By the time
"In the end,
That was what Racinus added after finishing the damage report for their faction to Rom grandpa, who had just woken up.
It wasn't hard to imagine the sense of defeat churning in Racinus's chest—he couldn't very well hide the bitterness. Naturally, the same defeat sat heavy deep within Rom grandpa's broad chest as well.
But between Rom grandpa and Racinus, there was a difference in the number of lost battles they'd walked through.
"The number of losses on my record... nothing to be proud of, that's for certain."
In the course of Rom grandpa's life, could victories and white marks even be counted on both hands?
Even when he managed to secure a局部 victory, his final tally always came up short—that was the win-loss record of an old giant who'd grown old for nothing. In every one of those lost battles, he had barely managed to scrape out alive with his life. Whether that was something to be proud of or not, he honestly couldn't judge for himself.
Having survived, having lived to show his shame, Rom grandpa had also been able to encounter things that were irreplaceable. —Though right now, those irreplaceable things had been taken from him.
"How's Felt doing? Is there any way to find out...?"
"Ha, unfortunately, Manfred's 'Gift of Far Sight' got taken out. The helmet guy too—but that maid of his didn't miss a beat. Getting away with just having your eyes gouged out was a mercy, if you ask me."
"As expected of them. They wouldn't leave it be. An idle hope, that was."
The Gift of Far Sight that came up in conversation was an extremely useful type of Gift, both strategically and tactically, that allowed its user to locate and monitor the position of a target from a great distance.
The one who had been using it was Manfred Madisson, who ran the 'Libra' within the
The 'Black Silver Coin' and the 'Flower Hell Garden' were also organizations deeply rooted in Flanders, but unlike those, the 'Libra' was a group that existed even outside the city—one with a long, problematic history.
What was especially noteworthy was the Libra's technology for stealing Gifts—Rom grandpa speculated that they somehow used a proxy body to utilize the Gift's origin point, keeping the original Gift-bearer alive in the process.
In simple terms, if the Gift-bearer of the eye-based Gift of Far Sight had their eyeballs extracted and transplanted, the Gift's effects could be freely inherited. —Of course, it wasn't as simple as just swapping eyeballs and getting unlimited use of the Gift. The Libra possessed secret techniques that allowed for this, and those techniques were sacred mysteries that would never be revealed to outsiders.
Whatever their method, if the eyeballs needed for the Gift of Far Sight had been destroyed, then relying on Manfred to keep track of Felt's movements was a strategy they'd have to abandon.
"Even so—Manfred losing one of his eyes, and our sorry state aside... it's a miracle everyone's alive."
"A miracle, huh. I just can't wrap my head around it that easily."
Racinus's disgruntled tongue-click rang loud in response to Rom grandpa's murmur as he stroked his chin.
They'd gone in ready to die and survived. He probably wouldn't go so far as to regret not having died like some Imperial citizen, but having lost to an opponent who'd imposed unnecessary handicaps on themselves—the feeling of having the gap in power rubbed in his face was something Racinus could understand.
But if you could feel frustrated after giving it everything you had, then Racinus still had a future ahead of him. Surely the same went for
"—Rom-sama, you're awake?"
"Oh, it's Grasis."
Just as the conversation had reached a natural lull, Grasis appeared with a light step.
The last Rom grandpa had seen of her was when she was bound by the thread-user called Yae, but compared to Racinus, she looked far more lively.
Despite her youthful appearance, Grasis and her sister Flam had been trained since birth in the Astrea household, placing them among the top tier of the many warriors Rom grandpa knew. Their excellent 'Flow Arts' contributed greatly to healing wounds and recovering stamina, so she was already nearly back to full condition.
"That said, pushing yourself too hard is off-limits. ...By the way, how's your Gift?"
"Almost reloaded for the next shot. ...Assuming Flam isn't dead."
"Don't say stuff like that! ...Though, you can't say for sure either, can you? Even if the helmet guy didn't lay a hand on her, over beyond the dunes, Reinhardt and the '
"Racinus-sama, cheer up, okay?"
"Why am I the one getting comforted?! You should be the one moping!"
When Grasis gave his hunched back a light pat, Racinus stuck out his tongue and shouted at her.
Grasis replied with a "Wow" and a completely unsurprised expression, then quickly circled behind Rom grandpa and shot a theatrical pouty-eyed glare at the immature young man.
Same old mischief. But Rom grandpa placed his palm—bigger than the girl's head—on her head and stroked her hair.
"We feel the same way about worrying about the people in the tower. As soon as your Gift is usable again, could you let us know right away?"
"...Roger that, sir."
"Who says that?!"
Grasis offered her curt, few-worded nod and accepted Rom grandpa's palm, while Racinus overreacted with a shout.
It was precisely because she was the type to resonate when struck that Racinus kept getting dragged around by these mischief-loving sisters. But the fact that she was acting normal was probably a relief for Grasis's mental state right now.
Racinus, too, wouldn't have to spin his wheels in circles of defeat.
"You young ones can burn with your rebellious spirit all you want. The post-mortem review is my job, after all."
Despite having gathered five hundred soldiers and created the most advantageous battlefield they could, Rom grandpa's forces had lost to the helmet guy, and Felt had been taken hostage.
A defeat of this magnitude could truly be called the worst blunder since the 'Demi-Human War.' However, if there was something different about this defeat compared to the one back then—if this defeat was not entirely without benefit, and not entirely unexpected—it was this: —It was a method he didn't want to use, but with the danger that the helmet guy might call the 'Divine Dragon' back in a crisis, the fact that Felt's existence could serve as a leash on it had always been at the back of his mind.
And that the 'Divine Dragon' Vulcanica was the helmet guy's main force was something known in advance.
Therefore, even if Felt's group couldn't beat the helmet guy in this battle, their minimum objective had been to put a leash on his main force. Of course, winning against the helmet guy here would have been ideal—that was fact—but they had achieved the minimum objective, and furthermore, they had gained insight into the true nature of the helmet guy's power. Rom grandpa was proud of that.
If victory was the best possible outcome, then the current result was the second-best—no, given that Felt was taken hostage, perhaps the third-best.
"Of course, having experienced it firsthand once, the same method won't work to break that power again. Felt's movements... they'll need to be more creative in how they approach this."
Obviously, Rom grandpa had no intention of giving up here.
The helmet guy had chosen not to take their lives for his own reasons. As a result, most of their fighting force remained, and there was room to come up with a new plan and clash again.
He wouldn't let anyone call it cowardly or despicable to make the absolute most of that opportunity.
"For some reason, the helmet guy seemed like he couldn't even afford time to stop. At that pace, even if they take a short break, they won't be able to properly rest their bodies anywhere. Mental fatigue exposes the weaknesses of one's powers. If Felt is serving as a leash on the 'Divine Dragon,' then there's plenty of room to exploit. And unexpectedly, the helmet guy and his companions aren't exactly a monolithic—"
Rom grandpa muttered away, scrutinizing the information gained from that battle inside a head that was larger than average.
If someone called him shamelessly calculating for this right after a defeat, he wouldn't have a rebuttal. But inside Rom grandpa, the lessons from the defeat just now were already filed away, and strategies for the next battle were being drafted one after another.
Some might call that cold-hearted. That his granddaughter-in-all-but-name Felt had been snatched away, and with her safety uncertain, he was diverting his thoughts to the next battle instead of worrying or agonizing.
But— "—What a mess. I just keep feeling more and more pathetic."
Racinus directed nothing at the side of that cold-hearted old giant lost in such thoughts but an irritation that simply wouldn't fade.
"Racinus-sama, do your best."
"Shut up! Why are you acting like it's someone else's problem?! You're the one who should be—!"
△▼△▼△▼△ "—Domain Expansion. Matrix Redefinition."
Muttering those words like a whisper beneath his breath, Aldebaran set a new restart point.
Having overcome twenty-nine thousand two hundred and twenty-one iterations of trial and error, he considered himself to have escaped the crisis and passed the checkpoint, and allowed himself a short break.
He drew a deep breath, then exhaled slowly until his lungs were empty, and straightened his helmet.
"...Sorry about that. I've calmed down."
"Not at all, not at all~! Please don't worry about it. If anything, is that little bit of rest enough? If you'd like, Yae-chan's thighs are available for rent~"
"No, I don't need to borrow them."
"They're fluffy and squishy~?"
"I'm good."
Aldebaran waved his hand dismissively, flatly refusing Yae's seductive concern.
Yae pouted her lips and said "Tch~," but she probably didn't care as much as that reaction suggested. Her habitual flirtatious lines and Aldebaran's rejection of them were both nothing new.
Still, having Yae nearby—her presence was a help. In a burdensome kind of way.
"Maybe the headache's eased up a little too..."
As he murmured that, Aldebaran felt relieved that the mental strain headache had lessened somewhat.
The fight against Felt's forces had drained him mentally to an extreme degree—including nearly losing at the very brink. The result of underestimating that exhaustion was a fight he'd barely scraped through, almost a guaranteed loss.
"As expected, I can't do a mental reset in the middle of a fight..."
In this context, a 'mental reset' meant using his power to spend as much time as possible in a spaced-out, thoughtless state, then drinking poison to restart the matrix. He'd repeat this cycle to recover from frayed nerves, a roughed-up spirit, and a dead-end mentality—a crude method.
As long as he had the right environment and a way to start over, it was a method that could buy as much mental peace as he needed. But while it could straighten out the mind, the flaw was that it couldn't eliminate simple physical and brain fatigue.
In fact, extreme sleep deprivation and accumulated fatigue had left Aldebaran with serious damage.
"Right now, even as a joke, if I borrowed Yae's lap, I'd drop dead in an instant."
"Yae-chan gives neck cradle, you mean?"
"No, I mean consciousness. Having you crack jokes like that does lighten the mood a bit."
Shaking his head loosely from side to side, Aldebaran pushed back against the weight pressing down on his body.
Currently, Aldebaran and company had moved west from the plains where the fierce battle had taken place, avoiding attention, and after confirming they were thoroughly safe, were spending their time resting.
That said, 'spending time' didn't mean much actual time had passed.
"By the way, just for reference—if you were about to collapse, would doping with 'Dragon's Blood' be an option? Or no?"
Aldebaran asked 'Aldebaran,' fidgeting with the metal fittings on his helmet.
Together with Yae serving as a perimeter guard, 'Aldebaran' heard this question and scratched his nose deftly with a forepaw after a thoughtful "Hmm, well..."
"Ah, it's hard to make a definitive comparison given that this 'Dragon' body is so different from my pitifully weak original body, but if you poured in undiluted 'Dragon's Blood,' I'd bet you'd go boom."
"Boom... Different from what happened to Pristella's Duke, then."
"After getting this body, I can tell—that guy
"...Even when you say 'diluted,' it doesn't sound like you just mix it with water, does it? By the way, there's this prejudice that shinobi are experts not just in poisons but medicine too, but what about 'Dragon's Blood'?"
"Yae-chan is curious since it's a precious opportunity, but if Aru-sama turned into an even more terrifying monster, Yae-chan's heart couldn't take it, so nooo~."
Despite putting emotional reasons first, realistically, unless you were an expert, successfully diluting 'Dragon's Blood' would be nearly impossible.
You couldn't just casually mass-produce a Last Elixir. The world wasn't that kind.
"Let me at least cast a healing spell. There—Stitch Heal."
"Since we're in the same party, shouldn't that just be an official Heal, not a Stitch Heal?"
Aldebaran quipped back as excessive healing magic was unleashed upon him through the Divine Dragon's power.
Unfortunately, there weren't many external wounds to speak of, and naturally, it wouldn't regrow his missing left arm, but having the comfort of knowing he could recover even from serious injuries was reassuring.
Well, if he took a serious injury, he'd be drinking poison rather than waiting to recover, so it was only comfort in the most literal sense.
"By the way, Vol-sama, may I ask something~?"
"...! Wait—'Vol-sama' is me? I didn't connect that at all. What is it?"
"Have your feelings toward Felt-sama calmed down, even a little?"
Yae's seemingly casual question—its true intent was obvious from the faintly charged atmosphere, no need to ask. Aldebaran narrowed his eyes deep inside his helmet.
The same was true for 'Aldebaran,' who had sensed the same thing.
"If 'calming down' means diminishing, then it's the opposite. I'm overflowing with affection, and it's bad. Distance apart from someone nurtures longing."
"Except we're not that far apart, and I can't exactly cheer on that affection."
'Aldebaran' framed it in his own vocabulary with a teasing tone, but given that his feelings when saying such things were genuine and aligned with Aldebaran's own, it was largely honest.
That intent seemed to reach Yae as well. She nodded with a "Is that so~" and then: "She really is in the way, isn't she~ Felt-sama. Can't we somehow remove her?"
"Yae, let me make something clear..."
"Oh~ don't jump to conclusions. I know Vol-sama would react that way, so I'm not suggesting anything dangerous—it's a consultation~. —At worst, if Felt-sama tried to escape, and I, Aru-sama, and Vol-sama could all be happy, wouldn't that work? Though I'm not sure Vol-sama would be happy."
"I'm not exactly happy either."
"Even if it would eliminate the source of your worry?"
"...—You, too, are a low-key source of my worries, you know."
"Aha~ I've poked the hornet's nest."
Yae tapped her own forehead with a bouncy tone and replied.
The 'happy method' she had in mind referred to the condition that had been set when Felt became a hostage—if she tried to escape, she could be killed. That was what she had promised 'Aldebaran': that she wouldn't hold a grudge even if she died.
However, while that was an agreement that made sense between Felt and 'Aldebaran'—no, between Felt and the 'Divine Dragon'—it couldn't be called the outcome Aldebaran wished for.
Despite having this kind of method and relationship, Aldebaran wanted Felt to return to the royal selection healthy and hale, and to fight for the throne all the way to the end with everyone on good terms.
Naturally, judging by 'Aldebaran's' reaction, that suspicion about Felt that had first been raised at the Lugunica Royal Castle could now be considered almost fully confirmed.
"After all, it's hard to laugh it off as just looking alike when the dragon has gone completely head over heels. Realistically, how much of the original personality is likely to surface?"
"This vessel—this dragon shell—isn't budging. No need to worry about the original personality suddenly popping up and saying hello. It's more like residual thoughts that are a bit insistent, with the strength of that insistence coming in waves."
"...By the way, how much does that residual thought remember?"
"I like Farseil. I hate Reid. Other vague stuff."
"The first 'Sword Saint,' huh? Don't just casually drop legends like that, it's intimidating."
He'd heard the name often enough from the 'Witch,' but the first Sword Saint—the one whose reputation was the worst among everyone who knew—was now confirmed by the 'Divine Dragon's' residual thoughts as well. It seemed the 'good-for-nothing' label was well-earned.
The other vague concerns were hard to dismiss entirely, but— "Oh, right—so I've got Yae and me as 'Dragons' here, but what about Felt and the old man?"
"Both of them are waiting over there. Heinkel-sama is responsibly keeping a close watch on Felt-sama."
"That combo is the worst, isn't it?!"
"—Oh~ oh no~ Yae-chan made a mistake~"
"..."
At Yae's deliberately provocative reply, Aldebaran let out a deep sigh and stood up.
Given the treatment he'd given her, he figured he'd have to endure this kind of petty needling.
"Oh, Farseil... I mean, should I go see Felt? I want to..."
"Until you can correct that slip of the tongue, it's better for rapport if you don't meet her. Besides, I want to avoid tilting the scales any further toward that side."
With that, Aldebaran made 'Aldebaran' sit and stay, entrusted the unruly one to Yae's supervision—she quipped "Cooperative work, isn't it~"—and ignored her entirely as he walked in the direction where Felt and Heinkel were.
And there, out of earshot of the strategy meeting in the tree's shade, beyond the trunk where they'd been made to wait—Felt and Heinkel were— "—Old man, I'm just saying, you don't need to make excuses to me."
The moment Aldebaran peered around, those words—on the sharp side—hit his ears.
There, leaning against the great tree, sat Felt. Standing before her and looking down at her was Heinkel.
From a cinematic perspective, you could frame it as Heinkel being psychologically superior—gazing down from a higher vantage point compared to Felt.
"—Wh—Excuses?! Why would I need to make excuses to you?! Don't say ridiculous things, you brat!"
"Then stop looking at me all jumpy-eyed. Your gaze is annoying."
"Who's...!"
Heinkel's rage exploded deep in his throat, his next words catching in his throat—evidence that cinematic framing wasn't much help here.
Despite the age gap and height gap, which of the two players was on top was clear even without numbers, and Aldebaran felt sorry for Heinkel for having stumbled into this scene.
He considered slipping away quietly, but— "Hm."
"Aldebaran..."
Both of them noticed him almost simultaneously, and Aldebaran had no choice but to walk over.
Then, carefully choosing his words: "Old man, I'd stop getting on Felt's case. No matter what you say, it's a losing game."
"Wh—You too?! You think I'm going to lose an argument to this brat?"
"It's not about who wins or loses a verbal fight. The fundamental premise is off. If you're partnered with me, then from Felt's perspective, you're a bona fide traitor... or rather, basically from anyone's perspective, you're a major enemy of the
"—I... I know that. Even so, I..."
Heinkel grimaced, lowering his eyes and clenching and unclenching his fists as he murmured.
Wearing a pained expression and placed in a painful position, Heinkel understood well enough what spider's thread he'd reached out for.
He understood, too, that this would tarnish the prestigious 'Sword Saint' family name and create an irreparable stain.
But even if he was saddled with an infamy that wouldn't fade for centuries— "I need 'Dragon's Blood.' To revive your wife... Reinhardt's mother—you need that, don't you?"
"Brat, how did you—"
"Where did you think I was being held captive by your son in the first place? I've known all about that idiot's family situation for ages. I heard it from Carol and the others too."
"Then you understand! I need it—the 'Dragon's Blood'! And Aldebaran promised it to me! That's why I'm part of his plan—"
"That's why I said don't make excuses to me."
To that earnest plea, Felt's response left Heinkel tongue-tied with a "Guh."
Felt's reaction—utterly unreachable—was far sharper than any kind of deliberate cornering, and it slashed at Heinkel's small conscience.
Though Felt hadn't necessarily been aiming to hurt Heinkel the most. The proof was that she scratched her head noisily and said: "I want Reinhardt's mom to wake up too, obviously. I get that you'd do anything for that. So I'm not going to condemn you."
"............"
"But the way we go about it is different from you. It's not a matter of good or bad."
Felt closed one eye as she spoke, and it was immediately clear that Heinkel had been devastated. She'd flaunted the obvious difference in caliber, and what was meant to be a kindness had turned into a kick to a corpse.
Any further conversation between them would only widen Heinkel's wound. Feeling bad that Yae's petty harassment had paid off, Aldebaran said "That's enough, old man" and tapped Heinkel's shoulder, releasing him from Felt's guard.
As Heinkel's shoulders sagged and he left the scene— "You're merciless, Felt. You don't look like it, but are you angry by any chance?"
"Obviously, you idiot. Right now I'm holding back from kicking all of your asses. Thanks to this guy on my neck."
As she said that, Felt touched the razor-thin steel wire around her neck—the same one mentioned in conversation with Yae—and twisted her lips to show her fangs.
Maximum defiance, but she was at least aware that her life was being held in someone else's grip.
Of course, given that not a single one of her companions' lives had been taken, there was a possibility she was overestimating how much threat that wire actually held—but— "—I won't fall for the same trick again."
"............"
That was less a declaration and more a vow Aldebaran made to himself.
The girl before him was not merely a royal selection candidate with a possible claim to a lost royal bloodline who'd grown up tough in the slums—she was a prototype monster who'd been forged under the tutelage of that very Balga Cromwell.
Or perhaps she'd already metamorphosed into a fully realized monster, an existence more dangerous than Aldebaran could imagine.
But even so—even if that were the case—Aldebaran would not lose again.
"Even if this is my final role, there's still meaning in growth."
His supposed main force, 'Aldebaran,' had become unwieldy; the insolent and mischievous Yae's behavior was unbearable; Heinkel had deflated entirely on his own, unrelated to Aldebaran's intentions; and he had to personally escort a non-cooperative counterweight in Felt. —To be blunt, his journey had strayed wildly from the original travel plan.
But the unexpected fierce battle and the virtual defeat had, at the cost of exhausting him body and mind, stripped away Aldebaran's complacency and brought him a solid lesson.
"From here on, I'm going to stretch the domain to the absolute limit."
He had believed that by doing short-term matrix updates, he could respond to dire situations more quickly—reducing regression time even more than reducing the number of iterations. He'd considered that to be more advantageous long-term.
But extreme matrix updates, when facing a large number of enemies like this time, dramatically increased the risk of getting cornered. If he kept operating as before, even without a brilliant strategist like Balga as his opponent, pure bad luck alone could shut down his path.
"Leaving too long a gap between resets risks burning out my brain or wearing my soul down... a chicken race. But even if my soul gets shattered, that's still way better than failing."
Aldebaran had never had a grand vision for what came after completing this plan.
Reach the Mogorede Great Vent in the
He didn't wish for anything beyond that. In exchange, he would have everything up to that point granted to him.
"............"
Felt watched him in silence, her eyes narrowed.
Aldebaran deliberately ignored her gaze, but the fact that Felt—who resembled him in nothing, not personality, not features, not build—bore eyes of the exact same color as Priscilla filled him with an unbearable, horrible sense of unease.
"If possible, could you stop looking at me with those eyes?"
"Quit whining. Sorry, but these are the eyes I was born with. Two of them, stuck right there on my face since day one. I didn't exactly like them either—they stood out too much... No wait, I didn't *not* like them."
"............"
"Right now, I'm thinking they're not so bad. So I'm not closing them."
Leaning against the great tree, sitting cross-legged on the ground with her arms folded, Felt—the way her gaze and the strength of her resolve drew people in, the way many felt blinded looking up at her—he understood that.
Now, that radiance for Aldebaran was the same as the poison tucked behind his molars. Except this radiance wouldn't take his life—it would only cause suffering.
"So? I'm hungry. Where's the food?"
"You're awfully shameless about it. ...Sorry, but there's no room for a meal break right now. Moving takes priority."
"Terrible hostage treatment. —So about that Kararagi... something... hole you were talking about?"
"The Mogorede Great Vent. That's our final destination, no question. But we're making a small detour first."
At those words from Aldebaran, Felt furrowed her well-shaped brows. "A detour?"
"That's right, a detour." Aldebaran nodded, then turned and gazed into the distance, picturing a place he couldn't yet see in the landscape.
That place was— "—Right now, it should be most lightly guarded. I'm going to pick up something essential to the plan."
△▼△▼△▼△ Fortunately, the detour along the route to their destination went smoothly.
Though the security was heavier than 'lightly guarded' would suggest, Aldebaran felt reassured by the thoroughness of their crisis management—given what was sealed on the other side.
However— "Even heavy security like this can't stop me in my tracks."
To truly halt Aldebaran, they would have needed to do what Felt's group had done—surround and overwhelm him with hundreds. For that, they would have had to commit at least one division of knights, even in the royal capital.
And Aldebaran had taken steps beforehand to prevent exactly that.
"They had to pull me back quickly, so I wasn't sure the diversion would be effective—it was a coin flip."
Aldebaran, gone berserk. The 'Divine Dragon' Vulcanica, cooperating with him.
The 'Sword Saint' Reinhardt, who had gone to stop them, getting held back by the 'Witch of Envy.' And then word arriving that Aldebaran's group had broken through the dunes unopposed—the panic among those in positions to know could only be imagined.
They would have thought it a crisis on par with the 'Witch of Envy's' rampage four hundred years ago—a threat to the nation's very survival.
That was precisely why, despite the transparently low altitude flight of 'Aldebaran' clearly being a provocation, they had to show a response that mobilized the kingdom's full strength.
Even if it meant leaving only a skeleton force in the capital itself.
And then— "—Found it."
After four hundred and seven iterations, Aldebaran reached the target location and found what he was looking for. From the entrance door to the multi-layered formations inside, everything had been sealed with extreme care, allowing absolutely no interference.
In truth, without any assistance, even if Aldebaran had managed to reach this place, he would have been unable to do a thing against the formations before him and would have had to slink away in defeat.
But the current Aldebaran had— "—How much is a 'Divine Dragon's' fang worth in Holy Gold Coins, I wonder?"
Just running the numbers in his head, he could already picture every merchant he knew going wide-eyed with dollar signs—a rarity of that magnitude. Using it as a catalyst, Aldebaran forcibly shattered the formidable formations.
A sound he'd never heard before—something like rebar being ripped apart by brute force, a noise beyond all reason—and the invisible wall that had been there vanished. Aldebaran stepped inside.
The room wasn't particularly large—smaller than the bathroom at the Bariel residence.
A windowless room with only the entrance door for an exit. Suffocating. Like a prison cell—no, not *like* a prison cell. It *was* one.
After all, what was sealed inside was none other than a convict, a transgressor, an unforgivable evil.
"At this point, just the number of times I'd be sentenced to death already reaches triple digits..."
And there was still room for him to pile crime upon crime.
As if to prove it, Aldebaran reached out his hand toward the pitch-black mass before him. The laws of the ordinary world had been suspended once more, but this time, he didn't need the Divine Dragon's help.
What lay there—different in nature but identical in kind to the culmination of the 'Witch's' teachings, the same thing he'd acquired through the excruciating process of choking on his own vomit—was— "............"
The intent transmitted from his outstretched fingertips. In the next instant, cracks raced across the entire surface, and it shattered to pieces.
It broke apart like pottery, yet made no sound of fragments scattering on the floor. Its structure unraveled and dissolved into the air, vanishing.
And there, in place of that black mass that had disappeared, a single figure collapsed to the floor, slumping forward on all fours.
"Come quietly with me. —Do that, and I won't kill you here."
"Yes—"
At Aldebaran's calm pronouncement, the figure exhaled and laughed. —No, it smirked.
Smirked, smirked, smirked—licking its lips with the mouth full of sharp fangs— "—Good, oh good, yeah that's good, maybe good, sure good, I'm good, yeah real good, and that's exactly why—it's exactly why my chest trembles! Binge drinking! Binge eating!"
Thus, in a cell dyed pitch-black, freed from the pitch-black coffin in which it had sealed itself—the Archbishop of Gluttony,
△▼△▼△▼△ —It was an ending where heaven and earth lost their bearing, where sun and moon became indistinguishable, where the boundary between life and death grew blurred, and where the distinction between self and other ceased to matter.
"Young Master! Young mas-teerr!"
That was the desperate, loud cry of someone utterly unlike her usual composed self—Flam, whose gaze was fixed beyond the sandstorm. Past the
"Young Masterr—!!"
The girl who believed in his strength more than anyone else, yet knew his face as something more than just a hero—she screamed, her voice cracking, trying to deny the cruel, sudden reality that had befallen him.
Surely those screams of Flam's reached even Reinhard, who faced that pitch-black doom. There was no way he could miss them. Because Reinhard van Astrea was an existence that *had* to be that way—decided by none other than himself.
And yet the fact that Flam's anguished voice received no reply was evidence that even the strongest 'Sword Saint' on earth was exposed to a threat so fierce that the slightest lapse in consciousness could prove fatal.
"............"
Literally, like waves crashing, countless black arms surged forward, filling the field of vision from edge to edge, closing in without escape as an all-consuming destruction threatening to crush its target.
Against this, Reinhard bore the Dragon Sword on his barely-hanging-together arms, swinging the legendary sword that could not be drawn—using it in place of his arms—to pierce through and shatter the inescapable cage of black shadows on all sides.
He did this ceaselessly—ten, twenty times per second—repeating, repeating, with sweat beading up and blood flowing turning to steam as it left his body. Reinhard devoted himself entirely to his duty.
—This was the summit battle between the 'Sword Saint' and the 'Witch of Envy'—between those who lived as legends.
"I can't believe this, seriously!"
Crouched in the driver's seat, gripping the reins with white knuckles, struggling to fulfill an unfamiliar role while her loose braid hung in disarray, was Meili, her teeth clenched tight.
Garfiel was unconscious. Ezolt was unconscious. Flam couldn't tear her eyes from Reinhardt. Petra hadn't returned from the Book of the Dead. Of everyone here, only Meili was in her right mind.
Reinhardt's battle was the foundation of everything, but the survival of the entire party beyond that rested on Meili's slender arms—no exaggeration.
"No, it's not an exaggeration—it's just too heavy...!"
Meili had stood in positions where she held others' lives in the balance before, more times than she could count.
But most of those times, Meili had been the one *taking* life—the one holding the power of life and death.
The only times she'd wielded power not to take but to protect were during the 'trial' at the Watchtower, and beyond that, her strength was barely a notch above an amateur.
With that paltry experience, taking on the 'Witch of Envy' was absurd.
"Please, Patrasche... Unlike you magical beasts, I can't understand what that thing is saying at all, but... everyone's in danger...!"
"—!!!"
Through the reins, Meili's desperate plea was answered by Patrasche's valiant cry.
The jet-black earth dragon surged forward with full force, ignoring the worst possible footing in the sand, pulling the dragon carriage with everyone aboard—running with grace, running, running, running, running through— "Just like this—"
In the moment she thought they'd burst across the sand sea in one go— "—Ah."
For one instant, the ground buckled as if stretching and compressing, and an impact beyond belief sent Patrasche's legs spinning out, launching the entire dragon carriage—passenger car included—into the air.
"————"
*This is bad*, Meili's mind filled with the single word for crisis.
Crisis—yes, a crisis. When danger had loomed, Subaru had always used that word. It was easy to say, and once you started using it, it was all your brain could come up with. But even while chanting *crisis, crisis*, the thread of a solution was nowhere to be found.
All she knew with certainty was that if Patrasche fell onto the sand even once, the 'Gift of Wind Resistance' that would get them safely off the dunes would be lost.
If that was gone, then from this space where heaven and earth had lost all distinction, there was no way Meili and the others could escape alive.
—What—now—what do I do—I—everyone—please—brother—help.
"Everyone... I have to save them...!"
That helpless, tear-choked voice was spoken into a vision that was about to tip upside down when— "—Leave it to me, Meili."
Those words—sweet but resolute—rang out, and the next instant, Meili saw someone leap from the overturned driver's seat, using the carriage floor as a foothold, stepping boldly into midair and diving toward Patrasche, whose body was violently twisting in the air.
A girl—bright brown hair vivid against a large ribbon— "Petra-chaaaan!"
In front of Meili's eyes, Petra flew out and wrapped herself around the airborne Patrasche's neck, then forcibly straddled the earth dragon's saddle, clinging on as if biting down.
Using her small body to its absolute limit, she squeezed tight with everything she had, and pleaded: "Patrasche! Calm down—listen to my voice!"
"—!!!"
"That's right, good boy... Now!!"
Obeying Petra's voice, Patrasche swung her long tail in a wide arc, forcibly correcting her posture in midair, and drove her claws into the sand—landing in a way that braked the plummeting dragon carriage with perfect control. Then, without letting the Gift lapse, she ran on.
That fatal instant—that split second—was navigated magnificently.
Thanks to Patrasche's incredible response and the skill of the girl who had drawn it out.
"Meili! Are you okay?! Are you hurt?!"
"I-I'm fine! Petra, that book of yours—"
"—I'm fine. More importantly—"
Petra cut herself off, her round eyes sharpening as she glared behind them.
There, in the distance, between the Pleiades Watchtower and the line that Reinhard was desperately defending as his last stand, a battle raged—the 'Witch of Envy' was trying to cross that line, and Reinhard was pushing her back.
The 'Witch of Envy'—just thinking that name made dread rise from the depths of Meili's heart. Even she couldn't escape that primal fear.
But Petra, from her position straddling Patrasche's back, told the trembling Meili: "It'll be all right. Leave it to me."
"Petra...?"
"For now, we just have to get out of the Augria Dunes. Let's go!"
As Petra's voice rang out high and clear atop the earth dragon racing across the sand sea, Meili found herself feeling an inexplicable sense of reliability and nodded again and again.
After smiling at Meili's response, Petra turned to face forward, her expression hardening.
With her arms still locked firmly around Patrasche's neck, she left the approaching end's manifestation to Reinhardt behind her, and focused straight ahead—get out of the sand sea, run, run, run.
And as she did, savoring the illusion of a wind she'd never felt before, Petra murmured softly: "We have to do something. —Right, Subaru?"
'—Yeah, let's do this. With everything we've got!!!' Feeling close—impossibly close—the voice and presence of someone dear, someone she loved, who she couldn't touch, Petra Lete ran on with all her heart and all her strength— —to deliver a wish that must reach beyond this sea of sand.