"I know it was wrong of me, but I did go through the documents."
The gaze that looked up at Crusch through the iron bars had an almost dreamlike quality, as though focused on something far away. The old man sat in the center of the cell, legs folded beneath him, his posture immaculate.
In the garden he'd worn tattered rags draped over one shoulder, but now, stripped to light garments, his body was every bit as powerfully built as he'd appeared upon first encounter.
It was only his sunken cheeks and unkempt stubble—and the once-lustrous mass of his hair, now drained of color, tied back carelessly at the nape—that betrayed a sense of ill health.
"— — —"
"That's a sizing-up look. ...As it should be. Allow me to apologize for approaching without introducing myself."
Crusch closed one eye in response to the silent stare, pressed a hand to her chest, and straightened her spine.
The sheer force of her bearing was enough to send the dust-laden air of the underground cell scattering in retreat. The aura she exuded was a born charisma that commanded attention, and even the old man's gaze shifted ever so slightly.
"I am
"Karsten... a Duke?"
At Crusch's self-introduction, the old man's eyes changed their expression once more.
It was the look of understanding and comprehension, tinged with yet another welling doubt.
"I had thought the head of House Karsten was Lord Meicaart."
"That's right. Meicaart Karsten is my father. He transferred the title to me two years ago, and I now bear the name Duke Karsten. You seem reasonably well-informed about the inner workings of things... but your knowledge appears to be several years behind. That may well be where the root of the argument lies."
"Was the kingdom's bureaucracy truly so short-staffed that His Grace the Duke had to conduct the investigation personally?"
"A sharp tongue. In truth, I have no intention of prying into the dispute between Lord Bordeaux and yourself. That was merely a pretext. I needed to convince the soldiers to withdraw."
The old man's irony drew a wry smile from Crusch.
The two now faced each other in the underground cell beneath the guard post adjoining the Royal Knights' barracks, just a short distance from the Royal Castle. Having heard that the old man who'd caused the disturbance in the garden had been brought here, Crusch had sent the soldiers away under the pretense of conducting an interrogation, and had come alone for this conversation. Up above,
"A pretext, you say. Then I take it you have a more pressing matter to discuss. Surely you haven't come to have me executed for disrespect toward Lord Bordeaux?"
"Naturally not. Besides, Lord Bordeaux himself doesn't consider it an offense. He claims the fault lies with him. Your release is scheduled for tomorrow morning. If you repeat the same behavior after that, naturally he won't be able to shield you."
"...I intend no such thing. The incident in the garden was my own failing. Being locked in a cold cell has at least cooled my head."
His tone carried a trace of amusement, but his expression hadn't changed one bit. Still, the self-reproach was genuine. There was no anger directed at Bordeaux—only at himself.
But the intensity of that self-directed anger was so dense that Crusch could almost choke on it.
—It was rage. Pure rage.
At the core of this old man, anchored with a heat that could scorch through anything, burned a furious wrath.
Even as he embodied the presence of a blade honed to such fine precision that it captivated Crusch's gaze, a passionate tempest churned within him strong enough to shatter the shape of steel.
And the source of that rage was— "—The
"— — —"
"Your eyes changed."
The instant he heard those whispered words, a dark, turbid emotion surged through the old man's pupils.
It vanished in a flash, leaving no trace, but it could not escape the notice of Crusch, who had been expecting exactly that reaction.
Crusch produced the slip of paper she had been holding since descending to the cell—one that had been scattered across the garden—and continued speaking to the old man through the iron bars.
"As I said at the beginning. I know it was wrong of me, but I went through the documents. Most of them were collected by Lord Bordeaux himself, though. All I have is a single page that was overlooked."
"...That gentleman has always been somewhat lacking in attention to what's at his feet. I pointed it out to him many times, but it never changed, did it."
"That too is simply Lord Bordeaux being Lord Bordeaux. A perfect Lord Bordeaux is hard to imagine."
"That it is."
For the first time, a shared smile graced both Crusch and the old man's faces.
Even if the bond was forged through a bald old man's amusement, Crusch let out a soft sigh and then ran her finger across the page before her.
"All I have is a single page, but I'm glad it wasn't unrelated. What's recorded here is remarkably interesting. If this is true, it constitutes a major discovery."
"— — —"
"The appearances of the White Whale confirmed across the entire continent over the past ten years are compiled here. Not just Lugunica—
"— — —"
The old man did not answer.
In contrast to his demeanor, which grew colder by the word, Crusch's tongue grew warmer with each sentence she spoke.
How could it be otherwise? How could one not be surprised—and fired with passion—by this?
The White Whale. Since the age of the ancient
There had once been an attempt to assemble a subjugation force and launch a grand expedition to slay it—but the result was a historic defeat, and the kingdom's spirit had been broken by a single magical beast.
The casualties and scars from that time had never been healed.
Most people didn't even realize they were wounded. That was the most despicable and unforgivable nature of the magical beast known as the White Whale. To inflict harm upon its victims so that they neither noticed the blood nor the wounds—that was a depravity beyond all reckoning.
It wasn't just Crusch. Everyone who knew of the White Whale felt that same burning anger.
"But you did not let that anger remain as mere anger. Your determination bore fruit, and you gathered this much information. If the movements of this unpredictable beast could be laid bare, how many lives could be saved?"
Merchants and countless others who traveled the roads lived perpetually under the threat of the White Whale. Against an enemy whose appearance could not be predicted and against which resistance was futile, there was no way to guard one's heart and take preventive measures.
"The number of lives claimed by the White Whale's venomous fangs would be drastically reduced. Your work has that much value. You should be proud. Through your efforts, you have saved countless lives."
"— — —"
"—That's quite the 'and so what?' expression."
"— — —!"
For the first time since delving into the contents of the document, the old man's expression changed.
Color returned to his frozen face and eyes, and his awareness bore down on the space between Crusch's brows like a blade.
As the old man's gaze questioned what she intended to say, Crusch tilted her chin downward.
"I understand what drives you. You have spent a long time pursuing the whereabouts of that magical beast, wearing your soul to the bone in the process. The information you obtained through such sacrifice—would you really use it for something as passive as evading the beast's threat? That can't be the answer."
"...Then what is?"
"It's obvious. Your goal is to slay the White Whale. You researched the timing of its appearances for one reason alone: to mount a perfect assault and bring the beast down. The ferocity of your sword spirit—I can see that you must have been someone of great renown. Would such a man set down his blade and look for an escape route? Impossible."
When framed that way, the content of the old man's fractured discussion with Bordeaux also came into focus.
The old man and Bordeaux had been conspiring together on a plan to slay the White Whale. But that plan had fallen apart when the royal family fell ill.
Bordeaux's increased duties as a member of the Council of Wise Men were one reason, but the more pressing issue was "the White Whale's end of the matter."
"You had requested to send an envoy to Volachia. That means your prediction for the White Whale's next appearance was the Volachian Empire. And then..."
"If an appearance is confirmed in the Empire, the next one will be in the
"So that's why Bordeaux hesitated."
"Why!? Why would he go back on his promise now!? He poured out every last ounce of his grudge against the White Whale. You too... you were angry about having been robbed of something, weren't you...!? Are you going to forget Therese, Bordeaux...!?"
A shout erupted. It sliced through the stale air of the dungeon and struck Crusch's ears like a thunderclap.
The old man slammed his fist against the ground in frustration, biting his lip to contain his fury.
It was rage at Bordeaux for breaking his promise; it was hatred toward the White Whale, that loathsome existence; and above all, it was the inexhaustible fury at his own inadequacy.
"...There is no time. If we miss this chance, it will be years before the White Whale returns to Lugunica. And if that happens, I will only weaken. This body of mine, which continues to wither even now, has no time to spare. The longer I put this off, the further revenge recedes..."
"— — —"
It was a scream.
He hadn't raised his voice. He hadn't even cried out. But it poured from him with enough force to grind his soul to dust, and it was an unmistakable scream nonetheless.
And such a soul-shaking scream always carves the same measure of pain and wound into the heart of all who hear it.
Therese—the name the old man had spoken was one Crusch recognized.
Of course. No one who wielded a sword could fail to know the name of the Kingdom of Lugunica's Sword Saint.
Therese was the hero who had quelled the Demihuman War, a civil conflict that engulfed the entire kingdom. She was beautiful, incomparably strong, and a woman beloved by the sword.
Her end, as Crusch had heard it, was death in battle—fighting as part of the kingdom's subjugation force sent to slay the White Whale.
"Oh—"
The instant Therese's name and fate flickered through Crusch's mind, a single person surfaced alongside it.
A man connected to Therese. A man who had reached the sword's absolute pinnacle, to the point where it made Crusch's body tremble. There was only one such person in her memory.
The man spoken of in legends—the Sword Devil who had overpowered even the Sword Saint who had ended the war, who had loved and married the woman beloved by the sword. The demon who loved the woman beloved by the sword, and who lived by the sword.
The demon who stole a woman from the Sword God.
"Sword Devil—
It was a name that stood as legend upon legend.
The sword duel between Sword Saint and Sword Devil had captivated people's hearts to the point of being sung about in ballads. Even young Crusch, hearing those songs in her childhood, had felt her heart burn with the same passion as everyone else.
If that was so, then the man before her was none other than the Sword Devil she had once admired.
"That name was discarded long ago. The moment I abandoned my duty and left my home behind, the name of Astrea and the sword-name of 'van' ceased to be mine."
"Then what name do you go by now?"
"Trias. The name of an obscure, fallen noble house in a forgotten corner of the kingdom that perished decades ago. A house whose last lord, though he lacked the strength to protect his domain, loved his people. It is now but the remnant of a family that gave birth to a demon—one who has failed to repay the debts and obligations of his birth house and wanders the world."
"Wilhelm Trias."
"Yes. That is the name of the demon who now shows his shame to the world."
The old man—Wilhelm—pressed his fist to the cold floor and, still seated, bowed in a gesture of formal respect.
It was a posture that should have been disrespectful to a noble, yet conveyed no such impression. On the contrary, Crusch found herself captivated by the elegance of it, and caught her breath.
"Your targeting of the White Whale... it's for your wife's sake, isn't it?"
"I have no purpose beyond that—no, I have no reason to live beyond that."
In his clear, penetrating gaze, there was not the slightest tremor.
At this point, Crusch at last understood the full scope of Wilhelm's intentions. She understood what he had been pursuing single-mindedly for more than a decade.
—And that if things continued as they were, that goal would go unfulfilled.
"—I understand your resolve. However, as things stand, your wish cannot be realized."
"...Why not?"
"If you rely on Lord Bordeaux, Lord Bordeaux will not act. Certainly not in time for the White Whale's next predicted appearance in half a year."
Regardless of how the ailing king's fate was decided, the kingdom would face unprecedented chaos and upheaval. This was an upheaval that would shake the entire kingdom from top to bottom, and the nobility—from the highest to the lowest—would be swept up in the tide. The first to be engulfed would be the high-ranking nobles and those serving on the Council of Wise Men.
"— — —"
Wilhelm fell silent.
But it was self-evident that his inner state was far less calm than his expression or posture suggested.
Crusch could feel it—the overwhelming rage radiating from Wilhelm.
Oh, it was nothing but rage.
What existed within the Sword Devil now was rage, and rage alone.
—How frustrating.
That was the only sentiment Crusch could muster toward Wilhelm.
Frustrating. Painful. A waste. One after another, these feelings welled up.
To choose a way of life, and to be bound by it—these seemed alike, but were fundamentally different.
Crusch believed in living as one truly was, following the demands of one's soul. She believed that the "wind" of a person's way of living cutting clean through was the healthiest and most beautiful existence.
That was precisely why she could not help but pity the Sword Devil bound to his chosen path.
His heart scorched by unbearable wrath, his once-clear blade clouded by ten years of fury, its edge sharpened by the grievances of a bygone era—the Sword Devil now stood here.
If he failed to achieve his purpose and withered away, the Sword Devil's twilight years would be forever tarnished.
She wished with all her heart that she could do something about it, but Crusch could not act rashly—the same sense of responsibility that constrained Bordeaux prevented her.
She finally understood the anguish-filled expression on Bordeaux's face in the garden.
Or perhaps for Bordeaux, Therese's name held an even deeper significance. Wilhelm addressed Bordeaux without honorifics, and Bordeaux had called Wilhelm his "battle comrade." The bond between the two men was something that Crusch, in this moment, could never fully measure.
"—Thank you for taking the time to speak with me. However, it seems we have nothing further to discuss."
Though she hadn't meant to show it in her expression, the eyes are sometimes more eloquent than words.
Wilhelm peered into Crusch's amber eyes and reached his answer. Even without the "Foresight" blessing, the passage of years lent to mortals a power akin to keen sight.
Crusch did not commit the rudeness of denying the truth he had seen through.
"...What will you do from here?"
"The same as always. If I cannot rely on Lord Bordeaux, I will seek out other influential figures. Until the moment this body crumbles to dust, my life will be spent solely on vengeance."
"— — —"
There was a dilemma.
The only ones who could provide a fitting response to Wilhelm's request were the high-ranking nobles. But every high-ranking noble was currently occupied with quelling the chaos within the royal court.
A lesser noble with time on their hands might be able to help, but such a family would lack the power to slay the White Whale. Or perhaps she could rely on someone outside the nobility, but that too had its pros and cons.
A powerful trading house—for instance, someone like
In such a scenario, Wilhelm could very well find himself disposed of for knowing too much.
Before his defection, the name of Astrea might have shielded him.
But the Wilhelm of today called himself Trias. His pride would not allow him to borrow the power of his former house name. And if he traveled the world as an ordinary swordsman— "You must not act impulsively. The only things that can protect you now are yourself and your actions."
"I understand. To act rashly and fail to fulfill my lifelong desire—that would be the greatest shame of all. I appreciate your concern."
His words were courteous, but his mind had already moved beyond Crusch.
Whatever Crusch could think of in this moment, the old man had surely already examined and exhausted in his sleepless nights.
If Wilhelm truly sought information, it could only be about the reason behind the royal court's chaos—and that was something that could absolutely never be spoken aloud.
"Lord Trias—no, Mr. Trias. Allow me to apologize for forcing you to speak of things you would rather not. And though it may be presumptuous, I pray that your lifelong desire will be fulfilled."
"Your words are too generous."
With that, Wilhelm closed his eyes, and made no further move to speak.
Crusch too could find no further meaning in adding words to this place.
In mutual silence, Crusch turned her back to Wilhelm with a graceful sweep. Her flowing green hair cut through the stale air of the dungeon, and as if urging her forward from behind, ushered her along the path to the surface.
"Your conversation went... judging from your face, it didn't go very well, nya."
Having climbed the stairs to the top, Crusch let out a sigh before a light voice called out to her.
At the entrance to the guard post—Ferris was leaning back in a chair in the lobby, peering up at Crusch's expression from below.
He tossed the cards he'd been holding onto the table, and smiled at the two guards he'd been playing against.
"Since my lady is back, that's it for today. I'll send one of the Royal Knights to collect what you owe, so have it ready, nya."
"What on earth were you betting to stall for time?"
"Well, umm, that's something even Ferris can't really say out loud... But, but, if Crusch-san wishes, Ferris can bear the shame of— ...Crusch-san?"
Ferris, who had been blushing and fidgeting, changed his expression and approached Crusch. His outstretched fingertips touched Crusch's cheek, and their eyes naturally met.
"You don't look well. Something truly troubling must have happened."
"I can't hide it from you, can I... Just like with His Highness Fourier, my power has become insufficient for more and more problems. It makes me angry at my own inadequacy."
"But that wouldn't make Crusch-san stop in her tracks, nya."
Ferris gently cupped Crusch's hand in his palm. His grip was painfully strong, and yet, Crusch's shoulder tension eased naturally, and she softened her lips into a smile at Ferris's smile.
"You truly are someone I can't beat. You seem to know me better than I know myself."
"Well, of course. Ferris knows every inch of Crusch-san—inside and out, nya."
Ferris's cheeky remark caused the guards behind them to stir for some reason.
Though Crusch found their reaction puzzling, she simply nodded.
"Let's call it a day. But tomorrow will be different. The day after tomorrow will be different too. —That is how it shall be."
* * * The days following the encounter with Wilhelm in the dungeon unfolded just as Crusch had imagined.
The royal family's condition showed no signs of improvement. Wilhelm, having been released, wandered the land seeking his next ally, to no avail. Crusch herself was overwhelmed with work in the capital, and even her father—who had secluded himself in their territory—had to be recruited for assistance.
None of this could be attributed to Crusch alone, but having involved herself in every affair, she could not accept that her inability to improve the outcomes was anything other than her own failure.
It was perhaps an arrogant sense of responsibility, but that pride was what defined Crusch Karsten.
And so those gray, seemingly endless days came to an abrupt conclusion.
—The death of King
And following him, one by one, the remaining members of the royal bloodline were claimed by their illness—
Fourier passed away with Crusch holding his hand.
Only Ferris seared the memory of the tears that traced down Crusch's cheeks into his mind.
"The Dragon Insignia Stone has inscribed new characters. —Do all of you understand what this means?"
The old man addressed the assembly of high-ranking nobles, barely able to contain his excitement.
His name was Count
That special duty was— "The Dragon Insignia Stone has changed... You're saying a new revelation has appeared on the oracle that foretells the kingdom's future?"
"Yes. This duty was bestowed upon me by His Majesty, of blessed memory. I shall now relay the Dragon Insignia Stone's changes. I ask for your kind attention."
He knelt on the spot, pressing fist to palm in the deepest bow.
Leip's rank was not particularly high among the gathering of high-ranking nobles. Yet everyone present deferred to him, which was a testament to the power and track record of the Dragon Insignia Stone.
The Dragon Insignia Stone—one of the sacred relics granted as proof of the covenant between the Lugunica royal family and the Divine Dragon
Like the Dragon's Blood that brought bountiful harvests to the land, the Dragon Insignia Stone was treated as an artifact of the highest importance. Only the royal family and a select few with special duties—such as Leip—were permitted entry to the room where it was housed.
The Dragon Insignia Stone took the form of a square stone tablet, but the mineral composition had never been identified, and its functions remained entirely shrouded in mystery.
All that was known for certain was this: when the kingdom faced some critical crisis, the stone tablet would inscribe a method for overcoming it.
On numerous occasions in the past, the Kingdom of Lugunica had been saved from catastrophe through the inscriptions of the Dragon Insignia Stone. Its track record was well established.
However— "Hold on. You claim the Dragon Insignia Stone has an inscription, but how can we be sure it's trustworthy?"
The bald-headed old man—Bordeaux—cut off Leip before he could elaborate, raising his voice.
He glowered sternly, looking down at the small-statured Leip from above. Leip furrowed his already heavily lined brow and glared back at Bordeaux.
"That is a regrettable thing to say, Lord Bordeaux. The reliability of the Dragon Insignia Stone's inscriptions is something you, as members of the Council of Wise Men and pillars of the kingdom, should know better than anyone."
"I acknowledge that it has saved us on several occasions in the past. But this time is different. If the Dragon Insignia Stone truly reacts to events that determine the kingdom's future, then why did it not react to the plight of His Majesty and the other royals? If the Stone truly cares for the kingdom, the proper course would have been to show a way to save the king and his family!"
"— — —"
Bordeaux raised his voice in anger, but many shadows around the round table nodded in agreement with his words.
Seated at the same table, observing the proceedings with a watchful eye, Crusch shared the same sentiment. If the Dragon Insignia Stone had any intention of saving the kingdom, it should have shown a path to save the royal family.
She recalled the moment Fourier's hand had gone limp in hers, and his eyes had clouded over.
Regret—that was all she felt.
"—There is something I must tell all of you about this matter, personally."
"...Something you need to say to us directly? What is it?"
"First, I must acknowledge that my decision to keep this secret was my own doing. I ask that you hear me out with full knowledge of that fact."
"What are you talking about?! Speak clearly!"
"The inscription on the Dragon Insignia Stone appeared before His Majesty had even passed."
The words Leip delivered left Bordeaux's face frozen in shock.
But the reaction didn't stop with Bordeaux. Everyone seated around the round table, watching the proceedings, had their mouths agape in disbelief.
Even Crusch was at a loss for words, staring at Leip in a daze.
"No doubt you're wondering why I kept silent. But first, I ask that you believe that my actions were in no way a betrayal of His Majesty's trust."
"Y-you... Have you forgotten your duty? The duty His Majesty personally bestowed upon you? You failed to fulfill it, and you have the nerve to say this so brazenly? The Dragon Insignia Stone has inscribed the path for the kingdom's future...!"
"Even if the content of that 'path' foretells the extinction of His Majesty and his bloodline?"
"Wha—!?"
The bombshell of Leip's words struck like a rapid-fire blow, and Crusch's breath caught.
Even Bordeaux, who had been flushed with anger, let his gaze waver at that statement. Then— "...Hm. Lord Bordeaux, I think it would be best to compose yourself. Lord Leip, would you be so kind as to elaborate?"
"With pleasure."
It was the white-bearded elder who interceded to calm and mediate. Microft, the representative of the Council of Wise Men, maintained his characteristically gentle gaze as he placed a hand to his chest and gestured for Leip to continue.
"First, the revelation on the Dragon Insignia Stone appeared approximately ten days ago... while His Majesty was still alive. I was the one who discovered it. Under normal circumstances, I should have reported it to His Majesty immediately, or relayed it to all of you for deliberation. But on my own authority, I chose to keep its contents secret until today."
"Hmm. And why did you do that?"
"The inscription reads: 'When the royal line is severed, the kingdom shall find five candidates chosen by the Emblem, and together with a new shrine maiden, renew the covenant.' I could not bring myself to deliver this to His Majesty as he lay on his deathbed."
"...How terrible."
Upon hearing Leip's words, one of the high-ranking nobles let out a bitter sigh.
It was that cruel a prophecy. The very oracle that was supposed to guide the kingdom foretold the severing of the royal family's lifeblood. History and precedent were killing the hope of the royal house.
And Leip's feelings—the inability to put forward such a proposal—were surely understandable.
"The Dragon Insignia Stone... rather than the royal family, it says to seek a new king separately? And five of them—what does that mean?"
"The Emblem. It is a precious gem passed down in the Lugunica royal family, recounting the covenant with the Dragon. It lost its light when His Majesty passed and the bloodline was severed... but it is said that in the hands of those truly worthy, it will shine brilliantly once more."
"Five people who can make the Emblem shine... and we're supposed to find them?! Ridiculous! A selection method like that for choosing who inherits the throne!"
"Then would you rather ignore the inscription?! If a shrine maiden worthy of the covenant cannot be found, the history of Lugunica ends here! The bond forged with the Dragon will be severed as well!"
Leip's fierce words struck down those who would object. Those who had raised objections on reflex now fell silent, one after another.
Still, one person raised their hand.
"May I speak?"
"Lord Karsten. Please, do you have an opinion as well?"
"Nothing of consequence. It's only natural that the room is full of dissent, but first we should verify the inscription's authenticity. Has the Emblem been prepared?"
"It has. Please bring it in."
At Crusch's words, Leip nodded and gave a sharp motion of his chin, and the doors to the assembly hall opened. A servant appeared pushing a cart bearing the Emblem of the royal family's lineage.
It was given priority to those in positions closely tied to the royal family, such as the Royal Knights.
A black triangular stone carved with a golden dragon design, with a red gemstone set in its center. The artifact that had always glowed with the radiance of royal authority had lost its luster since the king's death.
"And this will start glowing again, is that it?"
"That is the case—when held by one who is worthy."
At the servant's hands, the Emblem was placed before each person seated around the round table.
Staring down at the Emblem, some broke into cold sweat, others held their breath.
If it shone in one's hands, that would mean the path to the throne had opened.
Some felt the weight of that responsibility; others, a flicker of ambition.
"What about you, Lord Leip?"
"Having concealed the inscription's contents, it would only invite suspicion if I were to make the Emblem shine. Something like that would never be chosen by the gem."
Leip shook his head at the question, though how sincere that denial truly was remained uncertain.
Bordeaux snorted and took the Emblem first. But upon his calloused palm, the Emblem remained dark. It seemed the stone had not chosen him.
Following him, Microft and the other members of the Council of Wise Men took their turns, each shaking their head.
In turn, everyone around the round table handled the Emblem, and one after another, faint sighs and quiet breaths escaped their lips.
But then— "Oh my."
It was Microft who exclaimed, his usually calm face marked with rare astonishment.
And yet, that exclamation surely spoke for everyone gathered.
At the brilliant radiance of the glowing Emblem, Crusch looked down at her own palm and tilted her chin.
"—It seems there is still something this unworthy self can do for the kingdom."
With surprising calm, she spoke those words and closed her fist around the shining Emblem.
She raised her face and closed her eyes.
Behind her closed lids, she thought she could see Fourier's final smile.
* * * The chaos that followed in the council, and the complicated tangle of Crusch's new position, are difficult to describe in full.
But one thing was certain: thanks to the Dragon Insignia Stone's inscription and the existence of Crusch as its living proof, the proposal Leip had brought had taken on a tangible reality.
And Crusch's position had changed—she was no longer merely the head of a ducal house, but a provisional candidate for the throne, which meant far more frequent visits to the castle.
And above all— "You're amazing, Crusch-san! From the very first time Ferris met you, I always knew you weren't someone who merely belonged in the position of a duchess!"
When Ferris heard the record of the proceedings and learned how Crusch's status had been officially transformed, he was overjoyed—and in doing so, made Crusch feel the reality of it in a way she hadn't been able to manage on her own.
"C-Crusch-san?! Wh-why are you patting my head?! I'm happy, I'm happy! But, ah, my ears are sensitive...!"
"You are always exactly what I need most. I'm counting on you from here on, too."
"Y-yes! Ferris is more head-over-heels for Crusch-san than ever, nya!"
Ferris blushed, his tail swishing softly as he genuinely preened under the praise. Then, suddenly returning to a serious expression, he asked— "So, what position does Crusch-san hold from now on?"
"It's provisional, but I'll be a candidate for the throne. It's far from a settled matter. Besides myself, four more candidates should be discovered. The task is to verify them, and to discuss whether it's practically possible to install a proxy shrine maiden and renew the covenant with the Dragon."
"But, but, doesn't the Dragon Insignia Stone itself say so? No matter how outlandish it sounds, it's a message from the Dragon—isn't it obvious even without asking the Dragon directly?"
"That's what most people think. The suspicious Bordeaux, for instance, seems to suspect Leip Barielle of fabricating the whole thing. It's a rather cynical way of thinking, but... I have to admit, I'm slightly curious about Lord Leip's positioning myself. And Lord Roswaal being so quiet during the proceedings was also troubling."
Seated at the far end of the round table,
A man who rarely showed his face in the capital and frequently skipped important deliberations, he had sat quietly through the proceedings without stirring any trouble—and that very restraint was what troubled Crusch.
"In any case, suspicion can only go so far. They're trying to read my hidden intentions just as much as they're trying to figure out yours, so I'm hardly in a position to point fingers at Lord Leip or Lord Roswaal."
"Mmf! There are people out there harboring such suspicions about Crusch-san?! The nerve of them!"
"I thought the whole thing seemed too convenient myself. Even Lord Leip couldn't have predicted that a worthy candidate would appear among those present."
"But even if it seems too convenient, Crusch-san doesn't seem to think so at all."
At Ferris's slightly smug expression, Crusch couldn't help but smile wryly.
Truly, this attendant of hers understood Crusch's heart even better than Crusch did herself.
"—No, I don't. I simply believe that what was meant to come, has come."
She recalled her own feelings in that council chamber surrounded by the round table.
When Leip had raised the topic of the Dragon Insignia Stone, she had been just as surprised as everyone else. She had nodded along with Bordeaux's objections as perfectly reasonable. And she had been struck speechless by Leip's response.
But when she heard that whoever held the Emblem could lay claim to the throne, Crusch had decided, without hesitation, to test it herself.
And when the red gemstone in the Emblem blazed to light in her palm, not a shred of surprise visited Crusch's heart. All that came was the sound of the wind blowing through her own soul.
—I believe I was given this opportunity.
The questions that Fourier had harbored—the doubts about the kingdom's nature that Crusch had heard from Fourier's own lips, time and again.
An opportunity to hurl her own answer at those questions had arrived.
She had been given a moment to ensure that Fourier's death would not end as a mere sacrifice—to demonstrate the answer that his death had revealed.
Crusch Karsten received that truth with quiet composure.
And it also offered an answer to another issue that had continued to gnaw at her heart.
"Ferris, I have a request."
"—I've already confirmed the whereabouts. Just as Crusch-san instructed."
With one eye closed, Ferris conveyed that he had understood the full extent of Crusch's request. At this, Crusch offered yet another familiar wry smile.
"Summon him to the estate. —At last, I can speak properly with that Sword Devil."
* * * "I am truly honored to receive your invitation."
Wilhelm knelt on one knee in a gesture of the deepest respect as Crusch welcomed him.
The setting was the Karsten villa in the capital of Lugunica, in the parlor, where the two now sat face to face.
"It's been some time since we last met. You've been well?"
"Yes. And Lord Karsten appears unchanged, which is most gratifying."
They exchanged pleasantries, then locked eyes without a change in expression.
Ever since the incident at the dungeon days ago, it was already clear that Wilhelm's efforts had yet to bear fruit. He had accepted this invitation for a reason.
"Neither of us is inclined to small talk, it seems."
"I was told by your envoy that you would reveal the truth today. If possible, I would appreciate it if we could get to the heart of the matter without delay."
Wilhelm's gaze flickered briefly to Ferris, who sat beside Crusch with an air of feigned innocence. Today, Ferris had extended his tail from beneath a short skirt and was clinging to Crusch's arm while letting both men's gazes slide off him without acknowledgment.
An approach that couldn't be easily read—but the intent behind it was clear. In a corner of her mind, Crusch rated Ferris as far better suited to the political gamesmanship demanded of nobility than she herself was.
Setting aside that somewhat self-deprecating thought— "The truth is my answer to the fact that your proposal to slay the White Whale was rejected by everyone. That is also the reason Lord Bordeaux withdrew his support."
"Yes. Everyone has gone silent, refusing to speak the truth. What is it that weighs so heavily on your tongues? I beg you, tell me."
"If you hear it, there will be no going back. Knowing that, do you still demand an answer?"
"If it is an obstacle on the road to avenging my wife, I will overcome it regardless."
Unyielding. A will forged of steel.
At Wilhelm's answer, Crusch drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
She had known what the answer would be. It was the answer she had hoped for.
But even so, there was a small resistance in opening her mouth to speak.
What Crusch was about to reveal was information that only the highest echelons of the kingdom had been allowed to know. For a man like Wilhelm—once of the Sword Saint's lineage, now a fugitive—it was not information that could be casually shared.
Breaking that prohibition required a moment's pause.
Just a moment.
"—King Randohal has passed away."
"— — —!"
Wilhelm's eyes flew open, and in the next instant, understanding spread across his features.
But his shock did not stop there.
"Moreover, every member of the royal bloodline has perished as well. The bloodline of the Lugunica royal family, which endured for so many years, has been completely severed."
"That's impossible! Something like that can't happen!"
Wilhelm, who had been kneeling, raised his head and bared his teeth as he cried out.
The sheer absurdity of what he'd heard provoked not a dismissive laugh but a fury that even the old man could not contain. His violent reaction was only natural—for Wilhelm had once been— "As a former commander of the Royal Knights, that is not something I can simply overlook!"
"— — —"
"But it is true. The king wasted away in illness, and the disease consumed the royal bloodline. The finest healers and the best conditions were provided, but it wasn't enough."
"The entire royal family... all of their lifebeaten extinguished? How can that be...?"
Wilhelm crumbled in shock, recoiling from the cold, factual delivery.
His kneeling posture listed to the side, and he braced himself against the floor with one hand, voiceless.
He understood now.
The reason for Bordeaux's abrupt change of heart. The reason everyone had dismissed his entreaties.
A crisis of the kingdom's very survival—no wonder the White Whale problem had been brushed aside as trivial.
But his anger ran deeper than mere dismissal could account for.
Yet what could he resent? What could he rage against? What could he direct his fury toward? He didn't know.
So Wilhelm fell silent and pressed his fist into the floor, strangling his rage.
His fist trembled against the stone, blood seeping between his fingers. He closed his eyes in anguish—but stopped short of biting his lip. Perhaps what remained was pride.
But that wouldn't do.
It shouldn't be that way.
"A man's pride should be spent on something more than empty posturing."
"—Wh— What do you..."
"Your situation hasn't changed. All that's happened is that the dark clouds have lifted, and the true identity of the thing that was blocking your path has been revealed. Tell me—when you roared that you would stride over every obstacle to reach your enemy's end, was that someone else?"
"I have no reason to be humiliated. What could you possibly understand...!?"
"I understand nothing. I've lost the will to even try. Watching the character from the story I once admired accept defeat and stand still—that only fills me with gloom."
A flash of fury entered Wilhelm's eyes. But the flame was still weak.
It was the flickering of a fire that had not yet found its direction—still wavering, not yet burning with the blazing heat and noble red that Crusch sought.
"I told you, Wilhelm. I told you that if you heard this, there would be no turning back. This is a matter of the kingdom's survival, and you are now nothing but a swordsmanship-only old man living among commoners."
"—What more would you drag from this dead wood?"
"No. You're wrong, Wilhelm. I was the one who asked. Answering is your role. From the very beginning, I've been asking you. Our meeting in the dungeon, our reunion here now—from the start, it has always been the same question."
"— — —"
"Wilhelm Trias. —Are you content with this?"
He caught his breath.
The old man's sunken eyes flew open. Within them blazed a blue fire that reflected the sky.
Crusch nodded.
"What blocks your path is the kingdom's crisis. Before this, every high-ranking noble who might have helped you has vanished. Even if someone could help, they would either be unable to muster the forces you require, or would be an opportunist after your intelligence on the White Whale."
"What... do you intend to offer me?"
"The question continues, Wilhelm. I will keep asking. And I will keep demanding your answer. Apart from that answer, I will not engage with you."
"— — —"
Wilhelm fell silent and fixed Crusch with a piercing gaze, as though trying to peer into the depths of her soul.
But Wilhelm could never lay bare Crusch's heart. Only Ferris could see through to whatever it was that even Crusch herself couldn't put into words.
Ferris, meanwhile, paid no mind to the heated debate, staying close to Crusch the entire time. He showed no inclination to interject, no sign of worry.
Crusch knew that this was what bolstered and supported her more than anything else.
And she understood his kindness better than anyone.
That was why Crusch Karsten could keep asking.
"Wilhelm. If your path continues as it is, it will be severed before long. The vengeance you've pursued against the magical beast will vanish like dew, and your final years will be forever stained. So—"
"...You would give me the chance to take up my sword once more?"
"I'll repeat it, Wilhelm. I only ask. You provide the answer."
"— — —"
Crusch crossed her arms and delivered her words like a blow.
Hearing them, Wilhelm drew a breath and closed both eyes.
Then he straightened his posture, assumed the formal bowing position once more, and opened his eyes.
At the blue flame now burning within them, Crusch's spine trembled involuntarily.
"—I wish to slay the White Whale and wash away my wife's grievance. I humbly ask for your aid."
"...I too am a high-ranking noble, one of many. I'm no different from the lords who have rejected you outright. Why do you seek this from me?"
"Your Grace, Duke Karsten. Can you forgive the White Whale?"
"No. Absolutely not. Its despicable acts, its senseless cruelty, its atrocity, its inhumanity—who could forgive such a thing? But—"
She paused.
Crusch closed her eyes gently in front of Wilhelm.
"What I find most unforgivable is that its very existence taints the way countless people live. Their paths grow dim, their souls cloud... that, to me, is unforgivable no matter what. That's why, Wilhelm—your current state is something I cannot forgive."
"...A pathetic and wretched sight, I imagine."
"Yes. Pathetic. Unbearable to watch. So great a humiliation is something no one should have to endure. That is precisely why the demon responsible must also be unforgivable."
"— — —"
Wilhelm raised his head and met Crusch's gaze directly.
The sharpness of his stare did not make Crusch flinch; she held it just as fiercely.
Their gazes crossed, then softened, and as if by unspoken agreement, both smiled.
"What would you have of this old man, my lord?"
"It's simple. —The sight of your true self, the version that would never bring shame to its own soul—the version that captivates me. I seek the Sword Devil Wilhelm van Astrea as he truly is. There is nothing else I desire."
"The name of Sword Devil, the name of Astrea—all were discarded long ago. Until the day I cleave the White Whale in two, I will not adorn myself with names."
"Then let me be the one to proclaim your triumph. On that day, the name of Wilhelm shall be reborn."
"—Yes."
At Crusch's words, Wilhelm gave a solemn nod and performed the deepest bow of a vassal.
Seeing this, Crusch nodded with satisfaction, then took the sword she'd been wearing at her hip and approached Wilhelm. She held it out to him.
"Take it."
Wilhelm accepted the offered sword naturally and drew it in a single fluid motion.
The blade spun once in his hand and was extended back to Crusch.
She took it, then touched the slim blade lightly to Wilhelm's left shoulder, then to his right—laying the flat of the steel against each in turn.
"I have only one request of you. Beyond that, guard it well, Wilhelm."
"My loyalty to you, I bind to my sword. My gratitude to you, I bind to my being. My oath to you, I bind to my soul."
"—Yes. That is enough."
Receiving his oath of fealty, Crusch withdrew the sword and held it before her.
Then she extended it to Wilhelm once more. He accepted it and slid the blade into its scabbard with reverence, holding it aloft.
"Keep it. A swordsman without a sword is no swordsman at all."
"But—"
"I wish to see it. The sight of you standing with a sword in hand."
At Crusch's wish, Wilhelm blinked once, then rose to his feet.
The tall old man bowed before Crusch, belted the precious sword at his waist, and stood with his spine perfectly straight.
With just that, Crusch felt her doubts blow away in a satisfying rush.
—Here, the oath between lord and vassal was forged.
She would fulfill Wilhelm's wish and carry on Fourier's will.
If the heavens had chosen Crusch Karsten, then this too was the will of the heavens.
Following the guidance of her soul, she would do what must be done.
And gather all those who could be gathered, that they might find peace at the end of their journey.
—On this day, the Sword Devil gained his greatest ally in the battle against the White Whale.
It was the true beginning of the solidarity of Crusch's camp in the Royal Selection.
* * * "Oh, I'm so jealous, nya, honestly."
Wilhelm, who had found his path to fulfilling his grand ambition, and Crusch, who had touched the object of her youthful admiration.
Seeing them both filled with joy despite their different sentiments, Ferris pouted.
"Crusch-san is so wrapped up she's ready to skip the pretense and get straight to the point, nya."
The plan was supposed to be: link it to the king's death, establish Crusch's legitimacy for taking on Wilhelm and facing the White Whale, and then invite him into her camp.
Instead, Crusch had gotten swept up in her own momentum, and before anyone knew it, the conversation had rolled into this outcome.
Wilhelm's blind devotion had worked in her favor, but the whole thing had been a tightrope walk, and Ferris had been quietly relieved on the inside.
He didn't want to see Crusch depressed over a failed recruitment. Especially when her feelings were tied so closely to her admiration for the Sword Devil.
"Really, you're so exciting, Crusch-san... that's what makes you wonderful, nya."
The plan had been to announce her status as a Royal Selection candidate and rally the kingdom's support through the slaying of the White Whale.
By skipping the pretense and going straight to the point, Crusch's true desire—to see Wilhelm's lifelong wish fulfilled and release the old man from his rage—was written all over her face.
Alongside this, Ferris had begun compiling a list of families who, like Wilhelm, had lost loved ones to the White Whale and had never forgotten the loss.
As a healing mage who traveled throughout the kingdom and knew the ins and outs of both court and common affairs, this was an easy task for Ferris.
In truth, there were few houses in the capital that Ferris didn't already have leverage over.
"She's truly wonderful, so unguarded, so captivating, nya... Ferris has to keep a proper eye on things for her."
Quietly, Ferris narrowed his yellow eyes and glanced at the old man whose greatest concern had just been lifted.
The man who bore Crusch's admiration—and upon whom all those hopes rested.
If he were to betray that admiration, those expectations, what would happen then?
"Just thinking about it makes my fur stand on end, nya."
The young man's whispered words dissolved into silence without reaching anyone's ears.
The Royal Selection—and the White Whale's assault—became a reality exactly half a year from that night.