——
Just as Priscilla had said, the combination of "Soul Marriage Arts" and the Dream Blade Masayume was poised to throw
Sphinx had achieved one of her twin objectives — reproducing the soul of the
And before Sphinx vanished after accomplishing that, she had to fulfill her remaining objective — let us call it what it was: revenge. Revenge against Priscilla Barrielle.
To that end, she had believed she played the strongest card left in her hand.
But then— "—You will stop the Magic Crystal Cannon?"
Watching miscalculation after miscalculation unfold before her eyes, Sphinx murmured quietly.
The surface of the water mirror she projected displayed various locations throughout the imperial capital
What particularly drew Sphinx's black eyes — those identical to the Witch of Greed's — was a boy and a Spirit who had single-handedly stopped a blow from the Crystal Palace's trump card: the Magic Crystal Cannon.
That Spirit in the form of a young girl had blocked the Magic Crystal Cannon using the same method even before Sphinx had led the dead as the "Great Calamity" to launch a full-scale offensive against the Empire. But in Sphinx's assessment, that effort should have required the Spirit to sacrifice its own existence.
To accomplish the same feat again in just two or three days while emerging unscathed defied all reason.
The reason behind that impossible feat was the boy in the Spirit's embrace — the one bound to it by a contract.
"Is it you again?"
The incomprehensible boy who, while teaming up with the Emperor of Volachia, had repeatedly foiled the schemes of the incomplete "Witch" Sphinx — before she had successfully reproduced the Witch of Greed.
In truth, had they failed to seize that final missing piece at the very last moment, Sphinx's three-hundred-plus years of tireless effort would have been ended by their hands.
And that threat persisted even now, after she had ascended to become the Witch of Greed.
"—The 'Yang Sword' of Volachia and the Authority of Gluttony."
Even after successfully reproducing the Witch of Greed — her lifelong ambition — Sphinx, who was still a corpse, could not escape the fact that those two abilities remained lethal vulnerabilities.
Therefore, while generating multiple copies of the same soul-sharing entity, Sphinx made a point of keeping herself away from the wielder of the Yang Sword and that Spirit Arts-using boy.
On top of that— "I shall win with every card in my hand."
"———"
Priscilla's expression, visible through the water mirror, shifted at Sphinx's words.
She had been faintly smiling. —To twist that smile into something tinged with sorrow and anguish rather than disgust or displeasure, Sphinx was prepared to throw everything she had into the fray.
△▼△▼△▼△ The hole that had appeared in the distant sky swallowed the fires of annihilation meant for the Volachia Empire.
"A fine feat. —However—"
While acknowledging the accomplishment, Emperor Vincent could not suppress the concern niggling at the back of his mind.
The repeated neutralization of the Empire's ultimate weapon, the Magic Crystal Cannon, was a problem.
—A nation always needs a deterrent force to give pause to foreign aggression.
A military of unmatched strength that no neighbor could stand against. Outstanding warriors without peer. Powerful weapons capable of overturning any predicament — the Empire's current splendor could not exist without any one of these pillars.
That weight of history was now being utterly eclipsed by the "Great Calamity" that had its roots in civil war.
"In a sense, you lot have already killed the Empire's iron-blooded order."
Gnashing the bitter taste of frustration between his back teeth, Vincent brandished the Yang Sword.
Before his eyes, surging past the wall of infernal flames laid out in a single line, new cadavers — different from any he had seen before — lunged at him.
What exactly was different about them? Simple. —Vincent had no memory of them.
"Ill-bred Witch — did you learn a lesson before you perished?"
Before the Crystal Palace, on the garden that had become a battlefield, the figures appearing one after another before Vincent, who was cutting down everything in his path along the front line, were all ancient cadavers who had surely etched their names into the history of the Volachia Empire.
Vincent could recall the face and name of every modern Imperial soldier, but he could not identify the true identities of cadavers reanimated from eras he had never personally encountered.
Based on his experience so far, the proportion of the dead called forth by the "Great Calamity" who came from the modern era was overwhelmingly high. To put it in extreme terms, it was as if those who died during combat with the cadavers were immediately reanimated as cadavers themselves. —A mere guess, but perhaps souls had a freshness to them as well.
Or perhaps, quite simply, the further back in time one went, the more difficult — or costly — the resurrection of the dead became.
That was why so many of the reanimated cadavers came from the modern era, and why the "Star Eater" effect used by Subaru and the others, cross-referenced with Vincent's memory, had been so powerful — but— "So those are the ones who don't fit the bill?"
No matter what additional conditions might be imposed on resurrection, the optimal strategy for countering "Star Eater" was to deploy cadavers who did not correspond to anyone in Vincent's memory. And before her soul was burned to ash, the "Witch" had apparently come to understand this.
The only way to defeat the unknown, powerful ancients blocking his path was with Vincent's Yang Sword. —No, even setting aside the Yang Sword alone, there was more than one other stroke available to Vincent.
"—Priscilla."
Thus murmuring the name of his sister whose fate after the retreat was still unknown, Vincent resumed his engagement with the cadavers closing in.
Prisca Benedict — now known as Priscilla Barrielle — his wayward younger sister.
When she had abandoned the Empire, changed her name, and become one of the Royal Selection candidates in the Kingdom of Lugnica, Vincent had nearly fainted upon verifying the facts. He had held himself upright, but barely.
She had not rushed to her homeland's aid out of any tender concern for the Empire or for Vincent. She had come to silence the assassin sent against her — and to face the hand that wielded that blade.
Mind you, that presumed daredevil had already lost her life.
"Chisha."
Chisha — who had deceived even Vincent himself and resolved to defy the "Great Calamity," the world's destiny — was one of the few who knew that Prisca had survived as Priscilla.
Chisha would have exploited the fierce temperament known since Prisca's era and even gone so far as to summon her as one of the few who could stand alongside Vincent in fighting back the "Great Calamity."
With that white Noh mask of his, Chisha might even have planned how to handle the imperial succession after the war — but— "For such elaborate preparation to be necessary, I find myself compelled to reassess my opinion of His Excellency."
Vincent clicked his tongue at Chisha's lingering echo — an utterance that was nothing less than a mass of insolence and treason toward the Emperor.
Shelving his frustration at a fantasy all too characteristic of the man, Vincent resolved to shoulder the responsibility for the conclusion regarding Priscilla's treatment — Chisha's parting gift.
For now, the guarantee of Priscilla's safety had been confirmed by the fact that Sphinx had been trying to lead Vincent to her. That would suffice for the moment.
As for making up the shortfall of Yang Sword bearers, it could be accomplished once Vincent adapted more fully to his role as the head of the Sword Wolf nation. —The instant he thought this— "—A splendid fight, truly. I, too, as your predecessor, am proud."
A deep, resonant voice struck Vincent's eardrums amid the clash of blades.
At the same time, a transcendent flash of the sword — one that compelled even the battle-hardened Vincent to call it extraordinary — cleaved his field of vision diagonally in two.
That single flash mowed down the ancient foes who had managed to wound Vincent's royal body, and for those he could not evade, it ignited their bodies — no, their souls.
In other words, it was the strike of the Yang Sword.
"———"
Just moments ago, he had judged that no reinforcement bearing that crimson sacred sword could be hoped for.
Therefore, the arrival of this impossible ally made Vincent's eyes widen ever so slightly. He stole a glance at the profile of the one who now stood back-to-back with him and drew a sharp breath.
He knew that face. —He had seen that form in an ancient painting.
"—The 'Briar Emperor'?"
"The imperial crown has already passed to the next generation and is surely yours now. For me to call myself the 'Briar Emperor' would be unseemly. —I am Eugard Volachia."
"———"
"Hmm. A keen and well-composed face. Come to think of it, I have never seen the faces of my children or descendants up close. If it were possible, I would like to exchange many words and look upon their faces for a long while."
To the one who continued thus — the cadaver who called himself Eugard Volachia — Vincent said nothing.
The serene aura about him, the intellect and vitality dwelling in his eyes and skin tone — these set him apart from every other cadaver Vincent had encountered. Why was it that this one alone lacked the hostility toward the living and the loss of free will that all the other reanimated dead displayed?
"It is love for my homeland."
"What?"
"I thought you might be seeking an answer as to why I do as I do. Was I mistaken?"
For a moment, Vincent probed the true meaning behind those words, then promptly abandoned the effort.
He reconsidered. If Eugard Volachia was truly the man spoken of in the ancient tale of "The Iris and the King of Thorns," then it would be foolish to doubt his ramblings.
Therefore— "I am Vincent Volachia, current Emperor of Volachia."
"Understood. Then let us march forth. —My children's children."
Eugard acknowledged Vincent's declaration, and the two emperors stood side by side.
It was, in form, an impossible alliance between Sword Wolves — a violation of the Volachia Empire's iron-blooded code of inheriting the throne in death, the "Rite of Imperial Succession."
△▼△▼△▼△ —In the imperial capital Lupugana, the fierce battle that would decide the world's fate continued.
The transcendent beings clashing at each apex settled their bouts one after another, and both the living and the dead exhausted every ounce of their strength — some fell, while others pressed onward.
As if mocking each of those desperate struggles, two calamities had sought to render it all for naught — the starlight falling from the heavens was cut down by a swordsman who refused to abandon his dream, and the fire of annihilation woven from the lives of countless Spirits was stopped by a boy who defied fate and the companions who supported him.
Both feats of prevention could be called the greatest results achievable with the power each side possessed.
Yet in this situation, where the starlight had been severed and the fire of annihilation extinguished, the one who had contributed most to the battle situation of the living was neither of the above.
It was the lone figure who had, without anyone's awareness — and even if aware, beyond anyone's reach — arrived at the "Great Calamity's" next move— "—Tch, you lot work this old man too hard, and him with one foot in the grave already."
Grumbling thus, the diminutive form of Orvalto Dunkelkenn — the "Vile Elder" — bounded upward.
The low leap of the ancient shinobi leader, his uncanny, ground-hugging movements — their target was the cadaver mage guarding the crimson blood magic circle drawn at the corridor's end.
The mage thrust his palm toward Orvalto, and from the surrounding walls and floor, black corruption surged forth to form chains, howling as they sought to bind the approaching elder's limbs—but— "I've been treading this path for ninety years, y'know?"
Faster than the chains could reach him, Orvalto swung his right arm — the arm that ended at the elbow — and from the empty sleeve's interior flung a throwing blade.
It pierced the forehead of the wary mage at superhuman speed, and the impact sent the opponent crashing into the magic circle on the wall. Immediately after, Orvalto's left palm drove through both the mage and the magic circle.
A lifetime of martial mastery, honed since the dawn of his awareness, shattered both mage and magic circle to smithereens.
He had been strictly ordered not to kill more cadavers than necessary, but the mages who tampered with souls and guarded the magic circles distorting the castle's space — like the one just now — were exceptions to that rule.
He had dispatched roughly ten of the mages guarding the magic circles that warped the castle's space— but— "—. Finally got that sorted, huh."
Feeling the change in the air through his desiccated skin, Orvalto murmured.
With the gaze hidden beneath his bushy eyebrows, he surveyed the interior of the Crystal Palace. The alien atmosphere that had pervaded it — the anomaly that had transformed the castle's familiar structure into a strange magic fortress — had loosened its grip.
Doors that should have connected didn't, and the windows one climbed through failed to deliver you to your intended destination. Whether it was an illusion-casting technique or magic that warped space itself, either way— "So the job's finally— wait, oh no, this is bad!"
From one crisis straight into the next — Orvalto's voice turned gravelly at the succession of anomalies.
No sooner had the spatial distortion been corrected than the Crystal Palace's next anomaly was painfully obvious. —The entire castle was beginning to radiate intense waves of Mana. The Magic Crystal Cannon had activated.
"Tch, that Mogro — couldn't you have held out just a little longer?"
Orvalto grumbled about Mogro Hagane — the "Steel Man," the living core of the Crystal Palace, the "
Up until now, brave little Mogro had held firm to Vincent's orders, resisting the Magic Crystal Cannon's use by the "Great Calamity" forces. But even that appeared to have been breached.
The Magic Crystal Cannon being available to the enemy as a weapon was extremely dangerous.
"If they aim this at the Fortress City, it'll be no laughing matter."
The "Fortress City" — drawing the vast army of the dead and fighting a siege to decide the Empire's fate — relied on its formidable walls as the backbone of the battle. If the Magic Crystal Cannon blew those away, the tide would turn in an instant and the city would be obliterated.
And that would be tantamount to the Volachia Empire suffering irrecoverable damage.
Even if Orvalto and the others managed to destroy the mastermind behind the "Great Calamity," losing everyone currently in the Fortress City would make rebuilding the Empire impossible. —That would mean the end of the Volachia Empire.
—Orvalto Dunkelkenn had harbored an ambition.
As a shinobi required to operate in the shadows of history, the head of those shinobi — he had longed to carve his name grandly and spectacularly into the annals of Imperial history, and in doing so, shatter the very foundation of what it meant to be a shinobi.
For that reason, he had been repeatedly tempted by the allure of bold, flashy acts — assassinating the Emperor, or staging an outright rebellion. Those ambitions had been thrown into disarray by the emergence of the "Great Calamity," and he had felt it was too late for betrayal, but now the moment had arrived.
If the Magic Crystal Cannon were used in a way that guaranteed the "Great Calamity's" victory, then Orvalto would cease to be an Imperial "general" and fulfill his personal ambition as a lone shinobi.
No matter what the "Great Calamity" schemed, he would dash magnificently to Vincent's side, steal victory right out from under them, and realize his own grand aspiration.
Therefore— "—And this was supposed to be my final betrayal."
Racing up through the castle where spatial distortions had been resolved, Orvalto reached the Magic Crystal Cannon's emplacement. There, his white eyebrows fluttering in the backlash of a cannon shot fired moments too late, he watched the fire of annihilation he had failed to prevent vanish into the great hole torn open in the sky.
Had the Magic Cannon sealed the Empire's doom, Orvalto would have betrayed the Empire without a shred of regret.
But it didn't come to that.
"Kah-hah-hah! That little brat pulled this off not just in the Magic City but here too! Talk about lacking the slightest shred of respect for your elders — kids these days, I swear!"
Catching sight of the black-haired boy and the Spirit girl in the distant sky, Orvalto let out a thunderous laugh.
This made twice the boy had foiled Orvalto's plans — together with the Chaos Flame incident. But he felt no anger or hatred toward the boy for it.
It wasn't that getting old made one prone to resignation in all things. Orvalto was terrible at giving up. So rather than resigning himself, he had simply acknowledged defeat.
"If the other guy's better than me, then there's nothing to be done about that."
Having lived close to a hundred years, the dreams Orvalto could not fulfill were beyond counting. Naturally, he had forced many of them into reality through sheer will. That was simply the way of things.
And so, he was able to let go of his desperate dream to assassinate the Emperor and etch his name into history — an act akin to the wolf-man's atrocity in slaying Iris in the tale of "The Iris and the King of Thorns," at least in the Empire's eyes.
Having released that dream, leaving his left hand empty, he formed a knife-hand— "—Now, will you humor my next dream? Becoming a hero who saves the nation?"
"———"
Before the lowly chuckling Orvalto, a white-haired woman stood just beside the emplacement.
At the topmost level of the Crystal Palace, on the Magic Crystal Cannon's platform where the fire of annihilation had just been unleashed, a torrential gale of Mana raged, wreaking havoc on every sense.
At its center, her hand resting on the pedestal where the magic core — the heart of the Crystal Palace's main weapon, studded with magic crystals of every size — was embedded, the white-haired woman smiled at him.
And then— "Your presence here is undesirable. —Target: elimination."
"Oh dear, Orvalto. She's a 'Witch.'"
The smiling woman — the "Witch" — began to stir a vortex of black wind around her, and the magic core itself spoke in Mogro's voice to warn him of the danger.
At that unmistakable warning from the "Steel Man," Orvalto gave a wry smile— "I know that already, dammit. —I may be old, but I'm not senile yet."
The "Vile Elder" kicked off the floor — ending his own dream, and in doing so, delaying the destruction of the Empire that should have been assured in this very moment.
△▼△▼△▼△ "Don't you dare let it through! —Fate, bring it on!!"
Beatrice's Al Shamak, held in their embrace, sent the single shot fired by the Magic Crystal Cannon flying off into the distance.
Feeling the power required for that drawn out of her own body in a swirling rush, Subaru nonetheless possessed a groundless conviction that he could bear the reckless thing Beatrice had done.
—No, now that it had succeeded, he could say it was a conviction with grounds.
"It's probably the power of our bond!"
Subaru's Cor Leonis distributed the burden — dispersing it across the distance among all members of the Pleiades Battle Flag, whom he remained connected to even now.
The ability simultaneously raised the collective power of the united group while also distributing the vital energy needed to lend a shoulder, push someone forward, and run together — so that no one was left behind.
It was the very power to realize "one for all, all for one."
He was fairly certain — with a pretty high degree of confidence — that in this moment, a tremendous burden had suddenly fallen on everyone fighting back at the Fortress City. But he wanted to believe they'd be fine.
Regardless— "Stopping that thing was pretty huge, wasn't it?!"
"Yeah! I totally thought they were aiming for the Fortress City, though…"
Watching the hole in the sky close, Subaru raised his voice to match Beatrice's.
They had thrown themselves into the line of fire in a desperate bid to stop the Magic Crystal Cannon, fully expecting its muzzle to be aimed at the Fortress City.
A shot that could obliterate a corner of the imperial capital was scary enough, but what was far more terrifying was the possibility of an irrecoverable blow landing on the Fortress City, where a century-defining battle was raging.
But having actually blocked it, the Magic Crystal Cannon had been aimed at the southern side of the capital.
"There's no way it was a pointless attack. There has to be some intent behind it."
"—Could it have been targeting that troublesome someone to the south? Garfiel?"
"Garfiel is definitely a little brother we'd be proud to put out anywhere, but…"
At the capital's southernmost First Apex, the "Cloud Dragon" Meseleia had been stationed in the role of guarding the widest perimeter, and Garfiel had been tasked with defeating it solo.
Frankly, it wasn't just a tall order — it was an impossible, reckless mission, but there was no one other than Garfiel who could handle it. Given its importance, it wasn't impossible that the enemy had targeted Garfiel.
"More fundamentally, who even fired it? We took down Sphinx — so who's calling the shots now?"
"…Could it be the resurrected Emperor of Volachia?"
"At this point, please don't give me any more reasons to want to help the Empire…!"
Just when they thought they'd defeated Sphinx leading the "Great Calamity," the specter of every past Emperor of Volachia lamenting the modern Empire's inadequacy and ascending to final boss status was the last thing they needed.
First of all, if that pattern held, there'd be no telling how many Emperors they'd have to beat.
"But I definitely sensed clear intent in the structure of that attack. So…"
"—Beako!"
Subaru grabbed Beatrice's soft cheeks in both hands while her drill twin-tails streamed in the freefall wind, forcibly turning her around as she squealed "Nnyaah!"
In their shared field of vision, tearing through the sky and bearing down with fearsome majesty — was the three-headed Evil Dragon Balgren, whom they had encountered in the dragon carriage convoy and which Halibel had supposedly brought down.
The Evil Dragon's three heads, its six pairs of golden eyes locked onto Subaru and Beatrice, unleashed a roar.
"———!!"
"This is bad — we can't move!"
"—! It's coming!"
With unmistakable hostility directed at them, Subaru and Beatrice braced themselves.
Against the Evil Dragon that cut freely through the sky, Subaru and Beatrice — embracing each other, in mid-air, in freefall, separated from Spica and Halibel, and for that matter, from Abel — were completely lost.
"——!"
As his thoughts blazed white-hot and the world slowed around him, Subaru desperately flipped through the mental cards in his hand.
His options were painfully few. The restart point for his next "Return by Death" remained unconfirmed. No allies could be summoned. Magic or Authority — he could manage one move.
A flash of inspiration — he pulled Beatrice close and was about to voice it when— "—Unlike me, you can't fly freely, can you? Try not to give me heart palpitations, will you?"
The instant the words left his mouth, a smile brimming with exasperation swept Subaru and Beatrice up.
Exactly one second later, the breath of the Evil Dragon swept through the air where they had been, but they had dodged it by a hair's breadth. The sensation of the slender arms that had brought this about made Subaru's eyes light up.
"—Nice timing, Roswaal!"
"How mortifying! Betty won't stand for being carried like this!"
"Oh my, oh my — such polar opposite reactions on either side."
Roswaal smiled wryly at the contrasting responses of the two he held tucked under each arm.
Like Garfiel and Halibel, he had been assigned the role of conquering the capital's apex, and had been flying freely through the sky with his magic, teasing the three-headed Balgren as he disrupted its movements.
Conducting aerial combat in the most literal sense, Roswaal glanced at Subaru and Beatrice— "You did well to stop the Magic Crystal Cannon. What's the situation?"
"Sphinx, defeated! We're starting the assault on the castle causing the zombie outbreak! Target of the Magic Crystal Cannon, unknown!"
"Concise and clear. …So, you defeated Sphinx. For that, I am both grateful and sorry…"
"—? Do you have some concern or complaint?"
Receiving Subaru's report, Roswaal's expression clouded and his words grew evasive.
Beatrice was usually harsh on every one of Roswaal's mannerisms, but her narrow-eyed look this time was not out of malice. Subaru, too, felt an unease at Roswaal's pensive expression.
Under their combined gaze, Roswaal said "No," and continued— "That one has been destroyed once in the past as well. I don't want to admit it, but the tenacity to achieve her goals and the meticulous planning behind them are not inferior to my own. —I just can't be certain yet."
"—He's the kind of man who uses his own name to make Beako and the others feel uneasy, you know…"
"Of course, I'm not saying she hasn't been defeated. But an enemy who would set a plan that ends in failure simply because she herself died — Sphinx would not have been a threat to the world for over three hundred years."
Subaru could not dismiss Roswaal's reasoning as mere pessimism.
Just as he said, if the "Witch" Sphinx had been a straightforward enemy, the Volachia Empire would never have come this close to annihilation.
In truth, the Magic Crystal Cannon that Subaru and the others had just blocked had been fired only after Sphinx's defeat. It was entirely possible that the "Witch" had other moves in play to bring the Empire down.
"Then we just have to crush all of them. For starters…"
"How about we quickly get that huge, noisy dragon — three times louder than a normal one — off the stage? It's giving me vertigo, Roswaal!"
Encouraged by Beatrice's goading, Roswaal smiled wryly — and the aerial battle against the Evil Dragon began.
△▼△▼△▼△ —Vincent and Eugard, two Volachia emperors who under normal circumstances would never have entrusted their backs to one another, danced their blade duel together, and a crimson flash of sword trailing infernal flames raged like a tempest.
"Amazing…"
At the scene that made her feel as though her eyes were being scorched,
Eugard had sensed the aura of battle from the direction of the Crystal Palace and gone ahead. By the time Tanza, hand in hand with Yorna, caught up, the two emperors' alliance was already underway.
Illuminated by the gleaming flashes of the Yang Sword, the cadavers whose souls were being burned away were all veterans — none seemed to have a significant power gap compared to that Reanimated called Rouan.
Yet the howling red sword-wind kept them at bay, and the tandem of Eugard and his allies — fighting without exchanging words or glances — overwhelmed them completely.
"…This is the first time I've seen Your Excellency fight alongside someone like that, sire."
Glancing at the same scene that had transfixed Tanza, Yorna murmured.
The complexity of the emotions packed into those words was beyond Tanza's ability to gauge. —The trembling gaze and the shaking voice were all products of years she could never stand beside to witness.
She understood clearly, without knowing the details.
Only that Yorna and Eugard, resurrected from an ancient era, had been lovers, and that the reason behind that was something far more than simply living a long time.
That accumulation of bonds unknown to Tanza made her feel as though the depth of her connection with Eugard was inferior.
"Tanza loves Your Excellency too. Both of you are precious to me. It's just that the way I love you in my heart is different, sire."
"Ah…"
The unease that crept into Tanza's chest — Yorna noticed it, and Tanza wanted to look away.
But Tanza resolved to hold firm, gripping the hand she held and drawing strength from the reason she was standing here. She refused to let herself feel any more pitiable.
She had to keep her face raised.
That was the one thing all the people she had admired until now had in common.
"——!"
She clenched her teeth hard and sharpened her senses.
She had been tasked with protecting Yorna — who was not in peak condition, perhaps wounded in her heart from the terrible battle against that Rouan. She could not rely on Eugard, who was in the thick of fighting, nor on
So since she couldn't recklessly join Eugard's battle, the most she could do was stay alert and be the first to notice any anomaly— "—Lady Yorna! That!"
Her vigilance paid off.
Eyes wide, Tanza pointed with her free hand toward the Crystal Palace's uppermost level. Looking up at the same thing, Yorna's narrow eyes also widened.
The object their gazes pierced was the hemispherical tower near the Crystal Palace's peak — a tower Tanza did not recognize, but which housed the emplacement of the Crystal Palace's trump card, the Magic Crystal Cannon.
The tower lit up from within, and the next instant, with a deafening explosion, the walls were blown outward. The tower was destroyed, scattering castle fragments everywhere, and Tanza blinked.
Then, from the billowing smoke, a small figure emerged— "Orvalto?"
The slightly bewildered tone of Yorna's voice was proof of her surprise at the sight.
Slowly revealing himself from the shattered wall, Orvalto was not his usual transcendent, aloof self — his tattered garments were stained with blood.
Noticing the living below — Tanza and the others — Orvalto called out in a death-defying voice, as if to confirm the alarming impression he was already giving— "Your Excellency! If this goes on, we're screwed! The 'Witch's' schemes aren't over yet!"
△▼△▼△▼△ At the same moment that Orvalto, in blood-soaked rags, cried out — cursing herself for acting on instinct rather than plan, Emilia stood where she stood.
Subaru and Abel had worked so hard to think through the best course of action, and going against their plans to split off with Tanza and Yorna had been a major decision.
"If it turned out to be just a gut feeling on my part, I'd have had to rush back to Tanza-chan and the others right away…"
A faint sense of something off, a shift in the air — the kind of thing easily dismissed as imagination — Emilia chased it, running not toward the Crystal Palace but further north.
And there, she found the person who should not have been there.
Simply being there didn't give her the right to assume the worst about anyone, regardless of who they were. But this particular someone was a slight exception.
Because— "I was so, so surprised! —Why is
At Emilia's call, the white-haired "Witch" turned around.
With a face of refined beauty touched by the faintest hint of surprise, she said: "That surprise is perhaps better directed at me. —'Witch of Envy,' is it?"