't wait."
With a cold dismissal, Ram generated wind blades within the palm clutching his face.
In an instant, his eyes, nose, lips, ears — every feature on his face was carved apart simultaneously, and Batenkaitos shrieked, blood pouring from his mouth.
She would let the wind blades gouge until his face was gone entirely.
But in the very moment Ram attempted this, Batenkaitos vanished from her grasp in the blink of an eye.
However, he could not escape his wounds, nor his pain, nor reality itself.
"Aaah, aaah, aaaahhh — !!"
Batenkaitos thrashed about, screaming and weeping — not tears, but torrents of blood.
Watching this, Ram slowly advanced toward him.
Hearing her approaching footsteps, Batenkaitos's form shifted.
A tall, powerfully built frame. — Ram hammered down the incoming fist and shattered the knee.
Toppled, and desperate to flee from Ram, Batenkaitos's form shifted again.
A bearded giant, curling into a defensive ball. — Ram kicked the body skyward, pinned it to the ceiling with a barrage of fists, and turned the flesh beneath his famed hide into a mushy pulp.
To kill Ram, who inflicted unending torment, Batenkaitos's form shifted once more.
A bald elder, employing phantom-like magical techniques. — Ram caught him with pity for a trick whose secrets had long since been laid bare, then ground him against the wall, scraping his entire body as she dragged him along.
"Aaah, babababababbaaaaahhh — !!"
Pinned by Ram's monstrous strength, with nowhere to escape, his entire body was being scraped away. His form twisted and contorted within Ram's grip, shifting as though searching for the optimal solution.
Ram annihilated each and every one of them, paying tribute with brute force to the hundreds, thousands, and tens of thousands of victims.
For those who had been absorbed into "Gluttony" — whose honed techniques, whose walked paths, whose cherished loves had been trampled and scorned — Ram offered this power as their memorial service.
Their techniques, their paths, their feelings would never be exploited again.
None of them would work against Ram.
"Take responsibility for your own actions."
With a sweeping arm, Ram hurled away the desecrator whose entire body had been ravaged.
Batenkaitos rolled across the watchtower corridor, trembling violently. His form slowly, slowly, slowly shifted.
Drawing upon the countless "Memories" he had accumulated, his appearance transformed — "Well, it's been a while. I'm glad to see that face — it's the third one from the top, I believe."
" — aa... ah..."
Wiping the blood from her forehead, Ram relaxed her lips. Her gaze rested upon Batenkaitos.
Truly Batenkaitos — not the petty existence that had borrowed others' faces and techniques, but Batenkaitos returned to his own face and form.
No matter whom he became, no matter whom he relied upon or clung to, he could never escape from himself.
Just as Ram's breaking of her horn had not changed the fact that she was an Oni.
Just as the theft of her "Memories" had not changed the fact that she was Rem's sister.
"At least for your final moments, try to resist with your own strength?"
" — — —"
"Oh, that's right. You said something interesting on the spiral staircase. — It seems you have younger siblings. Why not show some pride for your brother and sister's sake?"
Batenkaitos, collapsed on the ground, suddenly stopped breathing.
He had not lost his life. He had reacted to Ram's words.
Brother and sister — the moment those words reached his ears, his breathing settled ever so slightly. Then, slowly, Batenkaitos rose to his knees — "Our... my... sister..."
"Don't touch them' — is that what you'd say? I'm afraid you're hardly in a position to make such a claim. Have you ever once lent your ear to someone else's plea?"
"But still..."
" — — —"
With his bloodied face twisted in anguish, Batenkaitos pleaded through tear-choked sobs.
At that sorrowful, desperate appeal, Ram narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. Then, with a sigh, she lowered her gaze — "Let me think —"
"Sister... you're too kind."
In that instant — the instant her gaze wavered — Batenkaitos left those words behind and vanished.
The spatial jump of Dulkel, the "Leaper." Without leaving so much as a trace, the desecrator disappeared from sight.
He had fled.
△▼△▼△▼△ "Ahah! Ahahaha! Ahaaaahahaha!"
Employing the supernatural ability of Dulkel, the "Leaper," Batenkaitos had escaped from Ram's domain.
He would not even entertain the insane notion of devouring Ram anymore. Without a shred of dignity, he chose flight.
He could not win. He could not win. He could not win against that.
Just as he had thought, that thing was a monster. Even if he had bought time, she would only return stronger — beyond anything he could handle.
She was not the kind of existence that belonged on a plate of "fine cuisine" or a plate of "bad food." She existed entirely outside both.
"I feel bad for Louis and Roy, but you know — fine dining requires proper preparation!"
Pressing down on his wounds, Batenkaitos sneered at his younger siblings, who had been hunting the same prey.
Louis had already withdrawn from the battle, and Roy was probably rampaging somewhere else. If anything, if the Oni targeted the two of them, he could make a clean getaway.
The "Bad Food" Roy did not know when to quit, so he might actually die this time. But that was just too bad.
In truth, Roy's "Bad Food" had been a constant annoyance. He was always ravaging the feeding grounds as he pleased — some of the "fine cuisine" that should have come Batenkaitos's way had surely been stolen.
— No. Had what he had eaten thus far truly been "fine cuisine"?
"Every last one of them, useless... Ah, damn it! Damn, damn, damn! To think something like that exists! I wish I had never known!!"
It was not the sentiment of a younger sibling longing for an elder.
It was an overwhelming desire for something immeasurable, something magnificent — born from within Batenkaitos, a fierce and genuine yearning that came from the very bottom of his heart.
He wanted to devour that. He wanted to savor it with his entire being.
He had styled himself a "Gourmet," believing he had consumed all manner of emotions and exceptional talents. But now that he knew the "real thing" existed, everything had gone pale and colorless.
Everything that Rai Batenkaitos had gathered and cherished as the Sin Archbishop of "Gluttony" had crumbled to dust.
That magnificent feast that had once glittered so brilliantly had been reduced to a child's sandbox play with mud pies.
"I want that."
He wanted it, wanted it, wanted it wanted it wanted it — If it meant tasting that, he would throw everything away.
If it meant devouring that, he would not regret losing everything he had accumulated.
He did not want to taste anything else. He did not want to fill himself with anything else.
"Buh... bleh..."
As he ran, vomit spilled from the corner of Batenkaitos's mouth.
It was not caused by pain or suffering. It was simply unbearable. To learn that what he had believed to be supreme was not so — to have known the absolute — had made everything that fulfilled him feel repulsive.
Why had he ever thought anything other than that was wonderful? Praised it? Savored it?
If he could not love anything other than what was truly wonderful, then what sort of "Gourmet" was he — "Aaah, that's it, that's it, yes, that's right, of course, of course it is! Gluttony! Binge eating!"
The welling appetite, the satisfaction of his hunger, and the heartfelt scream of desperate want.
He wanted to become one. He wanted to merge. If appetite could incorporate the external, then the "Gluttony" that drove him was the ultimate form of love.
"I love you, I love you... Yes! I love you! Sister — no, Ram! We love you —"
The supreme emotion that had sprouted within him — the words he was about to scream — cut off abruptly.
The cause was pain. A new agony had surfaced.
" — ?"
Clutching his cheek, Batenkaitos examined his blood-soaked palm.
A fresh cut — a gash that had torn across his cheek as he fled toward the tower's exterior. The cause: empty space.
" — — —"
Reaching silently into that void, Batenkaitos watched his own fingertip be sliced.
In the empty space, there were invisible blades.
"Ha."
It was the same technique Batenkaitos himself had demonstrated to Ram on the spiral staircase.
The art of setting invisible blades in space — a technique of legendary shinobi. But whose "Memory" it had belonged to did not matter anymore; he had already discarded it.
The problem was that these blades were here, and he had no memory of placing them.
"No way..."
He avoided the blade that had nicked his finger and tried to advance deeper — only for his toes to be blown off. He let out a shrill yelp and staggered backward.
Then, the back of his head was shallowly grazed as well, and he stood rigid with his face locked in a grimace.
— He was surrounded by invisible blades.
"You... have to be kidding."
She had only shown them once.
In the heat of battle, she had used them only once — and since they were invisible, he likely hadn't even seen them properly.
Moreover, she had not even set foot in this place. And yet, she had predicted his escape route and preemptively laid invisible blades in his path.
" — — —"
Batenkaitos covered his still-intact right eye with his hand — not the left, which had been crushed by wind blades. — Through "Farsight," Ram shared this very eye.
She had not let him go. Overlapping through this eye, she would not let him escape.
"Heh."
Batenkaitos laughed. There was nothing left but to laugh.
He had loved her. For the first time, he had burned with an intense, overwhelming desire for something. Her otherworldly power — he was smitten by it.
And then — "Aaah! Wait, wait! I waited, I waited — just a little more! Just a little more is all I need! Just a little — !!"
He knew perfectly well that no matter how desperately he appealed through "Farsight," his voice would not reach her.
That was precisely why his desperate pleas were not meant for her to hear. They were meant to drive himself forward.
In a frenzy, Batenkaitos threw himself against the adjacent wall.
He had been too hasty in discarding what he had consumed. If he had still possessed the "Fist King's" extraordinary talent, he could have done this without difficulty.
Setting those emotions aside for the moment, Batenkaitos slammed his arm into the invisible blades. Both wrists were severed, and blood erupted from the wounds.
It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt — but pain, right now, did not matter.
"Accept our feelings! Bear witness to our wish!"
He simply pressed his blood-gushing arms against the wall and, with every ounce of strength, wrote.
In dark blood, using his small body to its fullest, he inscribed enormous letters upon the sandstone wall of the tower.
"Buhah..."
Then he pulled back and, with his right eye wide, gazed upon what he had written.
Those blood-written words on the wall — so that they would reach the one he desired from the bottom of his heart.
Because she would surely, until the very last moment, bear witness while remaining overlapped with him.
"Aaah, I love —"
— Before he could finish, the head of the Sin Archbishop of "Gluttony" was sliced clean off by a blade of wind.
△▼△▼△▼△ " — Hmph."
Ram flicked her finger, releasing the wind blade, and uttered a single word.
The magnitude of magic affected its range, but the power itself did not change significantly. Especially when it came to the sharpness of wind blades — to sever a thin neck required only the minimum amount of power.
Pursuing the retreating "Gluttony," Ram launched a single wind blade.
The desperate, fleeing footsteps of "Gluttony" were easy to track through "Farsight." She had employed a small delaying trick to ensure her aim was precise, and it seemed to have worked well enough for an improvised measure.
And then, at the very instant before the final blade reached him, "Gluttony" committed an extraordinary act.
He severed his own arm and used the blood to write upon the wall.
It was repulsive, grotesquely one-sided — a malicious act of spite not even worth witnessing. But — " — — —"
She watched the blood-written words spin and fly through the air in their final moments, then closed her eyes.
She needed to confirm it in order to feel at ease. That was all. There was not a shred of any sense of duty compelling her to bear witness.
The desecrator had made his final choice in error.
If he had risked his life for his siblings, Ram might not have withheld her mercy. But he had used them as bait to scheme against Ram, making them tools for his own survival.
He probably did not even know a way to return what he had consumed. If he had, he would have used that as a bargaining chip to beg for his life. — He had not. And so, he would receive his due.
"He who wields the sword shall fall by the sword. He who clings to sorcery shall perish by sorcery. He who entrusts himself to flame shall be consumed by flame. — And he who appeals to an Oni shall be destroyed by that which he clung to."
That was Ram's belief in the principle of retribution.
She lowered her arm and exhaled a long breath.
Then Ram turned and retraced her steps down the thoroughly ravaged corridor. She had deliberately kept her distance — one could not fight at close range without risking collateral damage.
The frustrating sense of distance made her footsteps quicken of their own accord.
" — — — !!"
As she clambered over the collapsed walls, what greeted her was the high cry of an earth dragon.
The jet-black earth dragon had used its body to cleverly shield Rem behind it. Worst case, if the one who returned had not been Ram, it had clearly been prepared to serve as a shield instead.
Even in this battered state, it faithfully tried to uphold Subaru's orders — truly an earth dragon unworthy of Subaru — "No, that's not right. Did you want to protect Rem as well?"
" — — —"
"Yes. ...Good girl,
Gently, Ram stroked the earth dragon's neck.
She too — covered in wounds — would need to be carried to the "Green Room" soon. Even with such loyal devotion, the earth dragon could not be pushed any further with injuries like these.
Ram did not wish to impose upon her sister's savior — the noble dragon.
After thanking the earth dragon, Ram knelt behind her to where Rem lay.
The sharing of horn power through "Synesthesia" had already been released, and no horn remained on her forehead. However, the backlash from shouldering power equivalent to a demon god's was undeniably corroding her body.
Even thinking of the backlash that would soon visit her own body made Ram's heart grow heavy.
But — "Now is not the time for such gloomy thoughts."
Slowly kneeling, Ram placed her hand against the cheek of her sleeping sister.
The bond of sisterhood she had never truly felt before — it now came with a far more tangible sense of certainty, and she felt love and preciousness overflow within her.
Her horn had been broken. She had lost the power of the demon god's reincarnation. She had lived her life up to this day.
What had that night of flames been for? Until now, Ram had concluded it was for the purpose of becoming herself, and she did not think that conclusion was wrong.
But starting from this moment, it had changed.
The reason Ram's horn had broken that day — "It was so that today, right here, Ram could know that she is Rem's sister."
Through "Synesthesia" — through the touch of soul upon soul, sharing a single world — she could now truly feel that they were twin sisters, an irreplaceable pair of older and younger.
"I want to talk with you more than ever before. About what kind of time you and Ram spent together. What kind of yesterdays you shared — let's fill in the missing memories together."
Because time does not stop, but keeps flowing onward, there will always be more memories stacking up for the future.
And so, so that everything would not be lost in oblivion — not knowing, not remembering — night after night, she would let memories bloom as many times as it took.
"Let's talk about many, many yesterdays."
The "Sleeping Princess" did not answer.
But rather than being weighed down by that silence, Ram smiled, filled with something warm.
Still smiling, no longer doubting her own feelings, she moved her lips.
"I love you, Rem."
No matter what kind of time the two of them might have spent together, this feeling alone would never be betrayed.
It was a curious coincidence that she spoke the same words as the twisted Sin Archbishop's final utterance — but though the sound was the same, the resonance was entirely different.
Those who did not know love, and those who lived by love — their voices would never, ever carry the same resonance.
Never — the same resonance.