—She was called "The
There were two things that surprised her. One was that it had been so long since she'd been treated as "The Witch of Envy." The other was that being treated as "The Witch of Envy" hadn't hurt her.
More than a year had passed since the Royal Selection began, and in the Kingdom of Lugnica, there was almost no one left who didn't know that a half-elf with silver hair and violet eyes was one of the candidates.
In Subaru's style of speaking, Emilia was famous for being Emilia.
As a result, the opportunities for the usual Emilia to wear her perception-blocking robe had decreased. She wore it properly in the Empire only so people wouldn't recognize her as Emilia.
That was why being called "The Witch of Envy" was something she hadn't experienced in a long time. And even when called that, she wasn't shaken—she could say with certainty that wasn't true.
The conviction that there were people who recognized her as Emilia, who said they loved her.
"I'm Emilia, just Emilia. I'm not The Witch of Envy."
Supported by that conviction, standing straight, Emilia was able to retort to the other person.
After responding, Emilia stared intently at the familiar white-haired woman before her.
"You also look... super alike, but you don't seem to be
"—. You have quite the imagination. However, I am a creation of the Creator, not a blood relative. Required correction."
"Creation... of a creator..."
Frowning at the unfamiliar words, Emilia only understood that the other person had denied being Echidna's sister.
Thinking calmly, Echidna was a girl from four hundred years ago, so it would be very strange for her and her sisters to meet here. Of course, given that the dead were rising, it wasn't impossible to think Echidna and her sister might be among them.
"But you seem perfectly alive—not dead at all."
The woman who resembled Echidna closely didn't have the pallid complexion or the dead stare of the revenants. Compared to Echidna, her expression might be just slightly stiffer.
The Echidna Emilia knew had often made mean faces. The last sorrowful face she'd shown was still strongly etched in Emilia's heart.
"Um, now that I know you're not Echidna, can I ask your name?"
"Yes, being called by the Creator's name makes me feel uneasy as well. Please, call me 'The Witch of Greed.'"
"...Is there a slightly easier name to call you?"
"—. Required correspondence. Other than that,
"Oh. ...Sphinx!?"
The moment she heard a proper name, Emilia realized it was the same name as the central figure causing the Great Calamity.
In Emilia's understanding, Sphinx was supposed to look exactly like Ryuzu.
"So Ryuzu-san, Echidna... people connected to the
"You know about the Sanctuary as well? It seems there are more connections between you and me than I anticipated... Emilia, you're one of the Royal Selection candidates, the same as Priscilla Barieel?"
"Huh? Yes, that's right. I need to find Priscilla quickly and bring her back—"
"—Required elimination."
In that instant, the woman who tilted her head slightly—Sphinx—released white light from her fingertips, and Emilia deflected it at an angle with an ice mirror she reflexively conjured.
If Emilia's specialty had been earth rather than fire, a wall of earth or stone might have been pierced in one shot, resulting in a fatal wound.
It was an attack that made you think so—an assault filled with killing intent so chilling it made your blood run cold.
And moreover— "You're starting so suddenly again!"
The white light wasn't just a single shot. Chasing after Emilia as her silver hair danced, the heat beam carved through the world, and the battle had begun.
The opponent resembled Echidna and, like Echidna, apparently excelled at magic.
But the same was true of Emilia.
"If you want to play it that way, I'll go all out too! I'll freeze you in place and drag you to where Subaru and the others are!"
"I have no desire to meet them again. So I will take your life here and see what kind of face Priscilla Barieel makes."
"—! You know where Priscilla is?"
Slicing through the indiscriminate light attacks from every direction with an ice sword that shone like a mirror, Emilia's violet eyes sparkled at Sphinx's words.
She had a vague feeling of wanting Priscilla to be in the Crystal Palace, and believed she was there, but if Sphinx could reveal her exact location, that would be best of all.
Emilia grew all the more determined not to lose. At her rival's fighting spirit, Sphinx narrowed her eyes slightly—sharing Echidna's face—and said, with a hint of irritation, "I also find it problematic if I cannot secure this location. —Required repulsion."
She murmured that, quietly.
△▼△▼△▼△ The battle that began inside the tower operating the magic crystal cannon emplacement set at the Crystal Palace's uppermost level.
The space was perhaps too large when considering the objective, but it still had walls and a ceiling—a closed environment that was advantageous for the shinobi Olbart.
The shinobi's techniques were known for their variety and adaptability. That was a development born from the need to accomplish missions in any environment, but every technique ultimately concluded by latching onto the opponent's life.
This was an ideal space for achieving that.
"In a cramped place, a mage'd be stifled and die, wouldn't they?"
Combat was about forcing your strengths onto your opponent's weaknesses.
That was the foundation of Olbart's fighting style as a shinobi. Rather, Olbart deliberately avoided specializing in any particular strength, in order to respond to any opponent's weakness.
Before Olbart became the leader, shinobi were generally encouraged to specialize in one art.
But the ideal of specialization was a privilege reserved only for those like Cecils or
Olbart didn't care how many people besides himself died, but he did possess enough compassion to pity shinobi who were taught only wrong things and perished.
That was why, when Olbart became the leader, he immediately abolished the teaching of single-art specialization.
Rather than blindly honing his own specialty, he trained exhaustively in strategies to crush his opponent's strengths and prepared techniques to lead situations into ones where he could do so. Even so, those rarely bore fruit. Only a handful truly took shape, the last being a genius girl from the village four or five years ago.
That genius girl also seemed to have died, so talent development was nothing but a loss.
—Truly, my life has been full of nothing but regrets.
"So at least give me meaning in having lived until I withered away."
Kicking off the floor, sending fragments of shattered stone flying to smash the "Witch's" head— At the same time, Olbart swung his armless right hand and his armed left hand to either side, hurling kunai that arrived on a time delay, and then detonated the push-off from his rear foot.
Even if she dodged the flying debris, even if she evaded Olbart's knife-hand strike, even if she shot down the kunai closing in from both sides—any one of those would chip away at the "Witch's" mobility and let him latch onto her life.
That shinobi assault— "—Required consciousness reform."
The white-haired "Witch," eyes narrowed just slightly, did nothing and took it all.
"——"
Her forehead was split by the flying debris, kunai embedded in her neck and thigh, and finally Olbart's knife-hand pierced through the center of her chest—through it all, the "Witch" didn't move a single step.
She couldn't react to Olbart's movements. —No, the "Witch's" gaze had been tracking his movements. Olbart judged that she wasn't as dull-witted as she appeared.
In other words, the "Witch" could have done something but chose to take everything without resistance. —No, she would act now.
In the next instant, countless fist-sized orbs of light materialized around the "Witch" and Olbart, who were in close proximity.
"Olbart!"
At Mogro's cry—who sensed the same thing—Olbart raised one long eyebrow and looked at the "Witch."
The "Witch" didn't so much as twitch her beautiful expression, observing Olbart's next decision. That gaze made him feel as though his ninety years were being peered into, and it made him nauseous.
And yet, Olbart prioritized. Rather than the "Witch's" life, he chose to sever her objective.
Even with fatal wounds across his body and his chest pierced, keeping his hand pressed on the pedestal—he cut off the "Witch's" mana flowing into the Crystal Palace's magic core.
"Harassment is the true essence of the shinobi, after all."
In that instant, his rising fingertips blew away the "Witch's" wrist as it reached for the pedestal—and the countless orbs of light surged forth, aimed at Olbart's diminutive frame along with the "Witch" herself.
△▼△▼△▼△ "—Yorna Misguere!"
The moment he detected the disturbance, Vincent shouted at Yorna, who had stepped away from the battlefield to observe from above.
The voice that descended from the half-destroyed magic crystal cannon emplacement above belonged to that "Vile Old Man" and carried an urgency that made it impossible to maintain his usual airy composure.
Glancing to the side, Vincent met the eyes of Eugold, who was wielding the Yang Sword and holding off the surrounding revenants beside him.
"Go ahead."
Briefly—and with Eugold having already sensed his intent—Vincent left things to him and dashed toward Yorna. Receiving Vincent's gaze, Yorna looked momentarily blank, then tightened her lips and released the hand of the deer-person girl beside her—
"Tanza, I'm entrusting Lord Vincent to you!"
"—! Yes, understood!"
At Yorna's call, Tanza clenched her jaw, clasped both hands, and lowered her hips slightly. Perceiving the intent behind Tanza's movement, Vincent lightly leaped and placed his foot in the girl's small hands.
In the next instant, using the momentum of those slender arms swinging upward, Tanza hurled Vincent into the air—straight up, toward the Crystal Palace's uppermost level.
"—!"
Compensating for the insufficient flight distance and momentum by kicking off the castle wall, Vincent reached the uppermost level, over fifty meters above. It was like the shortcut Cecils would take when too lazy to climb stairs—the thought flitted through his head—but it quickly dissipated.
Because Olbart, up close, was a sight Vincent was seeing for the first time.
"Kakakak...! You really think I'd die from that? What a joke!"
Slumped against the wall of the half-destroyed emplacement with one knee raised, Olbart laughed in a low voice. But his entire body was drenched in blood, and his trademark long eyebrows drooped. Most severe of all, following the loss of his right arm, his left arm had been blown off as well.
For Olbart to struggle this much—just how powerful an opponent had been here?
—No, now was not the time.
"Talk before you die. What is the 'Witch's' scheme?"
"Kak, using old men so rough, ain't ya? ...Take one look at Mogro, and you'll get it."
"Mogro Hagane..."
Turning at Olbart's blood-coughed words, Vincent looked past him to the pedestal installed deep in the ravaged emplacement, and the green Magic Crystal set within it—the magic core.
The Crystal Palace, built with lavish use of magic crystals, was in truth a condensed body of extraordinary mana—and as such, it was equivalent to an enormous bomb. The reason it could sit prominently in the imperial capital, the heart of the Empire, was the existence of the magic core that controlled it all.
The magic core—that was the heart of the Crystal Palace. —Vincent could see with his black eyes that the green glow of that very heart was abnormally intensifying.
What that meant— "—Overloading the magic core, intending to blow up the imperial capital along with the Crystal Palace!"
"Olbart stopped it. The 'Witch,' halfway through, was stopped."
Vincent recoiled at the true meaning behind the "Witch's" mechanism that Olbart had described, and the voice of the magic core—Mogro Hagane—confirmed it.
As mentioned before, what kept the Crystal Palace's magic crystals remarkably stable was the magic core. By flooding the magic core with vast amounts of mana, the "Witch" had placed enormous stress on its processing capacity. This caused the magic core to lose its control function, destabilizing the equilibrium of the magic crystals and attempting to blow the city sky-high.
Understanding this much, a brief hitch crossed Vincent's mind.
"The 'Witch' was present here at this location? Before the fire?"
"No. The 'Witch' wasn't burning. Olbart and I attacked together."
"——"
Despite Mogro's words, Vincent's doubts weren't resolved.
The Sphinx who had been called the "Witch" on this battlefield had been caught in Chisha and
If so, did that mean there were two "Witches"? Or perhaps— "We must prioritize this."
Cutting off his stray thoughts, Vincent looked down at the magic core.
Thanks to Olbart's desperate fight, the magic core's rampage and the imperial capital's destruction had been averted—or rather, merely postponed. Looking at the core's state, he could already see it had lost all stability.
Fire had entered the magic core. Its explosion was now unavoidable.
"—Mogro Hagane, you have served well up to this point."
When he confirmed that fact, Vincent addressed Mogro with those words.
As "Steel Man" Mogro Hagane—
There was only one way Vincent could repay his loyal subject.
"I will surely fulfill your wish—the tranquility of the Volachia Empire."
"—. Lord, I am grateful. Lord, you do not lie."
"Fool. If necessary, I'd deceive anyone and everyone."
"You deceive people. You do not deceive me."
At Mogro's words, which carried an air of conviction, Vincent let out a faint breath and relaxed his lips.
This stone doll that should have had no blood flowing through it—this "Meteor"—was, in the Empire, a world of political machinations, a precious existence almost too good to be true.
"...What's your plan, Lord?"
"There's no way to remove the magic core from the pedestal, nor to carry it out. If so, we have no choice but to burn both the core's collapse and the Crystal Palace itself to nothing.—'Yang Sword' Volachia."
When Olbart asked, Vincent glanced at the Yang Sword he held in a tight grip.
Calling Eugold over and wielding two Yang Swords—that would be meaningless. What was needed for the coming event was not the number of strikes, but the output.
To burn the magic core and the power it contained with the Yang Sword's flames. Before the power overflowing from the core swallowed the Crystal Palace, swallowed the imperial capital, and blew it all away.
In all likelihood, everything would be settled in a mere instant.
"Or do you have another idea?"
"Hmm? Ideas? I'd surrender if I could, but I don't even have both hands. If you can't think of one, Lord, then nobody in the entire Empire—no, the whole world—could think of one either, I reckon."
"Hmph."
At the old man who shrugged his armless shoulders, Vincent snorted softly.
As if someone other than Vincent couldn't come up with a countermeasure—the old man was flattering him. If it had been Subaru, Chisha, or Priscilla here instead of Vincent— "Stop thinking pointless things, you foolish Vincent Volachia."
Thus casting himself as a fool, Vincent raised the Yang Sword with both hands.
Facing the growing glow of the magic core on the pedestal, he called upon the power of the Yang Sword, the crimson sword that was the Volachia Empire's treasure, in his capacity as the current Volachia Emperor.
In the next instant, the air around Vincent—no, around the Yang Sword—grew hot, and the world began to shimmer and distort like a mirage. Dust burned, the air was scorched, the mana in the atmosphere was forcibly rewritten to the fire attribute, amplifying the Yang Sword's brilliance.
The crimson blade began to whiten with the heat it emitted, a sign of the rising flames.
"Now that's some scary stuff."
Olbart, present in the same space and bearing the full brunt of the Yang Sword's heat, felt a quiet astonishment at the sword's mounting power.
In truth, the Yang Sword was rarely drawn. Even Olbart, who had lived to see three emperors in his lifetime, was seeing the Yang Sword display this kind of power for the first time.
Vincent himself had never released the Yang Sword's power this far either.
However— "—Not enough."
Even as he felt an unprecedented surge of power, Vincent was certain of the output's inadequacy.
Calculating from the continuously rising pressure of the magic core and the ratio of magic crystals used in the Crystal Palace's construction, the current output of the Yang Sword could not burn away the full force of the resulting explosion. This wasn't a matter of reducing it somewhat—what was required was complete annihilation.
And that was difficult with Vincent's incomplete Yang Sword.
Vincent Volachia's Yang Sword could not display its true value.
The reason was simple and clear—Vincent had kept his own sister, Prisca Benedict, alive and had not formally completed the Imperial Selection Ceremony. He was a false emperor who had ascended to the throne by deceiving all the imperial citizens, unworthy of the emperor's title.
Therefore, the Yang Sword Volachia would not grant Vincent its true power.
The same was true for Eugold, one of the successive emperors, in regards to the Yang Sword's true value.
The Yang Sword lent its power to Eugold, a revenant, solely through the imperial bloodline, but its true essence resided only in the current, authentic emperor.
Was he going to have to challenge it with an incomplete Yang Sword? Or— "—In exchange for my life."
Offering a price, he sought the summoning of the Yang Sword's true flame.
It was a choice that could negate the promise he had just made with Mogro, but if it was necessary, Vincent would do it.
Everything was the result of the path Vincent had chosen. Standing where he was now was the culmination of the results of every choice.
Therefore— "There is a duty I must—"
"—There's no such thing, Abel-chan."
The Yang Sword gripped tight, Vincent was about to offer even his life as the price. But the hand of someone standing beside him—a white hand—pressed down on his.
In the gaps of consciousness he'd neglected due to total concentration, it was a tall woman who had drawn close. Vincent's eyes widened at the blue eyes peering at him from the side.
"
"Hehe, I came!"
"——"
Blushing, Medium answered that, and Vincent was left wordless.
This place, where the Yang Sword's heat continued to rise, was no longer fit for even normal humans to breathe. She had abruptly intruded into such a place, and yet—she was smiling.
With that smile, still pressing down on Vincent's hand, "I know Abel-chan carries huge responsibilities. But don't go killing yourself, okay? I hate that kind of thing the most."
"Consider the gravity of the matter. You have no right to voice an opinion in the first place."
"Huh~! I do! I'm going to be Abel-chan's wife, aren't I!?"
"That's—"
"You said it was fine!"
"——"
"You said it!"
Being pushed so forcefully, Vincent was overwhelmed by Medium's vehemence. It was different from the pressure of those who sought his life or his latent political enemies.
It was the kind of thing Vincent had no defense prepared against.
"Face reality. No matter how much you cherish the position of Empress, if the Empire itself—"
It was at the moment he tried to push her away.
His cheek was struck by a sudden impact, and Vincent's face snapped to the side in surprise. Still stunned, he turned to look at Medium. —At Medium, who had slapped the Emperor's cheek.
"Don't you ever say why I worry about Abel-chan. Not like that. Not ever again."
"You..."
Medium's face tightened with resolve as she said that, and Vincent couldn't help but blink. Seeing this, Medium went "Ah!" in surprise.
"That's the first time I've seen Abel-chan close both eyes~"
At her beaming words, Vincent couldn't say anything.
He kept his eyes open. Closing both eyes at once could endanger the Emperor's life. That was Volachia's iron rule, and Vincent had followed it even in sleep.
That rule had been broken. Not to take his life, but by a woman who slapped his cheek out of concern for him.
"Kakakak! Hey, hey, this ain't the time for that—what a sight!"
The dying old man loudly interjected at seeing Vincent's composure waver. Regaining his reasoning and judgment, Vincent gritted his teeth.
It was true he'd been momentarily thrown off, but nothing about the situation had changed.
The imperial capital, the Empire, the world—they were still on the brink of destruction. And— "It's going to be all right, Abel-chan, it's all right."
Medium continued to smile at Vincent, who gritted his back teeth.
It was baseless—mere emotion driven by unfounded hope. The kind of thing Vincent despised most in debate, with no potential for development.
—And yet, how many times had that kind of emotion he so loathed tormented him, saved him, since he was driven from the throne?
"—How about it, Lord? My little sister is quite something, isn't she?"
That was when it happened.
A voice that seemed to see through the reason for Vincent's silence as though it were its own matter—as though it had endured the same thing— △▼△▼△▼△ In the end, Barloy Temegryph mocked himself for always being half-hearted.
While alive, he served the Empire and also defied it.
And even after death, he defied the Empire, and in the end— "Serving the Empire? That ain't really my style, y'know."
Barloy said that, and in his chest was a hole—the mark of his defeat, pierced through by the worst mage's magic bullet, left gaping open.
—The battle in which Barloy wagered his wish ended in total defeat against an enemy who would use any means.
That mage had said something like "It was razor-thin, and either of us could have won~" but that was nothing but a pleasing lie.
In all likelihood, if they fought a hundred times, Barloy would lose all hundred. That was just how their matchup worked.
An ability to become utterly ruthless for a single objective.
In the end, even though he had risen from the dead with unfinished business and regrets as his reason, failing to follow through meant Barloy could never defeat an opponent colder than a revenant.
He couldn't abandon Medium, nor could he abandon the little sister he knew would die if left unattended. That was Barloy's weakness, and the entirety of why he lost.
"No. It's because Bal-nii is kind."
Medium wouldn't accept the reason for his defeat that Barloy himself had accepted.
Calling his weakness and softness "kindness," she was his proud little sister—one who, even though she'd grown taller, hadn't lost an ounce of her straightforward nature or her radiant smile.
Yes, little sister. Barloy had truly been blessed in the people he met.
Selena, Flop, Medium, Madeline—all of them.
His partner Carrion went without saying, and the many Imperial soldiers who had run alongside him as a "General," and the "Nine Divine Generals" as well.
But—despite being grateful for every single one of those encounters—he couldn't let go.
And that— "But even so, Bal-nii couldn't stop, could he?"
At Medium's tearful, smiling figure, Barloy was struck by something.
He'd thought she was completely unchanged from when they first met, but she had grown—she'd gone from a girl to a woman, and had even learned to smile in a different way like this.
He was the only one who stayed the same, treading in the same spot forever.
"...It seems the 'Witch' can only resurrect those who died in the Empire. To break that restriction, you'd have to destroy the Empire and expand the range to kingdoms and city-states beyond. Only then—only then could I..."
"—See
"——"
"I can tell. Because I've been watching Bal-nii all this time."
At Medium's words, Barloy felt two emotions keenly.
One was self-mockery at having his inner thoughts known, and the other was a faint jealousy. He understood the meaning of the smile Medium was showing for the first time.
"Medium, you've got someone you've fallen for?"
"Huh!? N-no, I don't! ...Probably."
"Close your eyes, and the first face that comes to mind—that's the one, isn't it?"
"That'd be you! Besides, Abel-chan never smiles... ah."
Medium pressed her hand to her mouth, a blush rising to her cheeks. At his little sister's reaction—another first—Barloy laughed. He laughed, and slowly sat up.
Barloy was truly half-hearted to the very end.
If he could hate that and cut everything off cleanly like that mage who defeated him, maybe he could become a different person.
"Hard pass on being that cold-blooded."
He couldn't be like that. He wouldn't become like that.
The half-hearted person he'd been since he was alive remained just as half-hearted in death.
Because he was the kind of person whose life and death, wishes and grudges were all so vague, he could say this: "Well then, let's go help the man Medium's fallen for."
"I told you, I don't know who that is yet!"
Her face flushed bright red, her expression different from both her childhood and her girlhood—there was no persuasiveness to be had when she insisted like that.
If a man made Medium make this face yet still made her sad, Barloy would kill him with his own hands. Putting himself aside, that's what he thought.
"—!"
At Barloy's selfish brotherly love, his inseparable partner Carrion whinnied in high spirits.
△▼△▼△▼△ —In that moment, without distinguishing the living from the dead, every soul in the imperial capital looked up at the sky.
No one could explain why.
If asked for their individual reasons, many could. Those with sharp senses felt the powerful mana wave, and those with keen ears heard the exultant roar of a flying dragon. Those who had been watching where the magic crystal cannon was fired, or those whose destination was the castle.
But while each could explain their own reason, none could explain the reason for everyone.
If anyone could, it would be only that singular flamboyant actor who had decided the world's rules within himself, and if asked, he would have declared simply and clearly— "—Of course, because it's someone's climax!"
He would have proclaimed it loudly, with a brilliant, radiant grin.
And no one in the Volachia Empire could deny that.
It was because of his power—and the only one who could deny him for a reason other than power was the one who ended up watching the reason for looking skyward pass before their eyes.
—Streaking, streaking upward, a brilliantly glowing green light drew a line across the sky directly above the Crystal Palace.
Drawing on and on, it flew into what had become a massive sea of clouds that seemed to gather every cloud in the imperial capital's sky— "———"
—In that instant, as though the sky itself blinked, the world blazed brilliantly with light.