—This occurred at the same moment that
"So, they really weren't willing to wait until we got there after all, huh."
Tilting his pipe-clenched face skyward, the City-States' strongest shinobi murmured languidly.
Letting his already sloping shoulders droop even further, the wolf-people elder—
Just before this, the linked dragon carriages themselves had come under attack.
Thanks to the children who noticed the ambush before Halibel did, disaster had been averted—but such a stroke of luck couldn't be relied upon to happen twice. And ensuring it didn't was Halibel's job.
"After that, the big boss's glaring got pretty fierce, huh. I've got to make up for it too."
The girl he'd known since childhood through family connections had paid an extraordinary price for this expedition to the Empire.
Halibel's accompaniment, and the acquisition of a role as the City-States' envoy. One might have expected some business opportunity that would set her merchant's soul ablaze, but her true goal was the search for a vanished friend.
She was the type who'd never show weakness. Naturally, he'd never let those words pass his lips.
"That's exactly why a middle-aged guy like me who's known you since way back needs to lend you a hand."
As he spoke, Halibel slowly rose to his feet.
A linked dragon carriage—multiple carriages coupled together, all pulled at once by numerous earth dragons. It was a thoroughly greedy piece of imperial technology that demonstrated the absurdity of the "Wind-Sheltering Blessing" in all its glory.
Still, Halibel wasn't used to this unnaturalness.
The landscape flowed past, the wheels ground over bumpy roads, yet he could feel neither wind nor sway. In
And when it came to unnaturalness he wasn't accustomed to— "You know, the moving corpses were bad enough… but now even the flying dragons are becoming 'zombies,' huh?"
Halibel grumbled, idly scratching his belly with a finger wedged between the gaps in his wafers.
What filled his narrow, upturned eyes were the grotesque forms of fallen flying dragons—zombified wyverns with ugly cracks splitting their once-majestic bodies and spread wings.
A mass of them, thick as storm clouds blanketing the stars, slowly closed in on the linked dragon carriages.
"Now there's one real headache in that bunch."
Among the flock of zombie wyverns, Halibel detected an aura that compelled even him to make that assessment.
The moment the ground dragons pulling the carriages sensed that horrifying presence, unease began to ripple through their ranks.
Even earth dragons, known for their faithful partnership with humans, hadn't lost their wild nature through domestication. They could feel the danger of an approaching threat, and they were perfectly capable of fear.
The linked dragon carriage as an invention was all well and good, but crises like this were a constant companion. Earth dragons were creatures of high empathy to begin with. If one panicked, the terror would cascade in an instant— "—!!"
Right after Halibel's concern, a piercing shriek tore through the evening dark.
It was not, however, the death cry of an approaching threat that would freeze the earth dragons in terror.
The source was the lead carriage—specifically, one jet-black earth dragon holding the most critical position among the dozens hitched to pull the linked carriages.
"Hoh, quite the spirited one we've got here."
Thanks to the quick thinking of the shrieking black dragon, the panic that had begun spreading among the earth dragons was contained.
This averted the worst-case scenario: a frightened earth dragon abandoning its post, causing the linked dragon carriages to fall apart mid-flight. As Halibel admired this, something caught his attention.
"Wait—the black earth dragon's a she. That's not spirit, that's maiden spirit, isn't it?"
He unusually widened his narrowed eyes as the realization dawned, then let out a small chuckle. "Caw, caw," Halibel laughed softly.
Still chuckling, the wolf shinobi took a casual step off the side of the moving carriage—into empty air—and leaped skyward.
He would meet them head-on. The formidable foe that even "the Adorer" considered troublesome—he'd keep it from getting close.
And that foe was— △▼△▼△▼△ "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa—what the hell is that?!"
Subaru's voice cracked as he pressed himself against a corridor window, eyes fixed on the scene outside.
He had just finished talking with
"That was a little bit from me, and a tiny bit on behalf of Otto-san!"
Right after enduring that physical correction, he was steeling himself to fully appreciate the worry he'd placed on them, and the anxiety he'd continue to place going forward— When a sudden roar, as if shattering the night sky itself, reached his ears, and Subaru and the others rushed to the window.
"That's a black wyvern… no, it's way too massive to even compare with a wyvern!"
"That size isn't a wyvern. It's definitely Dragon-class. And moreover…"
"That dragon has three heads!"
As Subaru,
Soaring through the night sky alongside the linked dragon carriages, swinging its massive body and three heads, was an enormous black dragon of terrifying proportions.
Cracks ran through its mighty frame and its great spread wings, and three pairs of golden eyes that asserted their presence even against the night sky bore unmistakable witness to its true nature.
"A zombie dragon…!!"
"A three-headed black dragon… Could it be, the 'Three-Headed' Bargren?"
"You know about it, sis?!"
Cheeks still pressed to the glass, the three of them turned around toward
"A notorious evil dragon that once rampaged through a city on the border between the Empire and the Kingdom."
"I knew it! Those kinds of nicknamed Unique Monsters are always trouble—that's practically a rule…"
"It appeared a few years after the 'Subjugation War,' nearly burning a commercial city to the ground. And moreover…"
"Moreover what? Is there something else?"
"…The previous head of the household, Lord Roswaal's grandmother, lost her life in a battle against it."
After a brief hesitation, Ram delivered those words, and Subaru and the others held their breath.
When you learned that a relative of someone close to you had been a victim, the enemy's threat suddenly became viscerally real. And Roswaal's grandmother—she couldn't possibly have been weak.
That extraordinary evil dragon was currently being held in check by Halibel, who had gone ahead— "Um, those wolf-people out there—what kind of people are they?"
Her expression of surprise was, in its own way, not wrong at all.
Describing the fighting Halibel as "those wolf-people" was the correct thing to do.
Because— "There seem to be about three Halibels out there…"
"No, it's four, Subaru. One of them has been trying to cut the dragon's wings from its back this whole time."
"I don't think the exact count is really the issue here…"
The shinobi hyped as the City-States' strongest, who had erased
In short: Halibel, true to his ninja nature, had created clones and was engaged in aerial combat with the evil dragon.
Given the speed of that combat, and the fact that Tanza had never met Halibel, it was entirely understandable that she might mistake the shinobi collective known as "the Adorer"—composed of multiple figures—for the City-States' strongest.
Regardless— "Waaah!"
"I don't think the dragon is the only enemy out there. Shouldn't we regroup with everyone?"
Spica's high voice rang out, and Rem, still holding her hand, proposed regrouping.
Ideally, he would have liked to share the situation regarding how to handle Spica with everyone under calmer circumstances, but now that events were in motion, he couldn't afford to be picky.
"You're right. …Let's go to where everyone is! Abel and the others should be moving too. Right now—ngh?!"
"Subaru?!"
Following Rem's suggestion, Subaru was about to say they should move out when— Halfway through his sentence, a sudden searing pain in his chest cut his words short, and Emilia caught him as he buckled.
But Subaru wasn't the only one who experienced that anomaly.
"…Are you alright?"
"F-for you to be the one supporting me—how humiliating, deer girl…"
"Even Lady Beatrice… Barusu, what happened?"
Just like Subaru, Beatrice had staggered from the sudden pain, and she looked displeased at Tanza's arm, which had reflexively caught her.
At Ram's question, shot while the three exchanged glances, Subaru answered, "I-I don't know," then— "It just suddenly, out of nowhere, started hurting in my chest—guh!?"
As he spoke, Subaru pulled at the collar of his clothes and froze with eyes wide.
Seeing the same thing Emilia and Ram wore equally bewildered expressions.
There was a red, worm-like swelling—a mark. And not just any mark.
"What is this… it's shaped like someone's eye?"
"Oh, so it really does look like that? It's like an eyeball symbol, right… Wait, no way—Beako! You've got one too…"
"The same mark has been etched into Betty's skin as well."
On Subaru's chest was a mark roughly the size of a child's palm—a stylized, eye-like pattern.
It appeared the same had been carved into Beatrice as well, and Tanza nodded deeply after peering at Beatrice's collar where she had opened her dress.
"But just me and Beako? Is everyone else fine?"
"How perverted."
"This is a genuine concern! In this situation and at this size, I wouldn't say anything perverted!"
Confirming that the mark still throbbed with pain and that no one else had received one, Subaru rubbed it with his hand and grimaced.
A strange sign that had surfaced in the middle of this crisis. Obviously, this was the doing of some hostile force, but their intentions were unclear.
Or perhaps—since Subaru and Beatrice were connected through a contract, something placed on one had manifested on the other's body as well.
"Useless—thinking about it isn't going anywhere. I need someone who actually knows about this stuff to take a look. Anyway, let's get out of here right—aaagh!!"
"—! Stop!"
Just as he was about to suggest leaving again, they were interrupted once more.
Spica and Rem, looking alarmed, shoved Subaru and the others away from the spot all at once. It was a sudden move, but it was the right call.
—Because an enemy's massive shears smashed through the roof directly above them, violently shredding the very spot where they'd been standing just a heartbeat ago.
△▼△▼△▼△ "Margrave!"
"Sir!"
Hearing their simultaneous words of concern, Roswaal let out a wry smile.
These two never took his goodwill at face value and hadn't let their guard down around him in the slightest—but their worry was genuine, and their inherent kindness served as a reminder that they, too, were people of Emilia's camp.
—Unlike Roswaal, who couldn't connect with them at a fundamental level.
"…So, I've been marked."
Swallowing his wry expression, Roswaal opened the front of his shirt.
Looking at where the pain had struck, a red, swollen wound displayed the unmistakable pattern of an eye. Petra's eyes, her hands still covering her face, wavered with surprise at Roswaal suddenly baring his chest.
Otto too, upon seeing the mark, let his expression cloud over. "That's…"
"Margrave, you said 'marked'? Surely it can't be…"
"Your 'surely' would be correct indeed. —This is most likely a mark signifying that one has been recognized as an enemy, or designated as a target. Either way, nothing to celebrate, I'd say."
"Enemy, or target?"
Otto's gaze briefly flicked to Petra beside him, and she immediately caught his meaning, vigorously shaking her head back and forth.
Judging by her reaction, neither Otto nor Petra bore this mark.
That in itself was something to be grateful for—but— "What kind of effect does that mark have?"
"…What I can think of are: something that gradually erodes one's life force, something that reads the target's thoughts, or perhaps something that constantly pinpoints one's location."
"You've kindly listed them in order from worst to least worst. If so, the most likely one is a mark for tracking one's location."
"You truly are all remarkably capable, aren't you."
Roswaal closed his eyes as Otto and Petra coolly processed the possibilities and reached their conclusions.
They were right. The most dangerous type—the kind that corroded one's life force—wasn't something that could be branded from a distance, so it probably didn't even need to be considered.
Still, even location tracking alone was a troublesome enough curse to be branded with.
"We should consider splitting up to keep our movements from being completely exposed. There's also the matter of reinforcing Halibel outside. You two should separate from me—"
"—I'm afraid it may already be too late."
The moment Otto replied in that low voice, he pulled Petra against him.
Petra's eyes went wide in surprise—then, in the next instant, the window right beside her shattered inward as a massive body burst through into the linked dragon carriage's corridor.
It was an enemy clad entirely in black armor, wielding great shears—a reanimated corpse soldier. A presence steeped in malice.
"—!"
Petra swallowed a scream and pointed at the enemy from within Otto's arms.
Praising the girl's courage in attempting to seize the initiative in this sudden situation, Roswaal stepped forward and thrust a spear-hand strike before the enemy could raise its shears.
He drove a hand-blade through the gap in the helmet covering its face, jammed his fingers into the opponent's eye socket, and intoned: "Gotha."
In an instant, the head swelled and exploded in flame, detonating from the inside along with the rest of the armor.
Despite its dramatic entrance, the enemy that had burst through was given no opportunity to act. That was the best Roswaal could do—so he thought, turning around, only to realize he'd been naive.
One after another, soldiers in the same equipment burst through from the roof, through the corridors, pouring into the carriage interior.
The linked dragon carriages had become a raging battlefield in their entirety.
△▼△▼△▼△ "Abel-chin, over here, over here! Hurry! Brother, run too!"
"The truth is, even like this, I'm already running at full speed, little sister!"
Medium, serving as the vanguard, frantically called out while deflecting enemy attacks with her twin swords.
Her broad blade and the enemy's great shears ground against each other fiercely, and the two men she was protecting—Vincent and Flop—dodged through the gaps, weathering the onslaught.
Their appearance may have looked pathetic at first glance, but there were reasons beyond simply being wounded and noncombatants.
"Your Excellency the Emperor! Are you alright? Please tell me you haven't been poisoned! I need you to keep your promise, you know!"
"…Hmph. If you're worried, conceal your ambitions at least a little. How disrespectful."
"You may find it surprising since you surround yourself with nothing but schemers, but there are people out there who approach you for reasons other than ambition, Your Excellency!"
As Flop propped him up while spouting such nonsense, Vincent scoffed.
Vincent's expression was faintly twisted by a pain that felt like a stabbing in his chest. The sudden pain and the red mark were like thorns corroding his body.
Coupled with the continued enemy assault that Medium was holding off, Vincent confirmed with certainty that he was under the same kind of attack as before—only worse this time.
It was— "That pain in your chest…"
"Curse my brother—Palladio Manescu's mystic eye, no doubt. The fool lost and died in the Imperial Selection Ceremony, yet apparently lingered on."
"A mystic eye…! What's its effect?"
"It was something that could merely project one's voice to a target whose location was known, but it's grown stronger after death."
As he answered Flop's question, Vincent thought of the brother he had once killed.
Among the siblings who had competed for the throne, Palladio had been in the upper tier of dangerous opponents. But he'd rested on his laurels with his mystic eye's power, never fully leveraging its capabilities—that had been his downfall.
Vincent never imagined that Palladio would correct that flaw from beyond the grave—but— "No… even in death, it's not so easy to change who one fundamentally is. Someone must be commanding Palladio to do this."
"But if he's your brother, then Palladio must also be royalty, correct? Even as a reanimated corpse, who could give orders to someone like that…"
"I have a fairly clear idea. If Palladio were to follow anyone, it would be the late Emperor Draizen Volakia, or someone he himself acknowledged as superior."
Among those who fit that criteria, Vincent himself was one—but given that the other party was assisting the undead, he'd be the first candidate eliminated.
Draizen, the late Emperor and also his biological father, emerged as a sure candidate for the puppeteer, and the face of his missing sister also surfaced as someone whose condition didn't warrant consideration.
However, judging by the equipment of the enemy Medium was fighting, there was essentially one possible culprit— "—Lamia."
The one who satisfied the conditions of commanding Palladio, and who led the brutal soldiers wielding great shears—the "Pruning Unit"—could only be
Of the three siblings Vincent had held in the highest regard during the Imperial Selection Ceremony, he identified the most likely one as the adversary, and clutched his aching chest— And then— "You piss me off, you damn corpses!!"
A savage roar cut through the air, and ahead on their path, a bare blade went on a rampage.
Looking over, corpse soldiers who had burst through the windows were being cut to ribbons and turned to dust by an enemy approaching from the opposite direction—a man with unkempt hair and an eyepatch.
The soldier, nostrils flaring, noticed Vincent and the others and— "Hey! You lot—give me a hand! My sister's worn out inside…"
"No—it's you who should be lending us a hand."
"Huh? What are you—Y-your Excellency the Emperor!?!"
The rough-spoken man who had been swaggering over let out a shriek as he recognized Vincent.
That was exactly the kind of reaction one should have to the Emperor, and while it provided some satisfaction in light of the discourteous and disrespectful creatures he'd had to deal with, Vincent jerked his chin behind himself.
"Cooperate with those behind you and stop the enemy advance. Your sister—I'll have her brought out."
"I—yes, sir! Sergeant Major Jamal Oreilly, standing ready!"
"Do your utmost, Jamal Oreilly. The fate of the Empire may depend on your efforts."
"—!"
At Vincent's single command, the one-eyed Jamal trembled violently. Then, letting out a bestial roar, he launched himself over Vincent and Flop's heads, adding his strength to Medium's fight behind them and beginning to push back the corpse soldiers.
"Mister Eyepatch! The Medium I'm fighting together with is a candidate for Empress, so please treat her with respect!"
"I still haven't said 'okay' yet, y'know~!"
From Flop's shout came Medium's carefree reply.
Bearing that exchange behind him, Flop burst into the room where Jamal's sister was, and brought out a woman in a wheelchair whose eyes were spinning.
The woman clung to her wheelchair, her eyes brimming with painful tears— "Wh-what? What is it? Why—why won't anyone just leave me alone…?"
"…That is what everyone in the current Empire is thinking, I'd wager."
Genuinely sympathizing with the woman's lament, Vincent shook his head.
No matter how dire the situation became, he couldn't afford to halt the linked dragon carriages here.
If they stopped, how long would it take for them to start moving again?
And if that happened— "—There's not a moment to spare. We must reach the fortress city."
△▼△▼△▼△ "If we stop the dragon carriages now, we'll be surrounded by even more enemies. The linked dragon carriage system is built around the Wind-Sheltering Blessing. If we start moving without the blessing, rolling over is inevitable."
"I had a feeling it was too convenient—turns out that's quite the flaw, huh."
When someone proposed stopping the carriages, given the ongoing assault on the linked dragon carriages and the chaotic battle inside the moving cars, Serena laid bare the linked dragon carriage's critical weakness.
Hearing that, even Anastasia understood that stopping wasn't realistic.
"Even so, the earth dragons have been running nonstop for nearly half a day… Once they stop, there's no way they'll be able to start again tonight."
"There's also the numerical disparity with the enemy. What closes that gap is unquestionably the dragon carriages' mobility. Remove that advantage, and we'll meet the same end as Prime Minister Beltetze—whose remaining days are numbered anyway."
"Now's not the time for that! And don't just sit there taking it, old man!"
"Lord Dragroy is simply this kind of person, and as for me, being executed after this 'Great Calamity' business is resolved would be the natural course of things, so…"
"Don't you go having that kind of goddamn resignation ready!"
Serena's remark—difficult to tell whether it was a quip or not—was met by Beltetze's entirely humorless response, and Garfiel's voice rose in anger at their exchange.
The new enemy assault had occurred while Anastasia and Garfiel happened to be in the same room. Normally, Garfiel would have wanted to regroup with Emilia and the others— "I'm sorry we dragged you over to our side, Garfiel-kun. But hey, because of that, Serena-san and I survived, didn't we?"
"Tch… Big sis and the others have Ram and Lady Emilia with them, no need to worry. Otto-bro, I'm worried about though…"
"Getting emotional won't make you any less rational. Otto is a merchant—he'll manage on his own even without worrying. Still…"
Garfiel ground his teeth in frustration and let out a groan from his not-particularly-impressive arms as he moved to intercept the shears-wielding mercenary that burst into the carriage.
A barrage of blows—punching down, punching away, crushing—the sheer ferocity of his assault reduced the mercenary to nothing in the blink of an eye.
Watching the fallen corpse soldiers crumble into dust, Beltetze narrowed his already-slitted eyes even further.
"The Pruning Unit… It does appear that Lady Lamia has come in person."
"Lady Lamia Godwin, is it? She's someone I've wanted to meet at least once."
"Really? What kind of person is she?"
"The Prime Minister knows better than I. After all, she's the one he chose to serve as Emperor."
Serena, who had drawn her blade with its wavy edge, shrugged, and Anastasia's gaze turned to Beltetze.
The old man, not denying Serena's remark, nodded with eyes whose gaze was impossible to read.
"She was a woman of imperial caliber, the one who could have been Emperor of the Volakia Empire. If Vincent Abelux and Prisca Benedict hadn't existed in the same generation, she would have been Emperor."
"Or perhaps she's returned from death as a corpse to fulfill that ambition? Prime Minister, perhaps if you pledged loyalty anew, she might spare you?"
"—I'm afraid that both Lady Lamia and I are losers. That wouldn't suit the ways of the Empire."
Beltetze slowly shook his head, and Serena closed one eye and sighed.
The old man's serious answer apparently didn't sit well with her. Anastasia, too, seemed to sense the complicated feelings of the former master and servant, though she didn't press further.
"—Ana."
Suddenly, a voice called to Anastasia's ear as she was deep in thought, and she looked up.
The call came from
"—Lady Anastasia. I've returned."
Following that gaze, the figure who appeared from beyond the door was Julius.
The sharp-featured Julius held a knight's sword in one hand and cradled a slender man in the other arm. He'd been dispatched on a separate assignment to retrieve this very person.
The man, swaying his long gray hair, looked up with a pitiful expression.
"My, my—having everything happen all at once is just too much. My chest is burning with pain, this swordsman here keeps shaking me about, it's been awful."
"If you weren't whining so much, you should be thanking my knight and me. These people's target might actually be you, you know."
"Eh?!"
The one who widened his eyes in shock was
Apparently held in high regard within the Empire, he was said to be an indispensable source of information for the Empire's fight against the "Great Calamity." To prevent his death, Julius had been sent to retrieve him.
"Garfiel-kun's side would've involved too many detours—looking around at other things and flirting and whatnot."
"I was fighting the whole damn time! Don't spout crap!"
"Oh? If I hadn't given you this job, would you have run off to help Halibel outside?"
"Gah…!"
Caught dead to rights, Garfiel groaned and bared his teeth.
The linked dragon carriages were under continuous enemy assault, but it was Halibel who kept the greatest threat at bay single-handedly.
The periodic roar of the dragon and the accompanying crack of splitting sky—if one wasn't the City-States' strongest, holding back the world's most resilient creature would be impossible.
"Garfiel, I'm grateful that you've been protecting Anastasia and the others. I respect your courage."
"Shut it! Same as big sis—I'm no good at dealing with sappy types like you!"
"That's a shame. I'd like to think we could become friends, just as I am with Subaru."
"Gaaaah!!"
Garfiel roared heartily at Julius's straightforward words and threw out a punch. It crossed with Julius's own strike—coordinating perfectly to crush the corpse soldiers that had appeared behind them both.
Whether Garfiel would admit it or not, their synchronization as first-rate fighters was flawless.
"But if we keep going like this, it's just treating the symptoms… The linked carriages can't stop, but if they do, it's game over. We've got to change the situation somehow, somewhere!"
△▼△▼△▼△ "NUUURAAAH—!!"
A powerful, rugged voice boomed as a golden halberd swung through the air.
The lateral shockwave swept aside the armor-clad corpse soldiers en masse, flinging them off the top of the dragon carriage. They crumbled to dust before even hitting the ground.
But even cutting down multiple enemies at once, the enemy's numbers refused to dwindle.
"You wretched things! Insolent tricks!!"
From his vantage point, he could see the sky filled with zombie wyverns—their feet clutching corpse soldiers, dropping them one after another into the linked dragon carriages.
This brutal method of transport was the mechanism by which enemy soldiers infiltrated the carriages.
Not every soldier dropped from the wyverns actually landed on the carriages.
In fact, nearly half of them failed to grab hold of the linked carriages and simply plummeted from the zombie wyverns to the ground, their reanimated bodies shattering on impact—a sacrificial expenditure that would have been unthinkable with living soldiers.
But when the soldiers were already dead, what would have been a suicidal waste of manpower became an efficient transport operation with no concern for attrition.
And the one making this possible— "Was the Pruning Unit under Lady Lamia's command!"
Goz had rushed to the lead carriage of the linked formation to protect the earth dragons in the most critical position. He looked up at the sky at the nightmarish combination of zombie wyverns and the undead soldiers they delivered.
The Pruning Unit was the fearsome group that had carried out the great purge in the annals of the Volakia Empire.
All of them wore armor that obscured their faces, wielded massive shears, and pruned those unnecessary to their master's ambitions. Hence, the Pruning Unit.
This group had etched its name into imperial history because the nine-year-old imperial girl who would go on to lead them—Lamia Godwin—had slaughtered the forces of a rebellious middle-ranking baron beneath her command.
The victims of that purge had been subjected to horrors that were a vision of this world's hell.
And how the young princess, by methods unknown, had compelled every last one of her subordinates to carry out such a blood-soaked atrocity, forging a unit of ruthless killers bound by iron loyalty.
The depth of her hold over their hearts was proven by this very battle tactic—proof that even in death, the poison of Lamia's influence had not yet released its grip on their souls.
And— "Oh my. It's been so many years, and yet you still remember me and my adorable little pets? How delightful."
A sudden chill split the air, and a honeyed voice descended from above.
In that instant, Goz swung his halberd without a moment's hesitation, deflected a blazing crimson arc head-on, and leaped backward. The halberd in his hands immediately ignited.
Of course it did. The Radiant Sword's light was meant to illuminate all things in blinding brilliance.
"To think you would descend to the battlefield yourself…! Lady Lamia Godwin!!"
"Oh, is that so surprising? In this body, wouldn't it be the best choice?"
Goz gritted his teeth and stared straight ahead. There, smiling with an alluring grace, was a noble corpse.
A blood-red luxurious dress, dazzling gemstones adorning her everywhere, and the aristocratic beauty inherent to the Volakia imperial family—a beauty that would render the value of such ornamentation worthless. However, combined with her pallid, cracked skin and her eerie golden eyes, that beauty had become a shadow of its former self.
Lamia Godwin—the "Poison Princess" who once competed with Vincent Volakia for the throne in the Imperial Selection Ceremony, and who might have been Empress—gazed down at her own shattered half, as if to prove how utterly she had changed.
Yet even after sustaining a blow that would have reduced any other corpse soldier to dust, Lamia's body did not crumble. Instead, the cracks mended, and she returned to her original form.
"Your body…"
"Shattered but never destroyed—an immortal body… It's not quite so convenient as all that, though."
Lamia casually ran a hand over the repaired area, then shouldered the Radiant Sword with that same hand, as if to prove it was as good as new. In her arms, the undiminished gleam of the treasure sword looked almost blasphemous.
As Goz scowled at this, Lamia whispered, "I dislike that expression," and— "At the Crystal Palace, we never got the chance to talk properly. So don't look at me with such a frightening face, Second-General Ralfon."
"Guh…"
"Oh, you're the First-General now, I hear. I've heard all about it—brother Vincent reinstated the Nine Divine Generals system. That does sound like something he'd do."
Lamia pressed her free hand to her chin and split her lips into a grin.
Her gestures and mannerisms were unmistakably those Goz had known in life—the reanimated corpse's recreation of her former behavior filled him with revulsion and rage.
Unconcerned with his inner turmoil, Lamia looked Goz up and down from his golden armor's crest to its base.
"The Nine Divine Generals? Just a convenient system for climbing the ranks based on nothing but raw strength. It's the perfect way to assemble obedient pieces with empty heads."
"…I concede that your suspicion is understandable, Lady Lamia. The restoration of the Nine Divine Generals was indeed motivated in part by a desire to prepare countermeasures against this 'Great Calamity.' Even I acknowledge that."
"That tone suggests you have objections, though?"
"With all due respect!"
There was an undeniable undercurrent of praise for Vincent in Lamia's words.
Before they had opposed each other in the Imperial Selection Ceremony, Lamia had reportedly been quite devoted to Vincent. Though death had separated their paths, that trust had not been diminished even after death.
However— "How much do you know of what transpired during the time you were without life, Lady Lamia?"
"What a strange question. —Unfortunately, I remember nothing from when I was dead. I'm in the middle of relearning everything that happened. You could always tell me about it, if you like."
"Then permit me—with full knowledge of my presumption—to correct you!"
"———"
"Your assessment of the current Nine Divine Generals is correct: they are all formidable. They are warriors of such caliber that even I am beneath their notice. However—not a single one among them is the sort of easy-to-manage piece you imagine!"
Thrusting out his golden-armored chest, Goz declared loudly and without reservation.
If Vincent had reinstated the Nine Divine Generals as a ploy to secure obedient pieces for his fight against the "Great Calamity," that scheme had failed.
Every last general was a battle-hardened eccentric—none of them could be handled easily.
"The Empire's greatness is not concentrated in your person alone, Lady Lamia!"
"—Is that an insult to brother Vincent?"
"No! Not at all! That is not what I mean, Lady Lamia!"
As Lamia narrowed her eyes and let a sharper edge enter her voice, Goz shook his head.
Lamia's anger was fueled by her feelings toward Vincent, and Goz was equally sensitive to any insult or disrespect aimed at the Emperor. But since the decision to abandon the imperial capital, his standing had shifted slightly.
All of it—not because of a change in Goz, but because of a change in Vincent.
"He told me: 'Your service is relied upon.'"
"…What did he say?"
"Lady Lamia, the Vincent Volakia that you once knew was already an exceptional man! But! Now! Still! His Excellency the Emperor continues to seek further greatness and evolves!"
"———"
"The Volakia Empire will achieve ever greater development from here on! To that end, we cannot allow those who have already died to continue dragging us backward!"
In the sense of demanding perfection from the Emperor, Goz and Lamia were cut from the same cloth. But what decisively separated them was whether or not they knew the flow of these past nine years.
Those whose march had stopped were left behind by those who kept marching—that was the fact of it.
"The wise who keep marching will surmount even the expectations and predictions of those who halted—and press further still! Such is His Excellency, who stands at the pinnacle of our Volakia Empire!"
Raising his halberd with its burning tip, Goz severed his hesitation and charged forward.
Despite the fact that Lamia was still, in appearance, a member of the Volakia imperial family, it was the chains of his reverence that had held Goz back until now. Those chains were now torn asunder by a fiercer, more passionate loyalty.
"OOOOH—!!"
Goz's roar accompanied a sweeping downward strike of his halberd, aimed directly at Lamia.
A blow of Goz's unrivaled strength—no matter that his opponent was one of the Nine Divine Generals, it could not be easily stopped. And certainly not by a woman's slender arms, even if she held the Radiant Sword.
In truth, Lamia made no attempt to defend against Goz's strike with the Radiant Sword.
"You talk quite a lot for someone with a brain that isn't very clever, First-General Ralfon. —I'm honestly quite impressed, so I'll tell you something."
Her thin lips moved, and Lamia smiled beatifically at Goz.
Her figure—taking the full force of the descending halberd head-on, with no resistance remaining—shattered like pottery, blown to smithereens.
That was how Lamia Godwin ended, after delivering her final words as if to teach him something—so completely obliterated beyond repair that not even fragments remained.
Of course, there was always the matter from the war council. Even if the corpse soldiers were defeated, there was the possibility they could be revived again through the "core insects" that the Kingdom's mages had discovered.
"But still…"
By striking down Lamia here, the situation should shift.
If the one openly commanding the Pruning Unit were removed, the difference in leadership—or rather, in capability—would tip the scales in their favor.
Goz's conviction on this point— "Are you listening, First-General Ralfon?"
"—!?"
The moment that honeyed voice brushed his ear again, Goz's halberd swung behind him in a reflexive strike, smashing through an enemy's torso mid-swing. With the sound of shattering pottery, the body was severed in two.
Keeping the disintegrating, flying remains in the corner of his vision, Goz held his breath.
The enemy he had struck down in reflex was turning to dust—and it wore an impossible expression.
Because this was the very same enemy he had just destroyed with his own hands.
"You said something surprisingly clever for once—let me tell you why you were right."
"Impossible…"
Before that abnormal sight—one that should never have existed—the hand gripping the halberd trembled violently.
Whether from rage or from some other emotion, even Goz himself couldn't tell. But one thing was certain: this was sacrilege.
It was sacrilege against the Volakia Empire to which the Lion Knight, Goz Ralfon, had pledged his loyalty— "——This is a war of annihilation between us, who were left behind in the past, and all of you—"
So spoke the Lamia Godwin who should have been destroyed, smiling at Goz.
—Countless Radiant Swords in hand, countless Poison Princesses, Lamia Godwin, smiled at him.