The tavern reeked of strong liquor and the smell of earth.
Piled up near the entrance were emptied wine bottles and casks, along with the remains of what had once been human-shaped earthen dolls.
Both had been stacked there by the two middle-aged men currently holding court inside— "Oh my? This gentleman looks familiar somehow... Hey there, Red! Do you know this gentleman, Mr. Fuzzball?"
"Who the hell are you calling a fuzzball! Don't give me that damn nonsense! I've been running nonstop without food or water, I'm fucking exhausted...!"
Groby lunged at the grinning, red-faced man who was slapping his own thighs with delight.
The blue-clad middle-aged man with his hair pulled back at the nape simply laughed all the more merrily at Groby's protests, as if there were nothing to be done about it.
The man was clearly drunk in the worst possible way.
Seeing the blue-clad man was beyond reasoning with, Groby turned his gaze to the other one—the red-haired, red-clad middle-aged man. That one sat quietly in a chair, glaring at the wine bottle in his grip.
"Hey! You there, damn redhead! Are you the same kind of bastard as this blue-haired freak?"
"......"
"Don't ignore me! Don't sit there giving me the damn silent treatment—look this way..."
"—Shut up."
The word had barely left his mouth when a silver flash shot out in retaliation.
Still seated, the man unleashed a horizontal slash aimed at Groby's neck. The same thing had happened when Groby first burst in—precise swordsmanship targeting vital points.
Had his opponent been anyone other than Groby, it could well have been a fatal blow.
"Who the hell do you think you're picking a fight with, you bastard!!"
Groby dodged the blade by a hair's breadth, closed the distance in a single step, and his fist—roaring through the air—crashed into the red-clad man's side with gauntlet-clad force. The shockwave sent the man flying into the wall.
The man let out a pained grunt as he spun through the air, unable to even break his fall before slamming into the wall. Watching him, Groby snatched the tumbling wine bottle out of midair.
The wine the red-clad man had been drinking—Groby chugged it straight down in one magnificent gulp.
"Gah! That burns like hell...! What I actually need is water and food, though..."
"—Bravo, bravo! My, my, what remarkable skill, Mr. Fuzzball! The redhead there is no slouch himself, yet you treated him like he was nothing—I'm genuinely impressed!"
"Huh?"
With the red-clad man still crumpled upside-down against the wall, the blue-clad man plopped down on the spot and sheathed his blade, speaking as if to say he surrendered.
Sitting in seiza, his ruddy face beaming with praise for Groby's strength, the blue-clad man bowed deeply, making it clear through his posture that he had no intention of resisting.
"I do apologize for the trouble, Mr. Fuzzball! We are wanderers who happened to stop by this settlement. However, by the time we arrived, the village had already been overrun by this horde of earthen dolls, as you can see, and not a single villager remained."
"...So you damn well had nothing better to do than drink every last drop of liquor the dead left behind?"
"Ah well, embarrassing as it is, that's exactly right! Not content with that, we even started betting on whether the next doll to sneak through the door would be male or female—quite the spectacle, I assure you."
Grinning sheepishly, the blue-clad man confessed to their absurd wager without a shred of shame.
It was a ridiculous thing to bet on, but since the stakes were ownerless alcohol and their own lives, Groby had nothing to say. Where they lived or died was their own business.
However— "—I don't like you damn people one bit."
"Oh my, how ever so?"
"You've sheathed your sword and folded your legs, putting on that 'I have no intention of fighting' act, but you can't fool my nose. ...Don't think I can't smell you scanning for a chance to kill me, you bastard."
"......"
Groby sniffed loudly and glared. The blue-clad man scratched his cheek with an awkward expression, saying, "Well now..." But the reason no denial came wasn't that he couldn't think of words fast enough—he'd realized that any careless excuse would only provoke Groby further.
This blue-clad man had been hiding murderous intent toward Groby behind his words and demeanor ever since—or even before—the red-clad man was struck down.
He'd burst into this place to escape the earthen dolls, only to find himself entangled with troublesome opponents instead of getting any rest—but it was right around then that Groby realized something.
"...Your smell—I know it. Damn well know it."
It was a scent he'd smelled before somewhere, and Groby's fur bristled all over as the memory surfaced.
He wouldn't say he remembered every scent he'd ever caught, but distinctive ones were hard to forget. Combined with that seeping, murderous odor, he tried to recall the man's identity— "—Wait, you—could you be damn Cecilus's damn old man?"
Having spoken the conclusion his memory had reached, Groby fixed the man with a sharp stare.
Meeting Groby's piercing gaze, the blue-clad man made a bitter face— "Ugh, and here I was hoping you wouldn't remember."
"You bastard! So you tried to kill me because you didn't want me recognizing you?! What the hell is wrong with you! And for starters, how the hell are you alive?! Cecilus cut you down!"
"Even if you ask me why, I can only say I'm alive because I'm alive. That said, if word of my survival were to spread, it would cause no end of trouble."
Shaking his head slowly, answering with utter nonchalance, the blue-clad man was none other than the father of
Groby had crossed paths with him several times before, since he'd frequented the Crystal Palace alongside Cecilus. However, the man was supposed to have been killed years ago for committing an act of disloyalty in the imperial palace—cut down by his own son, Cecilus.
"With warrants bearing my name circulating everywhere, the notion that I'm dead must be some sort of mix-up."
"You just didn't think that damn Cecilus would fail, is all. A bastard whose sword arm is the one thing you can damn well count on—if he'd botched that, he'd be nothing but trash. Don't tell me he went easy on you just because you're his father."
"—I assure you, that was not the case. His blade does not dull for the sake of family."
"......"
Hearing such a clear-cut declaration, Groby held back his sharp retort.
He didn't know much about the relationship between this blue-clad man and Cecilus. But he was the one who'd raised Cecilus into the Cecilus he was today. It wasn't hard to imagine he was a no-good piece of work.
And if the sword that had cut down its own father hadn't lost its edge, well—that tracked.
But— "Damn it..."
He'd been chased and chased and chased, finally stumbling upon living human beings—only for them to be a pair of drunken bums, one of whom was a wanted criminal and the other a belligerent drunk.
He cursed his own wretched luck and felt like throwing in the towel entirely.
"Ngh... ghh..."
"Oh my, the redhead is alive too. How kind of you, Mr. Fuzzball."
"...I didn't pull any punches. That damn redhead is just damn tough."
The drunken red-clad man, overturned against the wall, had survived the blow Groby had intended to scramble his insides with, and was now drowning in his own vomit pouring from his upside-down mouth.
Even in his battered state, Groby could still take down these two middle-aged men—but— "...It's getting rather noisy outside."
As the blue-clad man murmured, the foul stench of earth was seeping into the settlement.
They'd surrounded the hideaway with considerable numbers, intent on cornering the escaped Groby. His nose caught the tightening noose of the encirclement, and Groby agonized.
Kill these two middle-aged men, break through the encirclement with everything he had, find someone better than these drunks, and buy himself enough time to get water and food in his belly.
Was that ideal even realistic? More importantly— "Listen, you bastard. Let's make a deal."
"I am all ears."
Remaining in seiza, the blue-clad man set his sword aside and assumed a posture of solemn attention.
Having been in that exact same posture and attitude just moments ago while trying to kill Groby, the brazenness was almost admirable—but the scent of murderous intent had genuinely subsided.
Irritated by that fact, Groby spoke.
"I have to get back to Their Excellencies' side no matter what. Even if that means using you damn people to do it. So..."
"......"
"Your wanted status and everything else—I'll wipe it clean with my authority as a One-Star General. In exchange, you're going to cooperate with me and help me get back to the imperial capital."
This was a desperate measure even for Groby.
Had he been in peak condition, he would never have dreamed of asking such a man for help. But if he let his pride get in the way and collapsed, who would benefit from that?
"This mess, this incomprehensible situation—some damn bastard created it."
Honestly, he had his suspicions about the layers of scheming behind this civil war engulfing the Holy Volachia Empire.
Even regarding his own banishment from the imperial capital, there had been a plausible justification about guarding the western front, but he'd had a vague sense that Vincent harbored other intentions.
He'd gone along with it without protest because he'd believed Vincent's judgment could be trusted.
And now, to hear the answer to that trust he'd placed, Groby had to go back.
That was why— "Take the deal or don't—make your choice, you bastard!"
Groby bared his fangs and snarled. Before him, the blue-clad man shut one eye in thought.
Before this inscrutable man's deliberation could yield an answer, a tremendous crash sounded behind Groby as the tavern's door was smashed in from outside.
The pale-faced earthen dolls poured through with the momentum of their breach. Their hands were inches from Groby's small back when—a blade flashed.
The drawn sword's slash cleaved the dolls' heads and torsos in two, reducing them to clumps of earth.
The blue-clad man who'd delivered the blow sheathed his sword in a single fluid motion and rose to his feet. Then, still ruddy-faced, he stroked his stubbly chin with his free hand— "In addition to clearing my wanted status—how much would the bounty be, I wonder?"
"You really are the absolute worst, you bastard..."
Taking that brazen question as his answer, Groby exhaled a long breath. And then, as his vision began to spin— "Damn—"
That was how, swallowed by the unavoidable limits of his endurance, his consciousness sank into dark waters.
"Goodness, putting off the fine details to take a nap—Mr. Fuzzball certainly has a leisurely temperament."
The small beastman had crumpled on the spot and begun to snore magnificently.
Looking down at Groby Gumlett—one of the martial pinnacles of the Holy Volachia Empire, one of the Nine Divine Generals—the ruddy-faced Rouan Segmunt cocked his head.
The terms just proposed—Groby didn't seem the type to renege on a verbal agreement.
They were terms worth considering. Of course, if he were thinking purely about staying on the run, he could simply drive his blade into the sleeping Groby's heart and continue his life as a fugitive.
"But who would that benefit? Rather, I think I'd rather take this as fortune finally smiling on me. —My life's third act, at last begins!"
Stomping his feet hard on the ground, Rouan winced slightly at his stiff left leg but smirked—there was no need to dwell on the past.
Still, getting out alive was the priority. Sensing the earthen dolls gathering around the tavern, he deftly hoisted Groby onto his shoulders.
Then, without missing a beat, he kicked his upside-down companion against the wall—Heinckel.
"Up you get, redhead! Wakey wakey! Things have changed!"
"Ugh... huh...?"
"It wouldn't do to leave you behind! And if your life has hit rock bottom too, redhead, then why not gamble on turning things around with me here and now!"
When he pressed this point with a raised voice, Heinckel's eyes opened with obvious reluctance.
Taking in Rouan's upside-down face and the carried Groby, he swung his legs to right himself—then immediately stumbled as if dizzy.
"What...? I feel sick..."
"An answer delivered by a One-Star General's blow would actually be rather anticlimactic. Come, come—the drinks here are all finished, and it's about time we drifted on to the next place."
"...What about that beastman? Are we eating him?"
"If we were desperate for food, perhaps—but for the time being, that's not the plan. Very well then."
He wiped his vomit-stained mouth with his sleeve and slapped Heinckel's unsteady back. Then, readjusting Groby's weight on his shoulders, Rouan turned around.
In unison, the earthen dolls surged into the tavern. In response, cutting the sword guard free with one hand, Rouan smiled— "Stay alive and wait for me, brat. —The road to the Heavenly Sword still lies ahead."
△▼△▼△▼△ —Two lights capable of turning back the fury of the Great Calamity.
That was the prophecy brought by
The words of the Star Reader, valued by the Holy Volachia Empire and said to have repeatedly predicted future events with uncanny accuracy—those words had shaken Subaru to his core.
Honestly, Subaru didn't put much stock in prophecies or foresight.
He had a suspicion that such things were a kind of fraud employing various psychological tricks. Of course, in this other world, phenomena unbound by common sense could certainly occur.
For that matter, the results produced by Subaru's "Return by Death" could, depending on how you looked at it, be described as avoiding the worst possible future through precognition.
Ideally, it would be nice to know the future without dying to do it.
In any case— "...A girl who won't listen to reason."
Those were the words Ubilk had used, deliberately correcting the label of "Star Reader" to describe Subaru with precision.
A certain person came to mind, and Subaru held his breath.
But before Subaru could press for the deeper meaning, Abel, standing beside him, turned a cold gaze toward Ubilk— "One of the lights you spoke of—Groby Gumlett—is dead."
"Huh?"
Ubilk's eyes went wide and his mouth fell open at the blunt declaration.
Of course. When someone told you that the subject of your grand prophecy was dead, anyone would make that face. Subaru himself was startled by Abel's assertion too.
Unfazed by their shock, Abel crossed his arms and shrugged lightly— "For all his grand talk about the stars watching over me, this is what his prophecy amounts to? I must say, that's more than a little anticlimactic."
"Wait, wait, wait! Don't say it like it's actually true! It hasn't even been confirmed!"
"Fool. With no signs of him making contact by now, he's as good as dead."
"Don't lump 'as good as dead' together with 'is dead'! You've gotten too used to assuming the worst—you've killed him off in your head already!"
Subaru launched a fierce retort at Abel's remark, which seemed like a pointless effort to unsettle Ubilk. There was no particular reason to deceive Ubilk here and now, so this should have been a perfectly fine comeback.
Watching the exchange between Subaru and Abel, Ubilk let out an audible sigh of relief— "I-I thought I was going to die! So... General Groby isn't dead? I can think of it that way?"
"Communication has been cut off for some time, and there's no movement from the army that was supposedly deployed to the west. With his whereabouts unknown, it would be constructive to discuss the matter as if he were dead."
"Constructive? Constructing what? A graveyard?"
Abel's gaze sharpened, apparently taking Subaru's remark as a jab. But it was a point worth standing by, so Subaru stuck out his tongue in response and turned back to Ubilk.
His confidence in the Star Reader remained lukewarm at best.
"When the stars spoke to you, Ubilk—was this Groby person definitely still alive? If so, that makes convincing him easier."
"I'm afraid the stars only conveyed the key individuals who would resist the Great Calamity. Whether those individuals are alive or dead—that, I cannot say."
"A countermeasure against the Great Calamity held by the dead Groby Gumlett."
Subaru was too tired to keep correcting him about the "alive or unknown" distinction, so he let it go—but Abel's phrasing would carry significant weight going forward.
If Ubilk's prophecy was to be taken as truth, then some special something unique to Groby was supposed to be a necessary element in stopping this calamity.
And on top of that— "—Louis."
Of the two lights Ubilk had spoken of, if one was the Imperial general Groby Gumlett, the other pointed to her.
The girl who had been hurled into the Holy Volachia Empire alongside Subaru and
Something common to both Louis and Groby was supposed to be effective against the "enemy."
"Groby Gumlett is what they call a Curse Tool Master—proficient in both magic and curse arts, with the ability to craft equipment that incorporates both."
He had likely followed the same train of thought as Subaru.
What Abel explained was Groby's unique skill set—irreplaceable by anyone else, and likely one reason he had been chosen as a light.
"Being one of the One-Star Generals means he's strong in his own right, right?"
"His strength is beyond question. Among beastmen, his sensory acuity is exceptional—particularly his sense of smell, which has no equal in the entire Empire. However, given the conditions this Star Reader has laid out, what we should be focusing on isn't his prowess as a warrior."
"I know that. ...Magic and curse arts."
Where magic was concerned,
The existence of the core parasites lurking inside the corpses—their role as the central mechanism behind the creation of the dead—was now an established fact.
Yet, neither of them was included among the lights Ubilk had named.
In short, the point of interest wasn't their being exceptional magic users— "—Curse arts."
Subaru and Abel spoke in unison, their dark eyes locking.
The fact that Abel had reached the same conclusion reinforced Subaru's conviction. Almost without doubt, the reason Groby had been chosen to deal with the corpses was curse arts.
By adding a curse arts approach to the magical one, some effective countermeasure against those corpses could finally be devised.
"Aside from Groby Gumlett, the only one with knowledge of curse arts would be Olbart Dunklecken. Gathering knowledgeable people is urgent. What about your side?"
"Well, Beako knows a bit about it, and I'm still cursed myself. As for Roswaal and my sister... I wonder how much they know..."
"...Setting some of that aside, we'll need to have them share their knowledge as well."
The lingering effects of the curse he'd received when bitten by the pack of magical beasts known as the
Fortunately, it hadn't hindered his daily life, so he'd left it alone—but having unexplained growths on his body was the kind of curse he couldn't honestly say he'd gotten used to.
Regardless, as Abel said, they needed to gather everyone with knowledge of curses and work toward the insights that Groby, the expert, should have been able to provide.
As Subaru pondered this, Abel quietly added— "The existence of that girl—what kind of advantage does it bring the Empire? Do you have an answer?"
Naturally, the topic had spread to Louis as well, and Abel's question pierced through Subaru.
"......"
Subaru closed his mouth, letting the answer to Abel's question hang for a beat.
But one beat became two, then three, and still no clear answer emerged.
What was being asked was plain as day, and the fact that Subaru himself didn't possess the answer was painfully obvious without even needing to dwell on it.
"At that place where we shared the linga, I told you something. —That I had no intention of telling you to immediately execute someone who appeared to be a Sin Archbishop."
Speaking in place of the silent Subaru, Abel pressed on with the matter of Louis.
After that undignified fistfight, Subaru and Abel had split and eaten the linga together, and in the course of that conversation, Louis had come up.
There, Abel had indeed said he would not punish Louis based on her true identity—but— "That thinking has not changed. —Defining what that girl truly is—that is not for me to do, but for you."
"...I define Louis?"
"You are the one whose fate is deeply entangled with hers—not me. If that girl were to entrust her destiny to anyone, it would be you, not me."
As Subaru felt his throat go dry, Abel stated this matter-of-factly, then shifted his gaze from Subaru back to Ubilk— "The content you relayed from the stars—there is no error in it, correct? To oppose the Great Calamity, the existence of the girl this one was escorting is the key."
"—Yes. My story hasn't changed. Just like with General Groby, I don't know what exactly the stars recognized in that child."
Shrugging, his chains rattling, Ubilk planted the same old seeds of doubt.
He didn't know how those seeds would sprout, what buds they would form, or what flowers they would bloom into. But even without knowing, he couldn't simply carry those seeds around forever without letting them grow or withering them—and Subaru keenly felt that.
And as Subaru ached with that reality, the emperor who made no pretense of understanding others' pain declared without mercy— "Hasten to your conclusion—if the taste of that linga and your bold claims are not lies."
△▼△▼△▼△ "—Subaru, did you get to hear what you wanted?"
The moment he stepped out of Ubilk's guarded guest room,
The Star Reader's existence was classified information within the Holy Volachia Empire, so no one from the Kingdom besides Subaru had been permitted to enter the room.
Subaru had already been acquainted with Ubilk, and Abel had apparently decided that Subaru should be allowed to hear what the Star Reader had to say.
"I heard what I needed to hear, but also didn't hear what I needed to hear, so..."
"...That's a completely noncommittal answer. Are you saying it was just a waste of time?"
"No, I don't think so."
Beatrice, who had toddled over to take his hand, also furrowed her brow at Subaru's evasiveness.
Yet neither Beatrice nor Emilia, nor Otto or Garfiel who were present, pressed Subaru for a clearer answer.
Vaguely sensing how different that consideration was from the empire's people, Subaru felt tempted to bask in their familiar, warm concern.
But— "That won't be enough."
He couldn't keep turning his face away forever.
More than being insincere, the situation had reached a critical juncture. Above all, when he left the side of the people who tolerated his evasiveness, the one who would suffer most wouldn't be Subaru.
That was why— "Everyone—for the empire's sake too, there's something I need to discuss with all of you properly."
"Something you want to discuss with everyone?"
"Yeah."
Nodding to Emilia's question, Subaru drew a deep breath.
For everyone here, and perhaps for the people Subaru held dear who weren't present—a topic that could never, must never be avoided.
That topic was— "The Sin Archbishop of Gluttony, Louis Arneb. Let's talk about her—properly."
--- *In the previous conversation scene with Ubilk, having characters other than Subaru and Abel present didn't fit the setting, so I removed the scene where Julius reacts with surprise. Sorry for the confusion.*