"Beldt, I'm leaving this place to you. Even if you die, hold your ground."
"Understood. Your Excellency, please stay safe."
—Those were the last words they ever exchanged.
If asked whether their master-servant relationship—purely transactional in nature—constituted a strong bond, the answer would have been no.
He had sensed greatness in her talent and bearing, and as he aged, he had put to use the knowledge he had accumulated along the way, smoothing her path and guiding her toward the throne that the Emperor should occupy.
Even without the loyalty or passion directed at her personally, it was a master-servant bond that held together.
She was the kind of person who, upon knowing one thing, understood a hundred—and could produce a hundred and one without being told every last detail from start to finish.
She was someone who held herself and others to the duties befitting their ability and their station.
He had been blessed with no martial prowess, and though he burned with longing for the rank of Sword Wolf, it was a position forever beyond his reach.
He had lived a life in which he was never honored by others, only scorned—and she had judged him useful. That fact alone was surely worthy of gratitude.
Which was why, in the final words they exchanged, there had been not the slightest trace of falsehood.
During the Selection Ceremony, he had been sternly ordered to hold his ground even at the cost of his life—and he had possessed the resolve to do so.
The last service of a man who could no longer pretend to be a Sword Wolf, and was simply withering away with age.
Even in a master-servant bond devoid of passion, there had been the determination to die at his post.
And yet, Beldt had survived.
And the master who had prayed for his safety had lost her life.
Even now, Beldt Fendalfon continued to live in disgrace.
Having failed to fulfill his duties, having pursued the throne of an emperor destined to lead the empire into ruin, having been oblivious to the machinations of the "Great Calamity" unfolding behind his own schemes—he was nothing but a shameless wretch who dared call himself a Sword Wolf.
Unable to carry out a single one of the orders he had been given, he continued to live in disgrace.
△▼△▼△▼△ "What's wrong, Commander Ralfon?"
"Aren't you the one who's always fawning over the Volachia royals?"
"Or perhaps you never liked me to begin with, since I lost the Selection Ceremony?"
The same voice rang out from different mouths, and countless pairs of golden eyes fixed their gazes upon him.
Clad in golden armor that matched the color of those eyes,
Channeling every ounce of strength he possessed, he brought his warhammer crashing down.
The blood of the empire's Sword Wolves flowed through Goz's veins. Enduring the scream that tore from within him, Goz struck down Lamia—one of the royals who deserved his reverence—as an enemy who must be vanquished.
Suffering the agony of having his soul ripped asunder, Goz came to understand in the truest sense what the result meant.
—That the "Great Calamity" was, without question, a threat that would destroy the Volachia Empire.
"Why...?!"
Goz ground his teeth as Lamia—or rather, the Lamias before him—tilted their heads.
Watching fine orange hair cascade over slender shoulders, Goz felt something burning in the pit of his stomach.
"Why do you allow such a thing to continue?! This is... this is blasphemy of the highest order! You mock the very life of Your Excellency Lamia!"
Roaring his surging fury, while simultaneously burning his rising tears to ash with scalding blood, Goz poured his heart out to the countless copies of Lamia arrayed before him.
But to his plea from the depths of his being, every Lamia responded in unison by pressing the backs of their hands to their lips. Then, in bright and cheerful tones— "Don't get the wrong idea, Commander Ralfon. This isn't something someone else is doing to me—I did it to myself."
"You... what?"
"That witch is stubborn, you know. If she can regenerate from a piece that's been broken, then there's no reason she can't regenerate before being broken in the first place. Containers can be made endlessly; all you have to do is dilute the source and fill them up. Once you grasp that instinctively—dreams like this become possible."
With a radiant smile blooming on her blood-flushed, deathly pale face,
"————"
Even Goz had to agree in his heart when she called it a dream.
Lamia, endlessly multiplying and wilfully desecrating her own existence. Every single one of them bore in hand the "Sunblade"—the symbol of the empire.
If this was, as Lamia said, a dream—if this wasn't a nightmare, then what was it?
"Come now, Commander Ralfon—in reality, you can't destroy a dream. Accept that... and why not join our side?"
"——What exactly do you mean?"
"It's not complicated. If you die too, you'll be in the same position as me and the others. So why not get on the winning side early?"
Clasping her hands together before her chest and tilting her small head, Lamia extended the invitation.
If a warrior fell in battle, he would join Lamia's ranks as a corpse person. This was already happening on the battlefield, but actually imagining it brought a psychological burden beyond measure.
Goz, who had continued to carry the imperial soldiers' loyalty with fierce devotion, and the officers and men who should have felt the same—if they fell, they would fight on the side that destroyed the empire, without ever questioning it.
Just as Lamia Godwin, who had once touched the throne of the empire's empress, had become.
What would be completed there was an empire of corpses. —An empire of Sword Wolves, with not a shadow of its former self.
"Your Excellency, with the deepest respect!"
Goz shut his eyes tight, then raised his face and turned back toward Lamia.
Before Goz's intensity, Lamia furrowed her well-shaped brows and said— "You look like you're about to refuse."
"Your Excellency Lamia is most generous with her mercy, but I—Goz Ralfon—intend to respectfully decline!"
"As expected, you refused."
As Lamia narrowed her golden eyes, Goz recalled the vision he had seen during that moment of closed eyes.
A Goz who had perished, transformed into a corpse person like the Lamias—pale-faced with golden eyes—swinging his warhammer to destroy this empire. —That vision, he shattered to pieces.
Shattering it, tearing himself free from its clinging grip, he roared— "I must retract my earlier statement! I said that none of the "Nine Divine Generals" would bend to His Excellency's will, but I am His Excellency's loyal pawn! No matter what the others may do—only I wish to remain so!"
He refused to die and become a spearhead of annihilation. He wished to remain a living piece of the Emperor.
That was Goz Ralfon's way—his chosen path as a Sword Wolf of the empire.
He would leave all profound thought and the creation of ideals to Vincent, the ruler, and fulfill the role he was asked to play.
And that role was— "I am Goz Ralfon—the Fifth of the Nine Divine Generals chosen by His Excellency Vincent Volachia!"
Raising his golden warhammer high, he declared that he would not yield a single step against the countless Lamias.
In the next instant, having boasted so boldly, Goz was charged by the Lamias wielding their Sunblades. A single brush of that blade would incinerate the soul itself—the blazing flames of Volachia.
Before that flame could reach him, Goz's muscles surged and his warhammer swept through the air.
"——!"
His strike, freed of all hesitation, caught the charging Lamias in a lateral blow—five of them at once in midair—shattering their soft bodies like porcelain into clouds of dust.
Witnessing that single blow, the remaining Lamias showed a flicker of surprise, their expressions shifting.
They looked upon the absurdly stubborn Sword Wolf and smiled cruelly.
"No matter how bravely you bark and rage, once you're dead you'll be my slave, you know?"
"If that is an inevitable fate, then before my life runs out, I will become stone if I must! The only final loyalty I can offer His Excellency is to not die!"
Swinging his warhammer in a wide arc overhead, Goz took a stance to prevent the Lamias gathered at the lead carriage from escaping.
If Lamias wielding the Sunblade scattered to every part of the Linked Dragon Carriages, that radiant light might burn even Vincent's eyes. He had to prevent that.
It was for this purpose—the Lion Knight existed, and Goz Ralfon blazed with fury upon fury.
△▼△▼△▼△ "My, my—you seem to have steeled yourself quite impressively, but what a shame."
The lead carriage of the Linked Dragon Carriages. Goz Ralfon, barking and raging with everything on the line, fighting to prevent the carriage from losing its legs on the way to its destination.
His spirit was admirable, but his desperate wish would not be fulfilled.
Tragic as it was for Goz, who was fighting to the death to prevent the Lamias who had become corpse people from reaching other locations—the Lamias had already reached the other carriages.
That was only natural. Even when multiplying, there was no need to do so in the same spot. No such restriction had been imposed. Goz's fierce battle couldn't be called meaningless, but its contribution was minimal.
And more importantly, the importance of tying up the hands of a powerhouse like Goz Ralfon on a dragon carriage carrying none but the most vital living figures of the empire went without saying.
"Too bad, Commander Ralfon—but it's not you holding me down. It's me holding you down."
While Goz fought a lone battle against the Sunblade, pouring cold water on his determination, Lamia walked toward the central carriage, gazing into the distance.
Far off in the sky, there was the figure of a wolfman clashing fiercely with a massive evil dragon amid clouds of black smoke.
"Not being able to use Balgren was unexpected, but tying up that one's hands was a job well done."
Narrowing her golden eyes, even Lamia saw that the wolfman facing Balgren was in a class of his own.
Goz—Commander of one of the empire's Nine Divine Generals—was unquestionably one of the most powerful beings in the world. And that wolfman had surpassed even Goz.
—No, rather, the evil dragon was being pushed back.
The reason it hadn't been defeated was that its recovery rate from the damage it sustained exceeded the assault. No matter how many times the shinobi shattered it, the dragon regenerated.
It was more than enough of a bizarre spectacle just that it wasn't being killed.
"But it's too bad—if that wolfman dies, he won't be useful anymore."
"——Now that, I can't let slide."
Hearing small footsteps and that rough voice, Lamia slowly turned around.
From the same direction as Lamia, with the battle between the evil dragon and wolfman as a backdrop, stood a blond boy—or rather, a young man.
Lamia let out a small snort through her nose and smiled at the boy.
"You reek of beast—I thought, and sure enough, you're a demi-human, aren't you?"
"...Don't want to hear that from some dirt-smelling broad. But that ain't all."
"Oh?"
"If you ask me, a woman who stacks the same face over and over—one crone is more than enough!"
The demi-human boy slammed his fists together hard against his chest. At that fierce declaration, Lamia and the other Lamias narrowed their eyes.
They didn't understand the meaning behind the boy's words. They only knew that this boy had previously experienced what it was like to be surrounded by a horde of identical beings, just like the current Lamia.
And— "I ain't exactly bosom buddies with that gold old geezer, but his voice is loud enough to hear! I know full well that among the ones here, you're the toughest!"
"————"
No sooner had the boy bared his fangs and roared those words than Lamia felt a shift in the atmosphere.
It was a change in the second and fourth carriages—if the entire train were divided into five segments, Lamia was facing the boy in the third.
The roof of the second carriage was engulfed in flames, while the fourth was frozen solid by a howling wind.
Both were carriages occupied by different Lamias and the "Pruning Corps."
Sensing this instinctively, Lamia pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and laughed.
"Oh, I see. Kingdom folk really don't know when to give up, do they?"
"...How'd you know we came from Lugunica?"
"I just figured it out. It wasn't very empire-like of you, so I asked. How cute."
"No, that ain't it. You're not just messing with me."
Watching Lamia's mocking smile, the boy shook his head.
This wasn't bravado, nor was it keen perception. If anything, it was the boy's intuition—an instinctive gift of scent that could sniff out truth from falsehood.
In his mind, the boy connected his own instincts with Lamia's earlier words.
"The bit about "the Veneration" not being usable, and the bit about guessing where I come from, were both bait to see if I'd bite..."
"——Enough chatter."
A boy who was clearly not suited to using his brain, yet was trying desperately to do so anyway.
Watching someone struggle with something so ill-suited to their nature was an exceedingly unpleasant sight.
As Lamia shrugged her slender shoulders, another Lamia lunged at the boy in concert.
The boy ducked low to dodge the crimson blade, then drove his reversed fist into the Lamia's abdomen. But the Lamia he blew away was sliced apart by yet another Lamia—her body igniting as it split in two—and through the curtain of flame, a lethal thrust came aimed at the boy.
With a short bark, the boy kicked off the roof and leaped into the air.
A corpse dragon glided toward him there, and the airborne boy was caught in the jaws of the dead creature. Still clamped in its maw, the boy was carried skyward as a swarm of other corpse dragons descended.
"Commander Ralfon aside, the children who need to get close really don't mesh well with the Sunblade."
Regripping the unused Sunblade, Lamia murmured as the boy was swarmed by corpse dragons.
A single brush of the Sunblade would incinerate the soul completely. A demonic sword that enhanced physical ability just from being held—its effect could transform even a Volachia royal who had coasted on natural talent into a top-tier fighter.
How much more, then, for one who had devoted years to honing their swordsmanship?
"Well now, the beastly one has been dealt with. Next, I need to find where brother is..."
As Lamia was about to step forward at an unhurried, strolling pace, a thunderous roar suddenly rang out above her head.
Looking up, she saw that the swarm of corpse dragons—so numerous they had formed a rough sphere in midair—had been shattered en masse, over a dozen of them exploding into fragments. From the center of that detonation emerged what bore no resemblance to the lithe, slender boy from before—a massive great tiger.
Swinging arms thick as bundled logs, the great tiger scattered the corpse dragon swarm, then dove straight downward in a single breath. The Linked Dragon Carriages' roof groaned under its weight, and in the next instant, it was upon Lamia.
"————"
Lamia turned and cut upward from a low stance with the Sunblade.
There was a moment of surprise. But by transforming into a beast, her target had become much larger. Against a Sunblade user who needed only to graze the target for victory, that was a fatal misstep.
The great tiger plunged forward headlong—and before its underbelly met the Sunblade's rising arc— "——!!"
"Oh my."
The sound of the Sunblade's tip scraping against steel rang out, and Lamia's golden eyes flew wide open.
The charging great tiger had not swung its thick arms at Lamia. Instead, it drove its claws into the roof half a step ahead of her, ripped up a chunk, and used it as a shield.
Lamia's slash slid off the makeshift barrier, and the great tiger's opposite arm spun around and struck her.
The impact tore Lamia's upper body clean off, and her shattered body was hurled from the carriage.
The great tiger had exceeded Lamia's expectations. But like Goz, it was ultimately futile.
"Even if I die..."
Lamia's lips whispered the words even as her body crumbled into dust before hitting the ground.
Even if this body perished, she would simply regenerate like every other copy of herself. And the advantage of this regeneration wasn't merely that death wasn't the end.
The next Lamia to awaken would carry over every experience this one had gained.
In other words— "————"
As she fell, sensing other Lamias and members of the Pruning Corps leaping at the great tiger, Lamia's crumbling field of vision caught the interior of the Linked Dragon Carriage—the very train she was being left behind by.
Inside that carriage, her gaze met someone who was staring intently out the window. Having now confirmed which carriage her quarry was in, she could carry this information forward to the next Lamia.
"——Found you, Brother Vincent."
△▼△▼△▼△ "——Your Excellency."
At the sight through the carriage window, Beldt's narrow eyes widened just slightly, and his voice escaped him.
The one who had just been shaken from the roof and shattered against the earth was, unmistakably, Lamia Godwin—returned as a corpse person.
He had already confirmed this fact with his own eyes.
The fact that those participating in this fierce assault on the Linked Dragon Carriages were none other than the "Pruning Corps," which he knew all too well, made it entirely clear that the one leading them was Lamia.
And yet, the sight of Lamia's body shattering and turning to dust shook Beldt to his core.
"I had wanted to see this with my own eyes, but I never imagined it would be in this form."
"Count Draclan..."
"Don't make that face, Prime Minister. You saw the same thing I did, didn't you? If Her Excellency Lamia was destroyed like that, the "Pruning Corps"—her private force—might stop advancing? Perhaps..."
"————"
"I wouldn't count on it, though."
Serina, who had watched the corpse-person Lamia's final moments through the carriage window, shrugged her shoulders.
As her words predicted, even with the loyal Lamia struck down, not a sliver of dimming was visible in the Pruning Corps' ferocious advance.
Given what had transpired at the earlier war council, death was not the end for a corpse person.
Without even looking at the undiminished will to fight of the Pruning Corps, it was clear that Lamia's end had come first.
"Lady Anastasia, please fall back!"
A clear, commanding voice rang out as a young man from Wasso wielded a fluid sword.
The slash traced a rainbow-colored arc, cutting through the Pruning Corps' heavy black armor as easily as a heated blade through ice.
Even in the eyes of Beldt—who had never been blessed with martial prowess—it was clear that the young man, Julius, possessed strength that rivaled the empire's finest warriors.
"But even our Julius can't fight forever. We need to change the situation."
Anastasia, her fingers stroking the muffler around her neck as she was guarded by Julius's desperate fighting, murmured.
The enemy surging through the carriages was being held off by Julius; on the roof, Garfiel held his own. Combined with Lamia's earlier fall, both inside and out had become fierce battlegrounds.
In truth, everyone capable of fighting—including the guard soldiers—was engaged.
"Still, doesn't it feel like we're being targeted a bit excessively?"
"Probably because you're here. That spot on your chest where you were hurting—there's a clear mark on it."
"A mark? Oh... you're right!"
Just as Anastasia had said, visible on his pale skin was the trace of a red welt—if it had appeared simultaneously with the assault— "An eye that locks onto the target's location... Could it be His Excellency Paladio Manescu?"
"Oh my—is every participant in the Selection Ceremony gathered here? If so, I'd love to reminisce with Lord Baltroy, who sent flowers when I seized the family inheritance from my father."
The Demon Eye Clan blood running through Prince Paladio Manescu's veins—his demonic eyes had locked onto their targets, and that was the reason the Pruning Corps was converging here without pause.
As Beldt reasoned through this, Serina—who was herself using her sword to hold off enemies—licked her lips and spoke.
"Whether we move from this spot or not, choosing to go forward or backward and dying for it is something I'd rather avoid. If we're killed, the empire loses not just its head but everything above the waist. Whether such creatures have a path other than death is an interesting question, but..."
"You speak most inappropriately. An old husk like myself is one thing, but the empire cannot afford to lose either you or Her Excellency."
"There's no such thing as an irreplaceable person, Prime Minister. With all due respect, you proved that yourself when you arranged for His Excellency's proxy. In any case—"
Serina, who never lost her acerbic composure regardless of the situation, had just delivered a pointed jab at Beldt's activities in the imperial capital when the situation shifted.
The very choice—the option of which direction to move—had appeared.
"Right then! You've been holding things down here!"
"Natsuki!"
A door connecting to the rear carriage, already breached by the Pruning Corps' offensive, was kicked aside, and a small figure came tumbling into the passenger car where Beldt and the others stood.
At the sight of the black-haired boy leading the charge, Anastasia raised her voice in welcome.
Stumbling in with great haste were the boy called
"Emilia-tan is fighting in the rear! She's freezing the carriage to reinforce it so enemies can't get in, but if she keeps it up, we'll all be frozen solid too!"
"That's rather extreme. ...But it's also the best move."
A corpse person burst through the carriage window only to be knocked flat by Julius, who asked the question. Subaru's answer came with a grimace, and after blinking one eye, Anastasia directed her light-blue gaze past the boy—toward the blond girl.
"Ah, um..."
"So does that mean negotiations are on hold?"
"No—I've already reached my conclusion. The chance to tell everyone is what got interrupted. Where the hell is Abel? Does he have the same mark too?"
Standing next to the blond girl, Subaru held open his own shirt. And there, just like Ubilk the Stargazer, was the same red welt.
The moment Ubilk saw it, he let out a loud— "See?! I told you so! You've got the same mark too! That means we're fellow Stargazers!"
"I'm telling you that's not it! It's not just me—poor
"That is likely the obstacle the Great Calamity seeks to eliminate."
That voice came from the direction of the opposite door—the one connecting to the front carriage—from people who had not come in with Subaru.
Appearing side by side were Otto, the kingdom strategist whose presence at the war council had been commanding, and a young woman who had been actively participating in healing the wounded.
At their arrival, Subaru turned with wide eyes.
"Otto! Petra! You're safe! Sorry about earlier!"
"Let's put that exchange aside for now. We need to share important information."
"The mark that Subaru and Beatrice have—the Master has it too! Right now, Master is drawing zombies away in the dragon carriage up ahead..."
"Lord Roswaal has the mark too..."
At Petra's report, the peach-haired girl—likely
But if the mark had appeared on Ubilk, Subaru, Beatrice, and even the royal court mage of the kingdom, the conditions for the mark's appearance were beginning to emerge, however dimly.
Which was to say— "In the open field, the ones who directly encountered Sphinx: the Meizers Margrave and Beatrice. Then Natsuki, who stopped the raid on the dragon carriage, and the Stargazer—what was the name again?"
"We can't confirm it here, but there's a possibility that Mr.
"And His Excellency the Emperor as well. There's certainly a possibility. Every name mentioned has been indispensable in their efforts."
Glancing over, Serina subtly mocked Beldt's earlier words while agreeing with the strategists' discussion.
Beldt shared Anastasia's assessment. And as long as the effect of Paladio's demonic eyes persisted, assassins would be sent endlessly after the marked.
However— "Wait. If that hypothesis is correct, then I don't understand why this child... why
It was Rem who spoke up, her arm around the shoulders of the small girl behind her.
The girl she called Spica—the details of her importance had not been fully explained to them, but Beldt had heard that she was one of those named in Ubilk's prophecy.
In that sense, she was undoubtedly a vital asset for the Volachia Empire, but— "Spica, you say?"
At Rem's plea, Otto murmured with what seemed like a different sort of emotion.
Hearing his murmur, Subaru looked Otto dead in the eye, his expression turning serious.
"I've decided where I stand. I'll prove it with how I live from here on out."
"——What a coincidence. I've just decided where I stand as well."
The quiet exchange between them carried layers of emotion that outsiders could not hope to fathom. Moreover, in the midst of this assault, it was a matter that should be set aside.
What should take priority now was— "Before Garf turns into a roasted tiger on the roof, we should make our move."
"Don't put it like some kind of grilled chicken... But what Rem said earlier does have a point."
At the peach-haired girl's words, Subaru turned, and all eyes converged on the girl called Spica. Under the weight of that collective gaze, the girl let out a soft groan and looked around, bewildered.
"If we believe the Stargazer's words, then that girl—Spica—is the Great Calamity's natural enemy. So why hasn't she been eliminated?"
"——? Is that really so strange? I mean, we wouldn't have known either if that man hadn't told us. Maybe the other side is in the same position?"
"Does that mean there are no Stargazers on the corpse person side?"
At the exchange between the girls, Subaru's face lit up with sudden realization.
Ubilk, who had been addressed by this comment, shook his head weakly with a helpless look.
"I'm sorry, but I don't know anything that doesn't relate to fate."
"Then couldn't you at least tell us what about Spica is the 'dawn' you mentioned? Simply naming her without any explanation is terribly irresponsible."
"My deepest apologies for being irresponsible."
At Ubilk's brazen deflection, Rem's expression darkened. But while Ubilk's answer was unsatisfactory, the thread Rem had offered might be worth pursuing.
"With the materials available at this point, we have no choice but to protect the marked while riding this Linked Dragon Carriage—which could fall apart at any moment—into the fortress city. That city should still be under repair, though."
"I don't think we have the luxury of time."
As they spoke, the dragon carriages continued to lose their shape under the Pruning Corps' relentless assault. If their means of travel stopped, annihilation was certain—as they had already determined.
To end this battle, they would need to deal with the commander leading the enemy force—Lamia.
"————"
While desperate measures beyond mere stopgap solutions were needed, Beldt noticed through his narrow eyes the deeply troubled expression on Subaru's face. The anguish consuming him stemmed from having realized something—and hesitating to voice it.
In this situation, a statement the boy was reluctant to utter. Different from Serina, who never hesitated to speak her mind, his turmoil concerned— "——Barusu."
"Natsuki-san."
Two people called out to Subaru at the same time.
Like Beldt, they had noticed the change in the boy's expression. And knowing the boy better than Beldt did, they apparently understood the nature of his dilemma as well.
Shutting his eyes against the intent behind their gazes, Subaru drew a deep, shuddering breath, set his expression firmly, and said— "——Spica's authority may hold the key to turning this situation around."
△▼△▼△▼△ "Oryaaaaa~!!"
Wielding the barbarian sword gripped in both hands, Medium hacked apart the corpse person pressing toward her.
Her wide, sweeping strikes left her back exposed, and another corpse person's great shears came crashing down toward it—but a slender longsword cut into the trajectory.
"Don't go getting casual with your hands, you damn big shots!!"
Barking that rough command, matching his violence with equally savage slashes, was the one-eyed imperial soldier called Jamal.
Working with this Jamal, Medium fought desperately to protect her brother Flop, Jamal's sister Kacha, and the unpredictable Abel from the corpse people's ceaseless attacks.
Even now, Medium stopped the enemy with a front kick, then swung her barbarian sword to slice off their heads, turning them to dust. Jamal, too, brought his twin swords down to sever their knees and skewer their chests.
"Your Highness, leave this to me and fall back!"
"I-told-you-already! I haven't agreed to that!"
"Your Imperial Consortship! Fall back!"
"Ugh!!"
Being treated with such deference—something wholly unfamiliar to Medium—left her flustered.
It had been the same since the earlier discussion between Flop and Abel. Abel had warned her, but Medium had sided with her brother without hearing Flop's reasoning at all.
In hindsight, Abel was right—she should have at least heard him out first.
"If I had, I wouldn't have been so surprised..."
"Sister! Overthinking doesn't suit you!"
"Who do you think is to blame, big brother?!"
Channeling her fury into her barbarian sword, she locked blades against the great shears thrust at her and drove her legs into the ground. Straining to avoid being overpowered, she pushed back—while from beneath Medium's arm, Jamal's blade shot through, having circled behind to pierce the enemy's chest.
Having done so, Jamal rubbed his twin swords together in midair.
"Kacha! Don't go craning your neck! I won't let anyone near you!"
"S-stop it... It doesn't matter anymore, really. Because even if we keep living, there's nothing good waiting for us..."
"Don't say stupid crap like that! If you die, Todd won't be able to rest in peace!"
"Y-you stupid... Brother! Who says something like that normally?! Die! Just die, you stupid brother...!"
Seated in her wheelchair, Kacha—whose name meant nothing to Medium—burst into tears at the mention of someone called Todd. To Medium, Kacha looked unbearably pitiful in that moment. If it weren't for this situation, they were sisters alike—both dragged around by their brothers—and she would have wanted to lend an ear.
But there was no room for that.
Because— "Now that's something I can't let slide, 'Your Imperial Consortship.'"
"——!"
"Tell me—do you have what it takes to walk alongside the Sword Wolves, who are the wolves among wolves?"
Tilting her head was a corpse person who had separated herself from the ranks of the black-armored dead—one who, even to Medium's eyes, was strikingly beautiful.
If not for her pallid skin and unsettling golden eyes, she would surely have been breathtaking.
Whether her commanding presence came from after death or had been hers in life, her words carried a weight that Medium simply could not answer.
"No matter what answer that girl gives, you who are already dead have no use for it."
The one who retorted was not Medium, but Abel.
From opposite ends of the passenger car, with Medium and the corpse soldiers between them, Abel and the beautiful corpse person stared each other down—no, gazed at each other.
"Oh my, Brother Vincent. You look as gallant as ever. ...But have you lost a bit of weight?"
"Once rid of the trouble of siblings, you and Paladio had the audacity to wander in anyway. Some hollowing of my cheeks was inevitable."
"Hee hee, I suppose even I can be tempted to wander. —You saved Prisca, didn't you, big brother?"
"————"
"Now that you've undermined the very premise of the Selection Ceremony, do you still have the right to punish me or Brother Paladio? Once people learn the truth, I doubt anyone will still recognize you as Emperor."
Giggling, the corpse princess pressed her hand to her mouth and sneered.
At those words, Abel's dark eyes wavered slightly. Keeping them fixed on her, he was about to respond— "That's not true at all! I still think Abel is the Emperor!"
"And so do I, Your Excellency! There's no reason to listen to the dead!"
Unable to contain herself any longer, Medium's voice—and Jamal's joining in—rang through the passenger car.
At their declarations, Abel's eyes widened further than before, and the corpse princess narrowed hers. With the golden eyes peculiar to corpse people, she looked at Medium and Jamal.
"Listen to you two. Do you even know who I am?"
"Huh? You look like a Volachia royal to me, but what does that matter when you're dead?! The dead are losers, and the living are the Sword Wolves! That's how it goes! Empire style, baby!"
With the simplest logic in the world, Jamal roared his reply and threw himself back into the melee with the enemy soldiers.
His sheer vigor made Medium blink once, then laugh. And laughing, she joined Jamal in resuming the fight.
"You're cooler than Abel, Jamal!"
"Far too kind, Your Imperial Consortship!"
Jamal's wild grin broke out at Medium's praise, and his twin swords sang through the air in a frenzy.
Between that battle, Abel and the corpse princess continued their standoff. As the princess's expression soured just slightly, Abel narrowed his dark eyes and said— "I sense many auras carrying the Sunblade's presence. You're not alone in this, Lamia."
"And so what? Are you happy to have more cute sisters? Or is it only Prisca who interests you, Brother Vincent?"
"If you truly are exploiting the mechanics of corpse people to bring about phenomena beyond the natural order, then why don't you multiply before me?"
There was no grasping any common ground with the mocking princess—Lamia. And yet, in Lamia's silence—her refusal to answer—Abel found a clue on his own.
Staring through his narrowed eyes at the sister who had been utterly transformed, Abel spoke.
"There's a limit to your numbers. And most of them are being held in place. —It's Goz."
"You say that so calmly, big brother. If that's true, then Commander Ralfon's efforts deserve a medal. Poor thing—he said he was content being just a pawn—"
"——Which is precisely why I chose him."
Abel's quiet voice cut Lamia's words short.
He crossed his arms naturally, meeting Lamia's gaze and her words head-on.
"He is one of the generals I chose. That level of performance is only to be expected."
Having stated this with perfect composure, Abel then called her name—"Lamia."
And as Lamia's eyes widened just slightly, he said— "I have never considered you to be trivial."
"————"
At those words, Lamia's expression underwent a dramatic change.
Until now, she had worn nothing but expressions that were beguiling, cruel, or—if neither—displeased. But at Abel's single sentence, her face was entirely different.
Her golden eyes flew wide, and she bit her lip.
"——Vincent Volachiaaaaa!!"
In the next instant, the expression Medium had seen vanished as if it had never existed, replaced by something else entirely.
In that bloodless face, a fierce passion took hold. Her golden eyes blazed, and her outstretched hand drew a scarlet-gleaming holy sword from thin air.
Clad in that blazing radiance, Lamia stepped forward, kicked off the floor, vaulted off the wall, threaded between the corpse people, and launched herself at Abel.
The brilliance—like wielding flame or light itself—flooded the corpse-person-filled carriage with blinding illumination, seeking to erase Abel from the top of his head.
Abel met it dead on, the holy sword descending upon his very nose.
"Abel!"
Medium kicked a corpse person aside and lunged, catching the holy sword on her barbarian sword. For a frozen instant, Medium's barbarian sword began to melt, and the blade's trajectory continued unabated.
"Your Excellency!"
A heartbeat later, Jamal swung his twin swords to deflect the holy sword just as Medium had. They, too, were swallowed by the blade's light and vanished in an instant.
Blowing past Medium and Jamal's interference, Lamia's strike reached Abel.
As Abel's entire body was about to be consumed by the red light, Medium nearly screamed.
That was when.
"————"
No one knew what had happened.
Flop and Kacha, who had been standing behind the towering Abel, had grabbed his jacket with both hands and yanked him down into a sitting position on the floor. Medium, who had been struck by a pain in her chest as though Abel had died. Jamal, whose face had gone hollow with despair. None of them—no.
——It was simply that Lamia, right where she stood, had been knocked off balance, as though struck by a gust of wind.
△▼△▼△▼△ "You're a stubborn one, still alive, Beldt. —Tell me, who won the Selection Ceremony? Brother Vincent? Or Prisca?"
——That was the first thing she said upon their reunion.
Reunited with a master transformed beyond recognition.
Even after nine years had passed, her image from when she was alive was as vivid in his mind as yesterday. It was said that as humans grew old, things from long ago came to hold more clarity than events of the day before.
Which was why he had understood the change in his master at a single glance.
The cracked, pale skin, the golden eyes that no longer sought light—those were the eyes of the dead, who had forgotten what it was to live.
Her opening question said as much. Her time had stopped. And that was as it should be. The living and the dead had to be kept apart.
Therefore— "——Stand down! All of you!"
His parched throat tore itself ragged with the effort of that shout, and the command rang out.
Blessed by the "Windward Grace," the fierce gusts that should have been battering the Linked Dragon Carriages were absent; the carriages, which should have been violently rocking, were steady. His voice carried far and high, echoing across the distance.
And the instant that command was heard, the movements of the corpse people wielding great shears froze.
The Pruning Corps, seized by an involuntary halt. He did not know whether to lament it or take pride in it.
He had entrusted his heart to the Poison Princess and transformed them into cold-blooded symbols of terror. They had served their purpose, fulfilling his expectations.
And even after death, their bodies had still responded to Beldt Fendalfon's command.
"They stopped at the moment of death. Then for them, that battle during the Selection Ceremony must still be a recent memory... What has been seeped into the body cannot so easily fade."
Even in death, they had proven with their own bodies that they would follow their master to the end.
"And so what? You can only keep my beasts at bay for a moment, can't you?"
"...Yes. But that brought you here to me."
Turning toward the voice from behind, Beldt stood alone to welcome her.
The dragon carriage—its roof shattered, its walls torn away, its former grandeur now reduced to nothing. Even so, it was still one of the Linked Dragon Carriages carrying the empire's hope forward, and in it, Beldt and Lamia stood face to face.
Confirming his own reflection in Lamia's golden eyes, Beldt exhaled.
"I have been expecting you, Your Excellency Lamia."
"Yes, it seems so. But why are you here alone?"
Tilting her head, Lamia spread her hands and let her gaze sweep across the empty carriage.
The others—Serina, the people of the kingdom—were not here. Beldt had stayed behind alone because he had a secret strategy for delaying Lamia and the Pruning Corps.
And indeed, the Pruning Corps had been halted for those few moments.
His command would never work on them again, but the ones who had been aboard this carriage during the gap created would surely have made the most of it.
With that, Beldt had kept his promise to those who had pressed on ahead.
"I am no longer of an age to declare that I can keep up."
"There's no need to be so self-deprecating. Nine years have passed, and you haven't changed a bit. You're the same as when I died."
"——As Your Excellency says."
At Lamia's teasing words, Beldt answered in a low, rasping voice.
Hearing that, Lamia furrowed her brow. Before her, Beldt clenched his gnarled fist, his teeth—miraculously still all present—grinding together.
Nine years had passed and nothing had changed. Lamia was right.
"Since that day, my time too has stopped, Your Excellency Lamia."
Murmuring those words, Beldt took one step forward.
A large, resolute step. Having taken that step, he took the next. Moving his aged body, Beldt pressed forward, and forward.
"————"
As though in disbelief, Lamia's golden eyes narrowed.
Slowly—slowly, time seemed to crawl. It didn't merely seem that way; it actually was slow. Compared to Julius and Garfiel, who had been fighting to protect them until just moments ago, he was so lethargic it was almost offensive to compare.
A sheep that had painted itself black to pass among a wolf pack. An old goat, desperately brandishing its horns to show that even among the wolves, it had a role.
"——Sunblade."
Extending her hand skyward, the hilt of the scarlet holy sword materialized in Lamia's palm.
Her slender fingers closed tightly around it as the blade was drawn forth—Volachia's treasured sword. That scarlet, blazing weapon, with its sealed inferno, burned Beldt's eyes.
He was glad he had narrowed them. At least that way, he could protect his eyeballs even if his eyelids were scorched.
Harboring such trivial, worthless thoughts, Beldt raised his fist. On that fist was a ring—the prime minister's seal of the Volachia Empire.
"
"I've seen that before."
Her cold gaze did not change at all, for she had already seen this once—in the imperial capital, in the Crystal Palace, in the throne room.
Beldt's advance was nothing more than a matter of speed—too slow, too fast. His trump card had already been broken once before, and his opponent wielded one of the ten most powerful demonic swords in the world.
"——Your Excellency."
In less than a second, it would all be over—he would be cut down, reduced to ashes.
Even so, Beldt used every last fraction of that one second—the longest second of his nearly seventy-year life—to its fullest.
And once more, he delivered the counsel he had once offered to his master.
"We have been defeated...!"
As he spoke, Beldt drove his fist downward, aiming the ring at the floor.
There, Meteor unleashed its power. The erupting fire detonated at Beldt's feet, lending the fire's momentum to the old man's belated advance.
With ferocious resolve, Beldt threw his entire body at Lamia.
Lamia watched the aging frame hurtling toward her, her golden eyes wide open. In that wide gaze, the face of Beldt Fendalfon was reflected.
Watching the reflected face, Lamia held the Sunblade aloft— "You've never made such a frustrated expression before, have you?"
Master and servant who had served one another for a long time, yet had never been close—and had never once shared the contents of their hearts.
That wrinkled face, those narrow eyes that hid his gaze, the first expression she had ever seen from this servant whose thoughts she had never been able to read—the sight of an old man on the verge of tears made Lamia's hand falter.
——Beldt and Lamia's bodies collided head-on.
Unable to soften the impact of the explosion, their tangled forms hit the carriage wall—the wall already broken by the Pruning Corps' incursion—and were hurled outward.
The old man's withered, branch-like fingers clutched tight to the beautiful girl's dress and would not let go.
Still gripping her, both their bodies were flung far from the Linked Dragon Carriages— △▼△▼△▼△ ——In that instant, shockwaves struck every single one of the countless Lamia Godwins who had appeared on the Linked Dragon Carriages.
"————"
The Lamias fighting Goz Ralfon, the Lamias fighting Garfiel Tinsel, the Lamias fighting Roswaal L. Meizers, the Lamias fighting Emilia—every Lamia in every corner of the dragon carriages was seized by the shock simultaneously.
The "Grace"—the Blessing—was a divine gift that a life born into this world might receive. Its full nature remained unexplained, shrouded in mystery.
But there was one thing that many people instinctively believed about Blessings.
It was that the Grace, once granted, affected the very soul of its bearer.
Whether this was true had never been proven. But one thing could be said for certain.
——It was simultaneous: Beldt Fendalfon was thrown from the carriage along with one of the Lamia Godwins, and both were removed from the reach of the Windward Grace.
And it was at that very moment that one of the Lamia Godwins struck at Vincent Volachia—and
"——!"
As though struck by a gale, the body of the Lamia who had been brandishing the Sunblade was pulled backward.
In that instant, neither Lamia nor Medium and the others understood what had happened. What was a fact was that the toppled Vincent had extended his foot and kicked Lamia behind him.
And then, from behind the kicked-back Lamia, the door connecting to the adjacent carriage was smashed open— "————"
A rainbow radiance danced forward, and the Pruning Corps members standing before the door were cut down.
Ducking beneath that prismatic light, three small shadows tumbled into the carriage.
One of them raised a hand, and a pale light wrapped around the three shadows, accelerating their tumble. That shadow joined hands with the others, and the one in the center cried out— "——Lamia Godwin!"
The shout pierced the air—the black-haired boy, hands clasped with the girls on either side.
The girl in the dress created light, the black-haired boy called a name, and the last of the three to burst in reached out with the hand not connected to the boy— "——Ia ia u."
——Brushing aside the hand that touched her flying back, he tore away the Poison Princess name.