Everyone saw the girl, her dress hem fluttering in the wind, sniffing disdainfully.
Under those gazes, the girl—
Upon seeing Otto and
"What a pathetically sorry lot, if I may say so."
There was not a soul among them who could muster a rebuttal to Beatrice's comment, let alone a retort. Still, Beatrice's entry into the fray was undeniably a major turning point in a battle that had been nothing but downhill.
An emotion close to relief welled up naturally in Otto's chest.
"Bea—!"
The moment he began to call her name, Otto clamped his own mouth shut on instinct.
Batenkaitos was a being that devoured "names." Just moments ago, he had asked Felt and the others to perform a little trick so his own name would not be known. There was no way he could undo that now.
As for Batenkaitos's attitude toward Otto, who was concealing his name—there was clearly irritation there at having his "meal" interrupted. In other words, Batenkaitos's name-consuming required knowing the target's "name" as well.
Therefore, Beatrice's name absolutely could not be known. Shut it down, probe the situation.
But Otto's careful consideration proved entirely pointless.
Because— "—Beatrice, milady? What are you doing wandering about outside?"
Batenkaitos tilted his head and uttered those words while gazing at Beatrice.
"Gluttony" stared at Beatrice and continued speaking, still looking puzzled.
"You were so stubborn about refusing to go outside before. Except during meals and when you were with the Great Spirit… oh, were there other exceptions too?"
As Beatrice remained silent, Batenkaitos piled on more words.
It was a familiar tone—or rather, calling it "familiar" was somewhat misleading—but the speech still carried the cadence of someone who had maintained a certain distance and relationship with her for some time.
"We're not exactly old acquaintances or anything… Beatrice, mil—"
The relationship between Batenkaitos and Beatrice.
The meaning behind holding back her name was rendered moot, and Otto tried to press the matter—but his throat caught mid-sentence. This time involuntarily, as he caught sight of Beatrice's profile.
Lips bitten, those large round eyes swirling with fierce emotion.
It was exceedingly rare for this spirit girl to bare her anger so nakedly. Before the stunned Otto, Beatrice exhaled deeply and fixed Batenkaitos with a glare.
"—So I see what kind of trick that was. So that's how it is."
Beatrice murmured in a heavy, low voice.
The lowness of her voice was less an act of intimidation and more the result of her attempting to suppress her emotions.
Trying to hide her fury from her expression, Beatrice peered into the depths of Batenkaitos's murky pupils—and whatever she saw there, she twisted her mouth's corner in disgust.
Then: "How many people have you stuffed inside yourself?"
"Oh, who knows? But I think our eating habits are better compared to Roy's. Roy's a gourmand who eats anything—so his quantity is on a different level from ours, who are selective! We believe quality is everything when it comes to a meal, which is why we don't see eye to eye with Roy!"
The one who consumed "names" and "memories," describing it all as "eating."
He called himself a gourmet and dubbed someone familiar a glutton—there was a peculiar aesthetic sensibility to that attitude, but both were likely beyond Otto's comprehension.
"And—"
What was equally beyond Otto's comprehension was Beatrice's current demeanor.
The girl's disgust did not seem to spring solely from her evaluation of Batenkaitos as an opponent. It was something else—a result of fundamentally different negative sentiments from their very root.
Perhaps that same something was shared by Batenkaitos, who treated Beatrice as a known entity—and Otto arrived at that thought.
At the possibility of Batenkaitos knowing Beatrice unilaterally.
"…No way."
Batenkaitos's combat prowess had reached a domain achievable only by those who had long honed the way of martial arts. Armed with the fact he had gleaned from Dainas's words, Otto had formulated a hypothesis.
"I theorized that you might be able to inherit not just 'names' or 'memories,' but even the bodily experience of those you consume. Unarmed martial arts and short-sword techniques alike—reaching the level you've attained at your age is extraordinarily difficult. And so I thought…"
That Batenkaitos could make the skill of those he consumed his own nourishment.
If that were the case, it would explain how Batenkaitos, who looked to be in his mid-teens, had acquired mastery rivaling martial arts experts across multiple disciplines.
And if that hypothesis was correct—and not merely correct, but carried implications beyond that— "But if what you inherit extends beyond mere bodily experience…"
That was a hypothesis pointing to a viciousness entirely distinct from the threat of raw combat power.
After all, Batenkaitos had said it.
That he was searching for the one who delivered that speech echoing through the city.
That the person was weak and fragile—the kind who made you anxious just standing nearby, who needed supporting.
If you knew
But that was only a reaction born of spending time with him fondly, out of genuine goodwill.
To know of Subaru's fragile strength and timid courage was proof that one had been close to him.
And if the proof of having been close to him had now been stolen by "Gluttony," there was only one girl who could be the subject— "—!"
Only belatedly did Otto reach the same conclusion of disgust that Beatrice had arrived at.
At the shift in Otto's expression, Batenkaitos offered an elegant bow in response to the look leveled at him, then flashed a smile baring his fangs.
"First servant of Margrave
Mid-introduction, Batenkaitos shook his head and spread both arms wide.
He touched one of the white scars on his battered body with a caressing gesture. The scar on his shoulder was an ugly, jagged thing, as though he had been struck by an iron stake.
"Now just one beloved person. The attendant to my most beloved, the hero who will one day become a great man—Natsuki Subaru—
"What—"
"Do let me meet him, my beloved hero! Our hero came all this way to judge us, didn't he! All the way to a place like this!"
Batenkaitos taunted, tongue lolling, licking at his wounds.
Otto felt the blood rush to his head. His back molars ground together with an audible creak, and the urge to slam a fist into the bastard's grinning face nearly overwhelmed him.
Everything about "Gluttony"—his attitude, his tone, his smile—mocked one girl's feelings.
That girl who had so desperately begged for Subaru's safe return, yet was nothing but a stepping stone for contempt and derision. That knowledge kindled a fire in Otto's heart.
This "Gluttony" was someone who absolutely must not be forgiven— "Beatrice…?"
Beatrice drifted softly in front of Otto, who was mentally counting the remaining magic-stone charges hidden in his sleeve. She extended her hand as if to restrain him, and Otto, unable to read her intent, furrowed his brows. Then— "I'll correct that first remark of yours, I suppose. You're the one who called Beatie here."
"What—"
"This one… this one alone, I absolutely cannot let Subaru meet. If Subaru meets this one, he will be hurt. Surely, irreparably so. So—"
"Here, we take him down—just the two of us."
Beatrice picked up the end of Otto's sentence, and he declared it with finality.
Though Beatrice did not turn around, her stance made her agreement plain to see. She was the girl recognized by all as Subaru's partner. That she would not tolerate bringing this vile enemy anywhere near him—Otto understood that feeling to his very core.
"Wait, wait, wait, wait! I said wait!"
As the two steeled themselves to face this formidable foe—it was not Batenkaitos who poured cold water on the moment. It was Felt, who had been standing alongside Otto, supposedly watching the exchange in silence all this while. She readjusted the bundle she was cradling and pointed at Beatrice.
"She's got some seriously big-shot vibes walking in like that, but what can a runt like this even do? I heard she's that guy's partner, but—"
"Ah, well, yes. That explanation is rather complicated, you see…"
Felt's blunt observation left Otto struggling to explain.
It was fine for the world at large to know that Beatrice was a spirit, that she had formed a contract with Subaru. Still, there was no denying that Beatrice's combat capability in Subaru's absence was cause for concern— "I don't appreciate being called a runt and a pipsqueak. If you have time to worry about Beatie's power, perhaps you should worry about your own scrawny build that shows no promise of filling out."
"You've got a mouth on you for a brat, I'll give you that. And for your info, I've been eating proper meals and sleeping right, so my height and chest have both been growing. That's where your worry should be."
"My appearance happens to be fixed at this design, I'm afraid. So… hm."
An argument entirely out of place for the situation was about to begin, but Beatrice trailed off, cut short by what her eyes had caught. They were fixed on the long, narrow bundle Felt was carrying.
The magic tool Felt had called her "trump card"—Beatrice appeared startled by its appearance.
"Could that possibly be a Metia?"
"A Metia?"
"A杖—er, a staff that a great mage of old once created to harass dragons. It was supposed to have gone missing, but what a curious coincidence."
Beatrice repeated the crucial part of her explanation, and Felt nodded vaguely.
But for Otto, who knew that the "Mother" Beatrice had just referred to was the "
There were many things he wanted to press further on, but adding the detail that the "Witch" had used it against dragons lent considerable credibility to its power.
"You've heard its handling is complicated, so can we count on its firepower?"
"There are anecdotes of it bringing a dragon to tears—literally. Guaranteed performance, I'd say."
The scale of the comparison was so enormous it was hard to fully appreciate. Still, the message that this was an extraordinary weapon got through loud and clear.
Otto nodded at Beatrice's words, but Felt remained unconvinced.
"We can talk about what this thing is later. More importantly, this little—"
"Your conscience is reasonably decent, I'll grant you. But that concern is unnecessary. Because—"
"Huh?"
"I've already made my move."
Before the tilting Felt, Beatrice smiled with an unexpectedly alluring expression. She lightly raised her right hand and pointed it at Batenkaitos, and every throat in the group froze.
Purple-gleaming crystals covered the ground all around Batenkaitos.
"My, my—Beatrice, milady, you really are merciless."
"The only mercy and restraint I have for you does not exist anywhere in this world."
El Minya.
Among the rare offensive spells in shadow magic, bared its fangs.
The instant after Batenkaitos muttered in annoyance, purple light danced wildly, converging on his slender frame.
The rigid, thin body was struck head-on by the sharp, hard impact—crystals shattered, cobblestones cracked, plumes of smoke rose. The devastation in the plaza was proof enough of the attack's devastating power.
"So, how's that for you?"
Having demonstrated her overwhelming magical power, Beatrice turned a proud look toward Felt. For a Great Spirit four hundred years old, it was rather childish behavior—but even Felt had nothing to say in the face of that.
"W-well, she's not half bad, I guess."
That she still managed a defiant remark spoke volumes about Felt's nerve.
"Y-you're trembling too, Lady Felt, y'know!"
"Look who's talking! Quit your blabbering and keep your eyes forward!"
Felt barked at Gaston, who was trying to hide his own shaky bravado behind a quip. But not all of her words were mere bluster.
Where Batenkaitos should have been standing—battered by a direct hit from Beatrice's spell—there was no sign of him.
"Here he comes—!"
Dainas's voice, laden with dread, rose sharply, and all eyes turned toward the angle he was staring at. There, "Gluttony" was crawling across the ground on all fours with spider-like movements.
"Gluttony" was laughing, baring his fangs, eyes bloodshot.
"Aha—ha! Beatrice, milady, as expected! Nice, nice, real nice—love it, love it, love it! Good, great, grand, wonderful, marvelous, splendid—ain't it!?"
Shaking his head side to side, hair flying wild, Batenkaitos bounced off the ground and lunged at them once more.
"Oh, and—five shots left."
Even as he moved to counter the charge, Otto heard Beatrice mutter something ominous while licking her lips.
※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ The instant Beatrice activated El Minya and flung a restraining blow at Batenkaitos, she felt a great magic stone shatter somewhere within her dress.
That left six stones—considering Beatrice's own remaining stamina, only five could be put toward offense or defense.
The current siege of the city—and before that, the skirmish in the Clock Tower Plaza against the Sin Archbishops of "Wrath" and "Greed."
As a result of that battle, Beatrice had spent everything she had healing the wounded Subaru and the city's residents, draining her mana to the point where it now hindered her own functionality.
The spirit Beatrice was an artificial spirit created by the "Witch"
Her power far surpassed that of ordinary spirits, but in exchange she carried several troublesome drawbacks.
Chief among them was the fact that she had no way to recover her depleted mana except through what her contractor provided.
Drawing on ambient mana, receiving mana from humans other than her contractor—Beatrice could not convert any of it back into her own power. As a result, the only way to recover spent mana was to receive it from Subaru over time.
That she was currently able to move at all was due to having resorted to a kind of forbidden measure.
Beatrice had been carrying seven great magic stones.
Great magic stones were treasures that, over immense spans of time, had accumulated vast quantities of colorless mana within them. One had already shattered; six remained.
These had been entrusted to her by the perverted—er, the devoted Kiritaka, who had summoned her from her deep slumber and begged for her aid in this plaza.
"Please, I humbly beseech you, Great Spirit. Lend your power to the battle for this city's protection. Within this city are the people I hold dear."
Kiritaka, tattered and half in tears, had pleaded ungracefully, squandering magic stones of incalculable value to wake her. Beatrice had reluctantly agreed.
Truth be told, Beatrice wanted to rush to Subaru's side.
The city's situation had changed entirely, and Subaru was in peril as well. If she were not by his side, Subaru would worry himself sick.
So now that she was awake, she should go to Subaru's aid for his sake— "Am I a fool? No—I am a fool."
Beatrice scolded herself for trying to use "worry" as a pretext to be pampered.
If Subaru had chosen to fight and still left Beatrice behind, it meant he had a strategy that did not require her presence.
Subaru would never overestimate her. If anything, he tended to underestimate.
He would never recklessly charge into a fight he could not win, and if this was a foe he could only defeat with Beatrice, he would have moved heaven and earth to wake her.
So in this battle, as heartbreaking as it was, Beatrice was unnecessary.
Rushing to Subaru's side would have to wait—until she herself had earned a share of the victory, to be lifted into his arms upon his return.
Seven great magic stones—what Kiritaka had offered Beatrice in her role as reinforcements.
Beatrice, who was fundamentally terrible at drawing mana from outside sources, used those stones as extraordinarily inefficient conductors in this emergency measure.
In the pocket of her dress, those seven stones were, in their pure form, lumps of mana so refined they could almost perform miracles—but she wasted them lavishly, cramming their power into the activation sequence of a simple spell.
Normally, a spell requiring one unit of power to activate was now being fueled by a thousand. On top of that, no limiters applied: no matter how low-level the spell, a single use shattered one stone.
She needed to keep one for personal sustainment, leaving five usable charges.
In other words—she had to finish this in only five more moves.
"Reuniting with my brother grows ever more distant, then. In exchange, you shall see hell."
The great magic stones Kiritaka had originally possessed were meant to serve as a vessel for
"I've seen enough hell! Everyone we devour gets to taste it in the end, every last one!"
Screaming, Batenkaitos lunged at the group.
His movements were rough, yet the sharpest of his attention was reserved for Beatrice.
He was not the sort to believe Beatrice's mana had run dry, that she had only five shots left before she was spent. She had exchanged a single magic stone for a powerful area attack precisely to create that illusion—a gambit that had served its purpose well.
Beatrice raised both hands, palms aimed at Batenkaitos hovering in the air.
"Al Minya!"
"—!"
"It was a lie."
For one instant, Batenkaitos braced himself, expecting the activation of a supreme-tier spell. At the sight of that, Beatrice stuck out her tongue and launched herself far backward.
As Batenkaitos flinched, Gaston and Dainas both pounced on him.
"Uwaaargh!"
"Take this!"
The two men roared, combining dual blades and fists in a coordinated assault on "Gluttony."
A heavy, piercing blow struck Batenkaitos, but he evaded it with extraordinary agility and retaliated with his short sword, slashing back at the pair.
The whirling steel tip was aimed straight for Dainas's neck.
"Close—ugh!"
"Sorry!"
Gaston threw himself into the sword's trajectory, shielding Dainas and taking the blow himself.
A hard clang rang out as the sword's force was deflected, but as Gaston stumbled back and coughed, red blood spilled from the corner of his mouth.
This was the limit of "Flow Arts"—combat techniques that manipulated mana.
Gaston's fighting style, which maintained a hardened body impervious to blades and strikes, was a discipline known as "Flow Arts"—one branch of a technical lineage that explored mana usage differently from magic.
Compared to magic, a technique less dependent on innate talent—a field where only the sheer volume of training mattered, requiring painstaking effort to wield in real combat.
"But I may have pushed him too hard."
By Beatrice's assessment, neither Gaston's aptitude nor talent rose above the ordinary. That he had been able to hold his own, however tenuously, against a Sin Archbishop was entirely because Batenkaitos had been holding back considerably.
"There! Gotcha!"
"Gah—!?"
Gaston, driven to one knee and coughing blood, was kicked in the chin.
Blood sprayed from his nose, and the massive man toppled, unable to move—he was out of the fight. Their forces had been reduced by one.
"You tried real hard, Gaston! A commendation for you! —'You tried your hardest and it didn't work out!' That's the kind of evaluation a guy like you deserves, innit!"
"You bastard—!"
At the sight of Batenkaitos mocking the fallen Gaston, Felt flew into a rage and swung Metia at him.
Properly wielded, its power carried the Witch's own seal of approval. But used as a mere bludgeon, it could not deliver even a tenth of its true potential.
"Oh-ho! Felt, you've got some moves!"
"Shut—up! Get away from me, you scum!"
Though she struggled with the unwieldy weapon, Felt leveraged her physical ability to keep launching sharp strikes at Batenkaitos. Every last one, he evaded with dancing footwork, the whole affair almost graceful.
Metia's blows grazed "Gluttony's" hair at most, never dealing real damage. The gap in skill was overwhelming. She was being toyed with completely.
"You! Just get out of here, would you?! Our merchant already called dibs on the big one!"
"Like hell I can pull off something that delicate!"
The disparity in power was plain as day—counterattack meant certain defeat.
While Felt was pressing Batenkaitos, Otto had managed to drag the unconscious Gaston out of the combat zone. Dainas, testing the feel of his two blades, was searching for an opening to intervene in Felt and Batenkaitos's fight, but none presented itself reliably.
The moment a shift occurred, Batenkaitos would thread the needle with pinpoint accuracy. His patient, watchful posture—waiting for change—made it painfully clear that "Gluttony," who should have been at a numerical disadvantage, was the one controlling this battlefield.
"What, why, how, what's going on, why's it like that, what's the deal? Should I step in and save her? Poor little Felt, are you going to just throw her away?"
"Shut your trap! You're the one who should just stand there and take a beating—"
"Right. —But I'm getting bored of watching anyway."
"Wh—what!?"
Felt raised Metia overhead and screamed—and in that instant, Batenkaitos closed the gap. The distance between them became zero, and "Gluttony's" palm grazed Felt's flat chest.
The impact sent the girl tumbling lightly through the air, and she let out a high-pitched scream as she rolled across the cobblestones.
The force was enough to make a proper landing impossible—but that was not the real problem.
"No! He touched her properly—!"
Felt, struck hard in the chest, began to cough, and Otto cried out. Beatrice, reading the alarm on his face, understood his concern.
"Gluttony's" preparations for a meal were complete.
"Felt-chaaan. —Itadakimasu."
Whatever the mechanism, Batenkaitos held up his left hand—the one that had touched Felt—showing off his palm with theatrical flair, and ran a long tongue across it.
As though something precious belonging to the girl called "Felt" rested upon it.
He cradled it tenderly on his tongue, caressed it with that rough texture, scraped every last bit clean, swallowed it down, and chewed without mercy.
When that was done, "Gluttony's" meal was complete, and a "name" was consigned to the blasphemers' keeping.
And the trace of a girl called Felt would vanish from the world— "Ugh—bleh…"
"Huh? What's with you—how rude can you get?"
Felt shook her head and looked down at Batenkaitos, who was on his knees vomiting.
Her existence had not vanished. Felt merely tilted her head, looking annoyed.
It was the instant "Gluttony's" meal had, miserably, failed.