Wind was blowing.
A particularly fierce gust lashed against them, whipping the hair and hems of the two figures standing face to face.
The location was the outskirts of the
There were no dwellings around, and even if there had been, no one would be passing through at a time like this. By now, all the residents of the Sanctuary should have gathered at the Tomb, awaiting the results of the Trial.
Out of encouragement for
"Obsession, huh..."
Ram felt a twinge of guilt for having used Emilia as leverage, but her attention snapped back to the present as Roswaal's lips curled into a smile before her.
Roswaal swept his long indigo hair over one shoulder, closed one eye, and pierced Ram with his mismatched yellow gaze.
"Coming from you—someone who knows my desires and my purpose—that's a rather sad thing to hear."
"I never said it aloud, but I've thought it the entire time. Naturally."
"Naturally… Ah, yes, naturally. From your perspective, these have been long, long days of swallowed humiliation."
"——"
Ram met Roswaal's shrugging indifference with a lowered gaze and silence.
She understood dimly what he was getting at. Of course she did. Ram had been watching Roswaal all along. She understood, painfully well, how a man who was nothing if not faithful to his own obsession had perceived the loyalty she directed at him.
"So the first thing you did upon slipping free of the contract's leash was act against my expectations—helping Subaru-kun and joining in the beating of Garfiel's gang. That about right?"
"That served two purposes: Ram's own objective, and correcting Garf's idiocy. …If Ram hadn't been there, that lot couldn't have accomplished anything."
"The results worked out nicely—I can't deny the feeling. For Subaru-kin to place such a reckless bet in a situation involving so many things that matter… I could never afford to gamble like that for something so precious."
The phrasing was a jab at Subaru's decision-making, dressed up as an argument for the rationality of his own approach.
In truth, there was little in Roswaal's assessment that Ram could refute. Most of Subaru's actions were impulsive, and the Garfiel matter—Ram's help included—had relied heavily on fortune.
Her evaluation of Subaru as "a man who succeeds mostly by good timing" remained unchanged.
Roswaal's thinking, on the other hand, was remarkably effective when judged solely by the metric of achieving one's goals. Though that came with the caveat: "so long as the Gospel could be trusted."
"So gambling is out of your reach… Your pursuit of certainty produced the Gospel, then."
"Quite so. Although you've never trusted it, have you? You've found it irksome from the start. And I can hardly blame you—from your perspective, you must have been praying for the day when even a single line of its text would no longer apply to you."
"…I won't deny that."
How could she?
It was true that Ram had resented the Gospel. But the reason for that resentment differed vastly between her true feelings and Roswaal's understanding of them.
The gap between the two—even though it never showed on her face—filled Ram with an almost unbearable sadness.
"Do you remember? The contract we exchanged, mediated through the Gospel?"
"'For as long as the world continues to carve its history in accordance with the contents of the Gospel held by Roswaal-sama, Ram will serve Roswaal-sama with her very life at stake. In exchange—'"
"'If time flows in a manner that deviates from the Gospel's text, my purpose will be thwarted. If I lose sight of that purpose, I will have no further reason to live. If a hollow shell is all you need, do with me as you please.'"
"'Whether you live or die is entirely up to Ram.'"
"That was our contract."
They recited the terms neither could forget, and Roswaal drew a black book from inside his coat.
Clutching the thickly bound volume to his chest, he stroked the cover and let out a sigh.
"It must have been long—terribly long and painful time for you."
"——"
"After all… You were made to pledge unwilling loyalty to the very man who bore partial responsibility for your homeland's destruction. Alongside that wish, your heart must have quickened whenever you were near me… I imagine it was agonizing. I know it sounds like someone else's problem, but still."
With deliberate malice, Roswaal chose words designed to wound Ram.
One of the causes of her homeland's destruction—those words, spoken aloud by Roswaal, sent a bolt of pain through Ram's chest accompanied by the memory of her burning village and her family.
Among the demi-humans, the Oni were few in number but possessed fearsome power.
Her kind had gathered in small numbers, building a settlement deep in the mountains. In a single night, they had been subjected to the devastating fury of flame and steel, and had been annihilated—all that remained were Ram and "——."
She had sealed the contract with Roswaal and survived, all while staring blankly at the smoldering ruins of her village at dawn.
She had swallowed the contract proffered to her, in order to live.
"——" had known nothing, and Ram had told "——" nothing either.
"——?"
Ram felt a faint throbbing at the back of her skull and furrowed her brow at the inexplicable sense of wrongness.
Among the memories surfacing within her, there seemed to be an unnatural gap—something that should have been there but wasn't, as though it had been forcibly stuffed with a crude lie.
Without that, Ram's memories could not hold together, and yet— "The affection you couldn't reconcile within yourself, and the revenge you quietly nurtured in your heart. Even with those opposing impulses warring inside you, you were a remarkably effective pawn. How I valued your willing obedience as you traced the Gospel's text."
"…………"
While Ram probed at the dissonance in her memory, Roswaal pressed on.
Deciding this was not the time, she abandoned her search for the gap and turned back to face him. Roswaal was cooing in his honeyed voice, praising her loyalty of old.
But the glancing look he directed at her was threaded, little by little, with something else.
"That you of all people would betray me and side with Subaru-kun—do you have any idea how much pain that caused me?"
"…I haven't broken the terms of the contract. If the world has advanced down a path that diverges from the Gospel's text, then Ram is no longer bound by Roswaal-sama's words, but by her own heart. If I had violated that clause, Ram would not have come through unscathed."
Ram pressed a hand to her chest and asserted the legitimacy of her actions.
The contract between Roswaal and Ram was, of course, no mere verbal promise.
It was the real thing—a spell inscription carved into each of their souls, carrying a penalty far exceeding mere words if broken. Since that penalty had not been triggered, Ram's heart had not betrayed the contract.
But hearing Ram's answer, Roswaal shook his head slowly.
"That's precisely the point. In this situation, the fact that the penalty which should have activated upon breach of contract has not… means your soul is fully convinced it is honoring the agreement. That judgment on your part is, to me, profoundly disappointing."
"What do you mean?"
"It's simple. —The Gospel's text has not yet been deviated from. Your contract with me—in the truest sense of the word—has not yet been severed. That is still to come."
Roswaal's voice dropped as he fixed Ram in his mismatched gaze and made his declaration.
Ram, who normally maintained an expressionless mask, felt her cheeks stiffen faintly. The situation her own contract inscription recognized, and the text she had been told—the two worlds they described were too far apart.
Even with all these conditions laid bare, Roswaal's conviction refused to yield.
"Hasn't… deviated from the text? Barusu challenging the Tomb to liberate the Sanctuary, Emilia-sama bringing snow to this place—none of it has happened. And yet you say the text hasn't deviated? Roswaal-sama… what has gotten into you?"
"Nothing has gotten into me—things are just as they've always been. Yes, neither of the things you just mentioned has been fulfilled, but… it's still too soon to say."
"That's impossible. Barusu will leave the Sanctuary, and Emilia-sama will overcome every Trial. There's no way the text resolves itself from here—that's nothing but a child's stubbornness, or worse, flailing."
"A child's stubbornness—I'll grant that, since I am far too old to claim that. But as for flailing, I won't deny it. Yes, this is flailing. —Endless, drawn-out flailing, spanning over four hundred years."
As if throwing all pretense aside, Roswaal declared his actions to be "flailing."
He laughed from deep in his throat, slapped his knee at the sheer brilliance of it, his jester's expression contorting with wild glee.
"Flailing—yes, flailing! This is a masterpiece! Is there any other word that captures my obsession so perfectly? No! There isn't! Flailing… flailing and… ahaha, this is amusing. I never would have thought of it."
"Roswaal-sama!"
"Flailing born of obsession, and a servant who converted her desire for revenge against a madman into loyalty. Our respective existences are perpetually warped and farcical. But even if you call it flailing, my will will not change. Your actions, Ram, are premature."
He wiped the manic grin from his face and thrust the Gospel forward as if brandishing it at Ram.
"Whatever you may think, the contract has not yet been broken. Until that girl surpasses the Trial of the Tomb, the text stating that
"——"
"If you demand enforcement of the contract's terms, I will equally insist on adherence to them. We are at an impasse. The timing for fulfilling your revenge has not yet arrived."
He tossed the book lightly, caught it in the opposite hand, and tucked it back inside his coat. Then, on his outstretched right arm, flames flickered into being.
He showed her flames that shifted from red to blue to green, each color in succession, and narrowed his eyes.
"You haven't violated the terms of employment, yet you've acted ahead of yourself. If you truly believed the Gospel and the world had diverged, you should have waited just two more days. Then I would have surrendered myself to you without resistance. …Impatience is never a good thing."
He shook his head mournfully, then continued with, "That said—"
"I understand, at least, your desire to destroy me a moment sooner."
"…You really don't understand anything, do you."
"——?"
As Roswaal's cynical smile widened, Ram murmured softly and closed her eyes.
Behind those closed lids lay complex emotions she could never show the world. The way of life she had sworn never to reveal to anyone—she now turned it inward, displaying it only to herself.
She raised her head. Mana concentrated at the tip of the staff she had held extended before her all this time.
"It would mean nothing if I delivered you up after the contract has been fulfilled. And it would mean nothing if you had already been broken."
"——Come, then."
"As you wish."
——Vividly hued flames and colorless wind blades collided.
A shockwave of heat spread across their private Sanctuary, and the grotesque dance of the Oni and the Mage began.
※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ The instant the Trial began, Emilia perceived it immediately.
The loss of her five senses and the dissolution of her very concept of having a body.
Organs that should have felt the world slipped beyond her control, and her consciousness was cast adrift into a weightless void—as though she existed now as nothing but a soul.
This was fundamentally different from every previous Trial.
"——"
She could not produce a voice.
She had no mouth, and yet somehow she could still perceive the world—a mystery in itself.
No, "perceive the world" was perhaps too strong. Nothing solid enough to call the world had yet taken shape.
In the darkness, Emilia's consciousness floated alone.
What kept her from losing herself entirely was the scattering of lights throughout that darkness.
Soft, multicolored luminance.
Similar to the radiance emitted by minor spirits, yet fundamentally different in presence—these lights possessed something spirits of the living did not.
They might more closely resemble the material glow of magic ore, despite their similar faintness and color.
In any case, their scattered placement around her consciousness allowed Emilia to confirm that she had not been severed from the world.
"——"
Relieved that she was not lost, surrounded by these lights, Emilia gradually grew bewildered by the unchanging state of things.
The hazy lights remained as they were, and nothing else in her surroundings shifted. In previous Trials,
Time alone was passing without purpose—she did not know how the flow of time differed between inside and outside the Tomb, but drifting along aimlessly would accomplish nothing.
"——?"
*Something must be done.* Emilia wished, with her own consciousness, for change.
In that instant, the awareness that had been fixed in one spot found it could move, and she realized she could reach any one of the surrounding lights.
To have no body, yet contact light—such a strange sensation.
But there was no other way to describe it. Perhaps, invisible though she was to herself, what remained was simply her physical body's mana—the bare mass of od laid exposed.
If consciousness and soul resided in od, then her current state became at least somewhat understandable.
Satisfied with that degree of explanation, Emilia affirmed herself and reached toward one of the lights.
There were roughly twenty lights scattered around her. Without any particular reason, Emilia's consciousness drifted toward a silver-glowing one.
And at the instant od and light touched—she saw.
"I hate you. I hate you, I hate you. I hate you more than anything. It's true. All of it. Ever since the first time we met… I couldn't stand you. Not one bit."
"——!?"
The moment the voice reached her, a fierce primal scene flooded into her consciousness.
An abnormally large sun, a scorched plain, a crumbling colossus of a structure—standing beside it, drenched in red sunlight, a woman with silver hair bloodied and wet—Emilia herself.
The grown-up version of herself she had witnessed in the Second Trial.
Wearing an expression of profound sorrow, she was casting words toward someone before the ruins.
"I've thought it many times, and I've denied it just as many times… but the nightmares caught up with me in the end. So, I'm going to say it."
"——"
"We probably shouldn't have met, you and I."
A single tear slipped from the corner of her violet eye.
It traced down her cheek, and just before the droplet would have fallen from her chin to the ground, the world shattered and vanished.
"——!"
She gasped. Od alone could never perform such a delicate feat.
All Emilia could do was receive the vision she had witnessed.
What had that light been? What was the scene she had just seen?
It had certainly been Emilia, yet Emilia herself had no memory of it. Or was that yet another impossible world, like the visions shown in the Second Trial?
"——"
*No,* Emilia thought.
She quieted her confused consciousness, groped through her memories, and recalled.
When she had entered this Third Trial, words that had echoed through the Tomb.
*"First, confront your own past." "Behold the present that should not be."* And the third word that followed them. Yes, it was— *"Confront the catastrophe yet to come."* The catastrophe yet to come—that must mean the future.
The past, and a present that did not truly exist, and finally the future.
Was this the unending baptism shown to those who challenged the world known as a Trial?
If so, then the scene she had just witnessed was also a future awaiting Emilia.
A place where everything sank into twilight, where she wept while expressing regret at having met someone—her in that state.
"——"
Driving away her anxiety with denial, Emilia's consciousness regained its surface composure.
But when she re-registered the darkness around her, another tremor of distress arose.
The silver light Emilia's od had touched was gone.
Where the light should have been, there was emptiness—sheared away. Puzzled, Emilia quickly understood.
If each of the surrounding lights represented a future yet to come, then her consciousness would not be released until she had touched every single one of them.
If this was the Trial, then after viewing this multitude of futures, she would surely be made to choose something. If Echidna was waiting, it would be there.
In other words—Emilia had to witness at least twenty more futures.
"——"
Were they each different futures, or fragments of the same one she had just seen?
With the illusion of a nonexistent heart clenching in her chest, Emilia extended her consciousness toward the next light.
It was a deep, oceanic blue.
"You were right. She was our enemy, and the wounds ran deep. Even if we pulled back here, I can't heal her—and neither could you."
"Then—"
"But she was still a child. —Isn't that enough?"
The world shifted once more.
This time the scene was set against a dense forest, with two figures standing at the edge of a sheer cliff.
Their faces were invisible. But both voices were familiar—one from close at hand, the other less so, yet unmistakable.
The two stood facing each other at the cliff's edge. One knelt; the other looked down at the kneeling figure. Both wore expressions of profound despondency, or so it seemed to Emilia.
"You are… you're a hero. Only a hero… can be… !"
"I—"
"Thank you… for saving me!!"
One figure turned away, while the other thrust out a hand—and from that shadow, the words of gratitude were flung.
Between the two figures, there was a clear sense of severance.
Irreversible sorrow and pure despair lay across the farewell.
The world began to blur again, and Emilia's consciousness returned to the dark void.
"——"
Emilia had been nowhere in that world.
She could guess the identities of the two who appeared, but the absence of her own figure felt strange.
She was supposed to be approaching the light as one facing her future.
So to be shown a future in which she did not appear—or a scene without herself—what did that mean?
—Was she being shown the futures that could befall those around her, as a consequence of her choices?
If so, then what she had just seen was another possible outcome of that choice.
Not only her own fate, but the changes her decisions would bring to those around her—even that, she was being told to bear witness to.
"——"
The blue light vanished, just as the silver one had.
Around Emilia, twenty lights still remained.
—Each one carried the weight of a choice.
Steel herself to that fact, Emilia extended her consciousness to bear witness to the results of her choices.
The next future, and the next after that—each one was waiting for Emilia's decision.
※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ She swung her staff, conjured blades of wind, and unleashed them.
The kamaitachi that formed were colorless and silent, assassins aiming for the target's feet.
"At this level, no."
Roswaal evaded the invisible attack with a light hop, effortless as breathing.
Naturally. He was the head of the illustrious House of Mathers and a once-in-a-generation mage who had mastered all six elements. For
"A return gift."
Three-colored fireballs—red, blue, and green—rained down from a single wave of Roswaal's arm, hurtling toward Ram.
The red flames, the blue flames, the green flames—each pursued the fleeing Ram with homing precision, a nasty nuisance. While running backward, Ram panted heavily as she raised her mana output and released it. Wind blades intercepted the three types of fire, but the flames that should have canceled each other out instead reacted in distinctly different ways.
"——!?"
The red flames, upon receiving a direct hit from the wind, surged in intensity as if doused with oil and erupted into a pillar of fire.
The blue flames, conversely, were cleanly bisected by the wind—and scattered their heat in every direction.
The green flames appeared to be swept up by the wind, but in the next instant absorbed the wind's mana and transformed into a green fire-serpent that writhed across the ground, pursuing Ram.
Ram was buffeted by the fire pillar, kicked off a massive tree to dodge the blue flames, rolled across the ground to escape the green serpent's fangs, and then hurled another wind blade at the fire-snake.
The fire-serpent shattered, scattering green flames that smoldered across the grassland in dozens of spots.
"My, my… We've only exchanged a single round of magic, and you're already quite battered."
"Hah… haa…"
"If you were acting under the impression you stood a chance, I'm afraid your optimism was misplaced. True, I'm currently devoting most of my mana to controlling the large-scale spell for weather manipulation. But that doesn't mean I've grown careless enough to leave myself exposed."
Watching Ram gasp for breath, Roswaal tilted his head as flames ringed him on all sides.
The three-colored flames reappeared, coalescing into fist-sized fireballs that began orbiting around Roswaal's body. Their number increased with every revolution, picking up speed, and within mere seconds a vortex of tri-colored flame encased him.
"One fireball of each color takes that toll? Three types, ten of each—thirty fireballs in total. Surely that exceeds your current capacity?"
"——"
"Then again, if your aim was to strike when my strength was diminished, joining forces against Garfiel was the height of foolishness. Even if my power is reduced, it means nothing if yours is equally depleted. Look at the mana flooding your body—plainly visible. —You've entered demonification."
To Roswaal's low query, Ram answered only with her gaze while steadying her breathing.
Perhaps not expecting an answer, Roswaal shrugged.
"Undertaking demonification without my support—what else could follow? Your body is nearly drained of mana, and after challenging me for even a single minute, you're approaching your limit. From the standpoint of doing your utmost to achieve your own goal, this is a pitiful sight."
"A pitiful… sight?"
"Yes, pitiful. Just now you said—when I told you the contract could be verified by either deviating from the Gospel or waiting two more days, you said it wouldn't matter. At first I had no idea what you meant… but I've since thought it through, and I believe I have the answer."
Ram's breathing was gradually steadying, but her physical strength and mana were not recovering—of course not. Roswaal knew as much, which was why he eased his pursuit to exchange words.
If she became a hindrance, that would be a different matter. But Roswaal had no intention of killing Ram.
That composure, yet again, was a humiliation Ram could barely stomach.
"Given that your objective is revenge, the answer came easily. Torturing a broken shell of me would bring you no true satisfaction. The only reason to challenge me now, at the cost of abandoning any certainty of successful revenge, is this: you believe that only by defeating me while I still have a purpose do you achieve true vengeance."
"——"
"In that, I must bear some blame as well—pressuring you with an urgent choice when you were still young. Perhaps you only realized that later and felt your own rush. That is precisely why you seized this opportunity too eagerly. …The results, as you can see."
"…Ah."
A small sound escaped Ram's throat.
It was a ragged, slipping exhalation.
Roswaal's mismatched eyes locked onto her, determined not to miss a single reaction.
Bathed in that stare, Ram reflected on the course of her life.
And she was confronted, once more, with something she had always known.
Having fully registered it, Ram opened her mouth.
Wide, wide, tilting her face to the sky and opening her mouth wide— "Ahahahahaha!"
"—Ram?"
She was reflecting his laughter back at him.
Remembering Roswaal's earlier guffaw, Ram laughed with even greater relish.
For entirely different reasons than Roswaal, of course—but yes, this was amusing. It was laughable. Naturally so. Because of course it was.
"No matter how many times you repeat it, no matter how many times you touch on it, the other person hasn't even noticed."
Calling him obtuse or insensitive no longer even applied—they were in different dimensions entirely.
He was stubborn. Set in stone. He had written it off as impossible, and nothing could move him.
The notion that feelings born of revenge could, over time, transform into love—that, within Roswaal, simply did not exist.
"Ram stayed by Roswaal-sama's side… because of the contract."
"Ah, yes. At the burned-out village, we exchanged a contract of fealty. Even after you lost your horn, I remember your eyes gleaming with crimson wrath. So I sealed it with the contract and redirected that passion into loyalty. Even knowing that a day like this would eventually come…"
"Yes. That's right. Ram wanted to kill you. But that opportunity was taken away, and I lived in the mansion bearing a strange, inexplicable loyalty… and then—"
"Today, freed from the contract's leash, you sought to fulfill that old desire for revenge—"
Roswaal was drawing toward his conclusion. His figure struck Ram as absurdly comical.
*This person truly cannot see anything beyond his own obsession,* she thought.
"Ram loves Roswaal-sama."
"——"
"I have fallen in love with you. So a broken you would be worthless. That is not the Roswaal-sama Ram desires."
Hearing Ram's answer, Roswaal's eyes went wide and his body went rigid.
As though he had genuinely not anticipated even a sliver of this response, Roswaal was struck dumb.
He shook his head quickly and tried to form words, but his lips trembled only—no coherent sentence emerged.
"What… is the meaning of this?"
"Nothing is the meaning of this… Are you mocking me? After all this, you resort to—to rattling my heart because you can't reach me with strength?"
"What makes you think such petty tricks could ever work on Roswaal-sama? Ram is simply telling the truth."
"If that's the case, then it's even more impossible!"
Roswaal stamped his feet and raised his voice.
In response to his emotional surge, the curtain of fireballs swirling around him grew wildly erratic. He scattered the stationary flames outward, suspended them in the air, and glared at Ram.
"Love me? What are you saying? I am your enemy. The man you hate. The one responsible for your homeland's destruction. You hated me enough to want me dead—this I know for certain!"
"That was at first, but not now. Ram loves you, at this moment."
"Don't be absurd… ! Who could ever attach weight to such cheap sentiment… !"
Feelings born of revenge must remain rooted in revenge.
Feelings that reach love can only begin as love.
Roswaal stubbornly believed that people's wishes and feelings did not change.
And so he could not believe that Ram's heart had shifted enough to shake her very way of life.
"What about your revenge! Did you not swear it? Before the smoldering ruins of your homeland, before the souls of your fallen kin—did you not vow to exact revenge?"
"Ram does feel guilty toward her kin, and her heart aches when she thinks of her homeland. But what is done is done. Ram will prioritize her own feelings over those of the dead."
"——!"
"Besides, Roswaal-sama isn't even the direct culprit. If anyone's vision is clouded by the desire for revenge, it would be a greater cause for shame. …At least, that's the excuse Ram offers."
Roswaal could not find a retort for Ram's brazen self-assurance.
Understanding it right away would be asking too. Roswaal was a man who had clung to his own obsession for an impossibly long time.
Unwaveringly, he had pursued a single devotion, devoting himself entirely to the fulfillment of one wish.
His conviction that this was how feelings and hearts ought to be ran too deep.
And so he could not comprehend how feelings, how strength, could change over time.
That she could still find even this endearing about him—there was nothing to be done about that.
"Therefore, Ram will absolutely not allow you to become a cripple."
"…That's contradictory. Regardless of your feelings—if what you've said is truly the case, then I understand even less why you would fight me here. If the Gospel deviates, I lose my purpose and my mind shatters. Knowing that, why!"
"That is precisely why it must be now. Barusu, Emilia-sama, Garf… while Roswaal-sama's heart is being shaken—this is Ram's once-in-a-thousand-years opportunity."
As long as the contract between Roswaal and Ram existed, Ram could not defy him. And Roswaal had pointed out that the reason she could defy him now was that her soul had judged the contract's leash to be severed.
But was that truly so? Just because one party believed the terms were void, the contract would be released? Could such a loose, ambiguous standard really govern a system as absolute as a contract?
That was what Ram believed—and what she wished for.
She was not the only one who believed the condition for voiding the contract—the deviation from the Gospel's text—had been met. Somewhere in his heart, Roswaal recognized it too.
And that was precisely why this situation was unfolding.
"——!"
Facing Roswaal's bewildered expression, Ram held her breath and launched off the ground.
She drew her staff, squeezed out every last drop of remaining mana, and began forming a spell.
"—! Foolish!"
Roswaal shook off his unease and ordered the fireballs floating around him to intercept Ram. Yet none of the flames struck her directly—they passed through the air just above the ground or grazed past her face, searing her skin fiercely and nothing more.
Even at this juncture, Roswaal could not bring himself to destroy Ram—the one condition who believed the Gospel's future had been deviated from. Perhaps partly because he could not see what she was truly after.
Or perhaps, just perhaps, he could not bear the thought of killing Ram.
If so, that alone was enough to make her heart soar past all the gloom of moments before.
"——El Fura!!"
The power of wind converged, and a colorless explosion of destruction erupted before her.
Roswaal braced himself—but the target was not him. The ground beneath his feet shattered, and a storm of earth and debris engulfed his field of vision.
"A smokescreen like this!"
"——!"
In a single instant, Roswaal smashed through the curtain of earth with a sweep of his arm.
Watching the barrier vanish, Ram exhaled sharply and focused all her strength on her forehead.
"…Ngh—gah!"
Agony. Her vision went red, and blood-tears spilled from the corners of her straining eyes.
Every muscle, every bone in her body groaned. She heard the sound of tendons snapping, one after another.
Ignoring all of it, she clenched her teeth hard enough to crack her molars and slammed her foot down. The sole of her boot shattered the earth, and Ram's body, for one transcendent instant, operated beyond the limits of life.
In the blink of an eye, Ram's body crossed the gap and hurtled into Roswaal's space.
She was faster than Roswaal noticing her and widening his eyes. Her outstretched arm reached his torso, her palm pressed against his chest—and Roswaal held his breath.
Demonification. There was no other explanation for the enhancement of Ram's physical abilities.
In that moment, Ram's strength had exceeded the limits of the human body. Roswaal must have realized his miscalculation—the possibility of a shattered sternum, of organs rupturing.
And yet— "…What?"
The expected impact and pain never came. Roswaal let out a stunned voice.
At that moment, Ram had already reached a point roughly ten meters from Roswaal, decelerating with her feet gouging the earth. Her downward-facing face was spewing blood from her mouth as she dropped to her knees.
Roswaal frowned, unable to grasp the meaning behind Ram's actions.
But then he saw what Ram held in her hand, and his expression changed.
"That is… !"
Ram was the root of all evil, when it came to this.
Roswaal's face drained of color and he lunged toward her. Ram lifted her gaze to meet his and, without the slightest hesitation, swung her arm.
—the Gospel clutched in her hand was hurled into the green flames that still lingered.
"——!!"
Roswaal screamed a silent scream, but pitilessly the flames swallowed the Gospel and flared higher. With a crisp, satisfying crackle, the ancient book was reduced to green ash.
Ram watched the sight with the smile of someone beholding a long-awaited vision.
"…It's finally done."
She sighed contentedly, a flush on her cheeks.
—The fireball, unleashed in a blind fury, pierced the girl's slight body in the very next instant.
Route B concludes here.