With a thunderous roar and visual spectacle that could have split the sky, a massive boulder came crashing down.
Whether it could simply be called a "boulder" was debatable, to say the least.
It was a chunk of rock that couldn't have been less than a hundred meters across. At that point, calling it a boulder was generous—it would have been more accurate to call it a floating mountain.
Cracks ran through the mountain of rock, shattering the hundred-meter mass into countless smaller—yet still five to ten meter-sized—boulders that rained down upon the earth below.
The landing zone was the
A massacre of that scale, if measured by modern kill rates, would put you in the same league as the "Blue Lightning"
Though— "If we're not limiting this to the modern era, they used to be pretty common back in the day."
Aldebaran gazed down from the top of the city wall, his weary voice tinged with exasperation.
Plan B—dropping that mountain of rock—was a despicable ploy he'd resorted to in order to buy himself an opening to flee when backed into a corner.
Given that he'd been forced to rely on this tactic, Aldebaran shouldn't have been standing around leisurely. He should have been running for the hills, ignoring the screams of agony, and fleeing the Royal Capital as fast as he could.
But he couldn't do that. He had to see this through—to take responsibility.
"—Impressive."
Behind the helmet, his narrowed dark eyes reflected the scene as Aldebaran let out a hoarse word of admiration.
The sound and spectacle of the rock mountain beginning its descent had been matched by equally spectacular screams and overwriting of the world, and rising from the earth below was a beautiful tower of ice that was catching every last boulder, one after another.
Despite its cold, frozen appearance, it was a hand of salvation brimming with warm mercy and compassion. At the same time, the tower of ice glimmering palely in the light seemed to also express the caster's profound sorrow.
"Oh please, don't tell me you're getting all poetic about it, old man."
The one who spoke these dismissive words, while watching the same scene alongside Aldebaran from his perch on the man's shoulder, was Roy.
His limbs had been broken to render him immobile, yet Roy had deftly raised his torso using his spine alone and was observing the cataclysm befalling the Royal Capital over Aldebaran's shoulder.
Nothing but dead weight, and yet he had the nerve to offer his two cents with that silver tongue—Aldebaran was sick of it.
"Says you. Your interpretation of my emotional state was borderline poetic. I don't know much about this stuff, but if you ask me, that sensibility suits the dead half-brother who fancied himself a 'Gourmet' more than the actual 'Gluttony.'"
"Ha ha ha! Talking trash about the dead family—isn't that bad manners? In truth, the one who liked to critique everything he ate wasn't us at all, but Rai. Funny, that. After all, whether it's us or him, where the food ends up is the same: the 'Stomach of the Soul.'"
"That's a fancy way of saying you're shameless thieves."
"Oh, don't call us thieves. We just want to eat... a tiny bit more than our fill. That's all—just a simple love of food."
They went back and forth like this endlessly. Roy's expansive vocabulary and silver tongue, born from the very authority of "Gluttony," rivaled those of not just any Archbishop but anyone in the world.
His childlike appearance and the rotten core hidden behind his speech patterns made it easy to underestimate him, but the being perched on his shoulder was a monster of collective knowledge—having devoured countless experiences and memories—and one should never forget to be wary of him.
That was precisely why Aldebaran had given up on persuasion through words and chosen to force compliance through violence and curse marks.
"...Anyway, business is done. Let's move."
"Aww, there's no need to throw a lifeline to the big sister who dropped all those rocks anymore, huh? You know, people do tend to call you an oddball—no, a freak, old man."
"I'll take that as a reflection on the past few days' reviews of me, I suppose."
Already having guessed why Aldebaran had stayed behind without needing an explanation, he couldn't be bothered to engage with Roy's unnecessary addendum.
And so, after confirming the state of the Royal Capital—where
△▼△▼△▼△ —Through his battle with Varga Cromwell, Aldebaran had been forced to re-evaluate his assessment that his own Authority had no equal.
The conviction that no one could defeat him hadn't wavered, not one bit.
But he'd also come to recognize, in an act of self-restraint, that to make that conviction truly unshakeable, he couldn't just sit on his Authority and stop thinking.
That was why, during the "Gluttony" breakout operation in the Royal Capital, rather than choosing an easy redo, he'd tackled each attempt with care and thoroughness—squeezing every last drop from the toothpaste tube, so to speak—counting each of his six thousand seven hundred and twenty-four attempts with painstaking deliberation.
Whether that was a lot or a little was a matter of perspective, but in principle, Aldebaran considered every single count "appropriate."
No matter how many digits the count ran to, each had been a necessary attempt to overcome the wall—none wasted.
Rarely, there had been attempts spent solely to take a mental breath, but even those were necessary pauses.
So regardless of the count, as long as he'd achieved the desired outcome, Aldebaran would insist those six thousand seven hundred and twenty-four attempts had been the "optimal" number.
"—Yo, you helmet-wearing piece of trash."
The predetermined rendezvous point—a fair distance from the Royal Capital—was a long-abandoned quarry, the perfect spot for villains who didn't want to be seen.
Leaning against a crumbling stone wall at the quarry, waiting for Aldebaran, was
Her lips, revealing sharp double canines, were curled in contempt, and her crossed arms left no doubt about her disdain for Aldebaran. He'd even been demoted from "helmet-wearing bastard" to "piece-of-trash helmet-wearing bastard."
Felt cocked her narrow chin toward the distant Royal Capital and said— "If Emilia-nee hadn't stopped that thing, how many people do you think would've died? What happened to your whole 'no casualties' policy? You gonna keep caving and bending your principles every time things get tough? Pathetic."
"...You're right. I'm also relieved that Lady Felt is safe."
"Hah?"
"Just a joke. Otherwise, it's a wisecrack. A joke that fell completely flat."
Aldebaran answered wearily as Felt's hostility sharpened. Taking his tone as insincerity, Felt moved to snap at him, but— "Hey, Felt girl—"
Roy called from his perch on Aldebaran's shoulder.
"I was gonna say 'keep that energy,' but if you're going to nag the old man, we've already got our preparations made on our end. So, how about we change the flavor with some different seasoning instead?"
"Season my ass. ...So you're the 'Gluttony' he had pinned down. The older brother or the younger one? Either way, you've got one hell of an annoying face—very family resemblance."
"Oh, you've heard about us? Well, I suppose that's natural. Louis told us all about it—how Rai got food poisoning because of you, Felt girl."
"Ah, you mean when he came whining about my name? That was pretty satisfying to hear."
Felt's venom only increased at that. She'd already encountered "Gluttony"—Rai Batenkaitos—in
"By the way, neither of us actually knows which of us was the older brother. Sometimes we felt like being the eldest, sometimes the second-born. That's probably why."
"I don't follow whatever screwed-up logic you're running there. Sibling hierarchy isn't determined by mood. You give or you receive—make your choice before something goes missing."
"Ha ha! You and Felt girl both—you think you can say whatever you want to a despised Archbishop? Go ahead, go ahead. That's the universal consensus, isn't it?"
"Hey, piece-of-trash helmet-guy, I ain't trying to have a fun chat with this one. Zip those fanged lips and answer my question."
"He's annoying, I agree, but hold off on the Q&A for a sec. Before that..."
Cutting off Felt's demand, Aldebaran looked around the quarry. Felt caught on to the meaning of his glance, clicked her tongue with a "tsk," and jerked her chin. His gaze was guided toward the back of the quarry—toward a crude shack that had barely kept its shape— "—Lord Al."
The two locked eyes.
Yae appeared from the shack, carrying a faintly warm fragrance. She'd probably been preparing food inside. The thoughtfulness was appreciated. But— "That look on your face tells me you got your ass kicked pretty thoroughly, huh."
At a single glance, Aldebaran could tell the difference from her usual, elusive self.
Her custom maid outfit with the Waso design was torn in places, her red hair—normally meticulous even on the battlefield—was in disheveled strands. But above all, it was her expression.
One might call it solemn, but it was the complete absence of childish playfulness that marred her the most.
As proof— "...Thank goodness."
Yae placed a hand gently on her chest and murmured those words at Aldebaran's arrival.
The emotional color in that voice made Aldebaran bristle ever so slightly, but he made no mention of it, simply shrugging.
"That's unusually humble for the all-purpose helpful maid Yae. To think you couldn't even provide backup for me—who was this surprise guest you were tussling with?"
"...Tussling is an ugly way to put it, Lord Al. As you know, Yae-chan's heart is thoroughly dominated by Lord Al."
She answered in her usual manner, the momentary hesitation vanishing. Gently stroking her own chest, she continued— "Though it is true that I spent some passionate time with a gentleman. The one who visited the mansion was the 'Sword Devil'
"The 'Sword Devil,' eh. That's..."
Even Yae must have been taken aback by the unexpected assassin. But he couldn't exactly be called the worst possible enemy.
He was certainly among the most powerful in the Kingdom, but for a swordsman, he was far easier for Yae to deal with than any mage. Moreover, the Bariel villa had been her hunting ground—her "Crimson Sakura"—covered in traps.
But since it was "Aldebaran" who had rushed to the rescue in the end, the Sword Devil's cutting edge had exceeded Yae's. Judging by that expression, it wasn't just a narrow loss—it was a complete defeat.
Or perhaps the reason for that edge was— "That old man collapsed over there isn't unrelated either, right?"
Where Aldebaran directed the question, beside the shack, on an overturned chopping block stump, sat a red-haired man with one knee raised and his head hanging low—Heinkel.
He hung limply, not even bothering to wipe the red blood covering his entire body. Whether it was his own blood or someone else's, it was impossible to tell from here.
"What happened?"
"...I was barely conscious, so I didn't see it with my own eyes."
"But?"
"Heinkel-sama had struck down the 'Sword Devil.'"
"—"
At Yae's uncertain answer, Aldebaran held his breath and looked once more at Heinkel.
Obviously, Aldebaran knew about the relationship between Heinkel and Wilhelm. In essence, it was a confrontation between father and son—and the son had struck down the father.
He knew about Heinkel's fatal flaw as a swordsman, but— "Stuck between being a son and being a father, huh. Poor bastard."
Aldebaran didn't know the full extent of the Astrea family's conflicts, the core of the issue.
But he did know that the existence of the "Sword Saint's Blessing" and the title of "Sword Saint" had, across three generations of parent, child, and grandchild, created an irreconcilable rift. And that rift had only become more cemented by this incident.
"—"
Between Reinhard and Wilhelm—Heinkel had now placed himself in outright opposition to both. Aldebaran and the others had no right to worry about his feelings.
They'd dragged him into this to use him. Offering words of concern now would be insulting. So Aldebaran turned back to Yae and said— "So what about the old man? If he was struck down, and all that blood on our dear Heinkel is splatter..."
"—I did the bare minimum to patch him up, at least. Couldn't stick around long, so it really was the bare minimum."
"Whoa!?"
The sudden voice made Aldebaran's shoulders jump. He looked around wildly. But the speaker—who should have been "Aldebaran"—was nowhere to be seen. The "Divine Dragon's" dragon shell. It shouldn't have been visible at this size—so he thought.
"Sorry, sorry. Let me drop the optical camouflage for a sec."
No sooner were the words spoken than the dragon's massive form materialized where there had been nothing—leaning its chin against the stone wall that Felt was using as a backrest, its body slumped and exhausted. The way it appeared, like a blurry image slowly coming into focus, made Aldebaran's eyes go wide.
"So optical camouflage—you were bending light to go invisible? Can you even do that?"
"Obviously I can't do real-time corrections while moving. But when I'm perfectly still? With this body, the downside practically disappears."
"That's right. An invisible 'Dragon' would be incredibly dangerous."
The magic of altering light refraction was theoretically possible by combining solar and wind magic, but maintaining it constantly was far too costly in terms of mana. It also required incredibly precise magical manipulation to blend into the surrounding environment—a challenge with a high likelihood of falling short.
Even "Aldebaran" had found it difficult to pull off, which was why he'd been asked to wait in the sky above the Royal Capital, concealed among the clouds.
"The fact that you can do that now means... it was quite the battle up there, huh."
"Just as fierce from your end, if not more. Honestly, if the old man hadn't done his backstab, I might've lost. That thought actually crossed my mind."
"A backstab, huh..."
Aldebaran slowly shook his head, processing the two surprises.
One was the sheer terror of the "Sword Devil" that had made even "Aldebaran" imagine defeat. Different in accumulated experience, perhaps, but the hardware was unquestionably the Divine Dragon's—and to have reached that level through consecutive battles with Yae? What a monster.
And the other, of course, was the way Heinkel had intervened— "If you beat him head-on, problem solved—simple. But having it end with a backstab? That'll screw with the old man's head something fierce."
"Well, that's certain for sure~. He hasn't said a word to any of us since we escaped from the Royal Capital."
"I see..."
Confirming that Heinkel's damage was as bad as imagined, Aldebaran exhaled a long breath and surveyed the people gathered around him.
Yae, deflated by her defeat. "Aldebaran," overwhelmed by the Sword Devil. Heinkel, stunned by what he'd done to his father. Felt, who didn't bother hiding her hostility. And on his shoulder, the cheerful Roy, alongside Aldebaran himself—a despicable villain who'd chosen the path of cowardice through and through.
A motley crew at best, and in terrible shape at that.
"—But everyone's alive."
That all of them had survived this meeting at the quarry allowed Aldebaran to relax his shoulders. He quietly deactivated his "Domain," spinning up a new matrix.
The restart point had been updated. The events of the Royal Capital were now cemented in this world's history.
Which meant—her tears, flowing from those violet-blue eyes, could never be taken back.
"But that's fine. The moment I decided to betray everyone, there was never going to be any convenient exception for even one person."
No compromise. No wavering of the heart. If he wavered, everything would be undone.
Aldebaran and his companions could neither fail nor stop—not when the whole point was to conclude that every pain they tasted, body and soul, had meaning.
"Yae, if you've got food ready, I want some. I'm starving."
"I couldn't bring provisions from the mansion, so I lifted some from a shop along the way. I've noted which items came from which store, so please pay up later."
"Calculating as ever... Fine. And this guy."
"Just tie him up and hang him? Then I've already done that."
As Yae said this, her fingers moved in a smooth, fluid motion, and suddenly Aldebaran's shoulder lightened. The body of Roy, whom he'd been carrying, was now suspended by steel wire and hanging from the quarry's stone wall.
"What, this treatment again? Well, I guess it beats hanging upside down."
"Stay like that for a while. Once I've decided on how to discipline you, I'll fix your limbs. On one condition."
"Don't forget about the curse mark, right? That's fine. We'll never swear on our lives that we won't scheme, but we'll behave while you take your time sizing us up."
"Sizing you up, huh."
"Maybe it's because Rai died? I have absolutely no intention of inheriting the 'Gourmet' title, but I think I'd like to develop an interest in what's on the plate before it gets served, just a little!"
Tied at all four limbs, hanging in a cramped shrimp-bow posture, Roy swung his body back and forth. Aldebaran shuddered at the creepiness and exchanged a look with "Aldebaran."
The other self, its owner of the same identity, dipped its great jaw and assured him without breaking eye contact.
"Oh, that reminds me—Plan B worked out. Saved our butts."
"Yeah, the original went with that, I guess. I was thinking of it as the 'Second Plan.' Anyway, same idea—works for me."
"Original?"
"'The other me' is getting confusing by now, right? So how about 'Origin' for the original version? And mine could be 'Direct Line' or something?"
"Origin, Direct Line... sounds like a ramen shop lineage."
Aldebaran brushed off "Aldebaran's" suggestion with a noncommittal "I'll think about it." Only then did he finally turn to face the still-furious Felt.
Felt stood with her arms crossed, eyes still burning with undiminished anger— "Good thing it was Emilia-nee who caught that boulder."
"Hah? You making fun of me? No one else in the world would be dumb enough to try something like that."
"With that phrasing, it sounds like you're calling Emilia-nee the dumb one, but... that's actually right. I dropped the rocks assuming Emilia would catch all of them."
"...You're gonna need more than just a kick in the ass for this one."
Understanding his despicable tactic for what it was—fleeing by dropping destruction for Emilia to clean up—Felt's lips curled even further as she delivered the threat. The rough, common-girl quality of that intimidation was, Aldebaran sensed, the maximum expression of anger she was capable of. And yet, he simultaneously felt something else.
His own plan, and Emilia, who'd fallen right into it. Releasing "Gluttony" was itself grounds enough for Felt's fury.
But her anger seemed to overflow with more reasons than that— "This isn't on Felt, what happened between your father and the old Sword Devil."
"I'm not dumb enough to think it's my fault. It's obviously your doing—yours and Reinhard's father and grandfather. But even knowing that, it still pisses me off just thinking about what that idiot's face is gonna look like when he finds out—and thinking about it pisses me off even more."
"—"
"The moment I made that guy my knight, anything that happens to him can't just be irrelevant to me. That's how it works. Remember that, you piece-of-trash helmet-wearing bastard."
"...What exactly?"
"Even things you did thinking they were your own responsibility—they'll always get talked about alongside that princess. Everything you do is grave-robbing."
That look in Felt's eyes and the edge in her voice—those cut deeper than any venom she'd unleashed so far.
The bond between knight and master—even when one party died, it didn't simply vanish. If Aldebaran earned notoriety, it would become Priscilla Bariel's notoriety too.
Being confronted with this again, he tasted its fresh bitterness and pain. But— "She's not anywhere anymore. Not even a body left."
"That's not what this is—!"
"That's exactly what this is. For me, a life is—"
His dry answer silenced Felt, her anger momentarily bared.
Posthumous fame and posthumous infamy meant nothing to the dead. Everything only mattered while alive. Obsessing over the reputation of the dead was sentimentality shared by those who survived.
"Make the most of it while you and the other person are both alive. That's all I can say."
"...You piece-of-trash helmet-wearing bastard. What exactly are you?"
"...I'm a following star."
"A following star...?"
"The kind that burns brightest in the night sky—a second-rate imitation."
With that, Aldebaran turned his back on Felt, abandoning the exchange. He then walked over toward the chopping block, to where Heinkel sat.
"—"
Heinkel didn't raise his head, didn't even look toward Aldebaran. But he was conscious—his breathing and the tension in his body could sense Aldebaran's presence.
His tangled state of mind was easy to imagine. Aldebaran hesitated, wondering what to say— "I'll keep my promise. Once this is done, the 'Dragon's Blood' is yours."
"—!"
What Heinkel needed right now was neither comfort nor apology, but the strongest possible assurance.
Aldebaran's words made Heinkel catch his breath. Then his outstretched hand seized the hem of Aldebaran's coat and yanked him forward. Aldebaran dropped to one knee instinctively, a cold blade pressed to his neck, and his eyes met Heinkel's at close range.
Heinkel's face, spattered with blood, his blue eyes bloodshot— "Promise me...!"
"—"
"Promise me—no matter what! The 'Dragon's Blood'—you have to... the '
"I know. I have no intention of ending the world. That's what 'Gluttony' is for."
Feeling the sharp pain at his neck, Aldebaran answered calmly. At the same time, he raised a hand to wave back Yae, who had reacted to Heinkel's outburst.
For a long moment, Aldebaran and Heinkel glared at each other at close range— "Damn it!"
Heinkel spat, shoving Aldebaran away. Aldebaran righted himself just before hitting the ground, and when he looked up, Heinkel had once again hung his head, retreating into the same closed-off state as before.
Aldebaran fiddled with the metal fittings on his helmet and let out a small sigh.
For the time being, everyone's status was accounted for.
Both good and bad, there was no denying the exhaustion everyone had suffered before and after the Royal Capital. But no one was missing, and they'd recovered Roy—that should more or less even things out.
He knew it didn't suit him, but he'd have to steer this carefully.
"For now, this place should be safe for a while. Let's eat Yae's food, rest up, then resume moving. The Royal Capital's chaos is still ongoing—"
Unable to clap, Aldebaran snapped his fingers instead, drawing everyone's attention.
Yae and Heinkel, who'd been with him from the start, had been marching for nearly three days without rest. Even if only for a break, it was worth taking the time.
—If it weren't for a massive boulder being dropped on him from above, cutting his words short.
"Huh."
Just as the thin clouds cast a shadow, Aldebaran was crushed by the superheaviness.
Somewhere in the distance, he thought he heard the buzzing of an insect's wings.
△▼△▼△▼△ —
He had resolved that the evil and tyrannical king must be eliminated—no matter what. Though, as Subaru had once joked, that was the standard stock phrase for when one was angry.
The cause and direction of that anger should need no explanation.
Al—Aldebaran, who had become a Great Sinner, had committed the unforgivable. He had betrayed those who had worried about his well-being, and he had broken nearly a hundred of the Kingdom's laws—laws that were individually already heavy.
But what angered Otto most was that Aldebaran had become his enemy.
Otto was aware that he was a pacifist.
He hated conflict on principle, and his creed was to avoid trouble wherever possible. In fact, during his days as a traveling merchant, journeying light with
But since joining Emilia's camp and becoming a government official, things had changed.
He didn't agree when Subaru called him a "belligerent bureaucrat," but the policy of pursuing pacific, gentle solutions was no longer his top priority.
The malice directed at him now—in quality and sharpness—was on an entirely different level from his merchant days. If he remained passive and indecisive, he wouldn't be able to protect what mattered to him.
On the other hand, he was equally aware that he held the trust of one of the Royal Selection candidates, and he couldn't afford to let that awareness corrupt him.
As a government official of the camp and someone involved in the administration of the Meinsworth domain, Otto held a position and titles that his former self could never have imagined. To avoid becoming intoxicated by that power, Otto practiced self-restraint daily.
But the moment someone targeted his people, all those carefully maintained guardrails flew out the window.
"Everyone has their circumstances. But I won't show consideration to someone who has no intention of sitting at the negotiating table—no willingness to even prepare for one."
If they wanted pity, they could have it. If they wanted charity, it was theirs for the taking.
That kind of compassion and kindness was what defined Emilia and everyone in her camp. That was why Otto, to the greatest extent possible, respected the fundamental goodness of those around him.
And yet, if the other party was going to trample over that—going to use them—then there was nothing more to be done.
If they wanted a handout, he'd give one. If they wanted support, he'd provide it.
And if they wanted hostility, then he'd give them hostility in full measure.
"Thanks to Emilia-sama, there were no casualties in the city. The evacuation of the Noble District had already been completed in advance. The Royal Capital's knight order is quite capable."
Organizing the damage assessment as events unfolded, Otto clenched his fists.
He couldn't afford to rage—he needed to devote mental bandwidth to understanding the situation and tracking progress. But deep in his chest was a gnawing shame—his own pathetic inadequacy.
When the initial weight of the situation had crashed into him, Otto had made a wretched display of helplessness, and Emilia had consoled him—the absolute opposite of how things should have been. That should never have happened. Otto should have been the one to ease Emilia's anxiety.
Instead, the reality was that Otto had been half in tears, being comforted by Emilia, having his courage restored by the very person he was supposed to be supporting, and physically patted on the back.
He'd joked to Emilia that Subaru would kill him, but the truth was he wanted to strangle himself.
But a dead man never gets another chance to make things right. So instead of doing something foolish like putting his own hands to his neck, Otto racked his brain with everything he had. Fortunately, the near-crying spell had cleared his head somewhat—though thunder still roared inside his skull, the lightning helped illuminate the darkness.
Come to think of it, back in the old days when it was just him and Ferris, they'd once been caught in a thunderstorm and the cargo bed of their wagon had been struck by lightning, burning everything inside to ash.
Otto had lamented the tremendous misfortune, but Ferris had said, "We should rejoice that neither you nor I were injured," and he'd been right.
If you were going to travel through a thunderstorm, you needed the resolve to face lightning—and whether you survived was a matter of luck.
The key was to reduce the luck factor as much as possible and still push through the storm.
That was the essence of Otto Suwen's fury-driven, means-be-damned approach to battle—and if it called for cards that would earn him labels of ruthlessness or cruelty, he wouldn't hesitate to play them.
The proof of that— "I can't provide more firepower than Reinhard, or more combat strength than Felt-sama, for those of us currently stationed in the Royal Capital. At the end of the day, if it's come to the point where it's our turn, then raw strength and numbers are no longer the decisive factors."
Somehow, Aldebaran had dodged
Against that unfathomable capability, Otto—who had only just returned from the Vollachian Empire and was operating separately from his companions—had no counter.
That was why Emilia, who'd ordered the capture alive, and Wilhelm and the others, who happened to be at the Royal Castle, hadn't been the decisive blow either.
Of course, if Emilia and Wilhelm's group could have won, that would have been ideal—but Otto had predicted that wouldn't be possible. And his current forces didn't possess any means of attack beyond deploying their maximum combat strength.
Reinhard van Astrea's fighting prowess, Varga Cromwell's strategic cunning—these were things Otto Suwen did not possess. He didn't have the talent to compete with them, and he didn't flatter himself into thinking he did.
He didn't expect more of himself than he was capable of. At most, he could give a hundred percent of what he had.
And what Otto Suwen could do with that hundred percent was— "—The abandoned quarry, west of the Royal Capital."
Marking the location on a map as the report arrived on buzzing wings, Otto narrowed his eyes. In his hand was a bloodied handkerchief, which he pressed to his nose while jabbing at his muddled brain.
Overheat of his Blessing—the exhaustion of overuse, as Subaru had called it. Remembering how Garfiel's eyes had lit up at the strangely evocative phrase, Otto felt his lips relax.
"Overheat, splendid indeed. My head may crack open, but I won't stop..."
Sniffling through a nosebleed, Otto snapped his fingers at the gathering insects—Zodda bugs—and gave them their next instructions and orders to maintain surveillance.
The Zodda bugs were good-natured creatures with a weak sense of individual consciousness. As a swarm that shared policy, convincing one was equivalent to convincing the entire group. And what they wanted in return for their services was almost always a place to settle.
Otto intended to secure that through his position as a government official. In exchange, they would follow instructions that endangered individual lives—performing tasks no human could manage.
Tracking the fleeing "Divine Dragon" to identify the rendezvous point. Dropping a boulder on someone's head using the force of a swarm numbering over a hundred thousand. Recovering every message that Felt had left behind in captivity. Anything and everything.
"...The Mogore Great Geyser."
It was a message Felt had left behind, trusting it would reach them—a message recovered from the destroyed Bariel villa. To have dodged surveillance and entrusted it to the Zodda bugs spoke to Felt's own courage.
Bearing only a single place name from the
Wherever they fled, wherever they hid, Otto would continue watching their every move—in exchange for the ringing in his ears and the blood from his nose.
"Don't expect to sleep anytime soon. —The entire world is now your enemy."
He had no power to achieve victory. All he could do was continue to wear down his enemy.
That was Otto Suwen's way of fighting—distinct from the Sword Saint, distinct from the Grand Strategist—as a government official of Emilia's camp, giving a full hundred percent of what he had.