——The day dawned clear from the morning on, as though celebrating the splendid future that lay ahead.
"Maybe I'm getting a little too carried away?"
"Betty doesn't think so. If Fillore's miracle truly produces the effect everyone's hoping for, then your good mood is nothing more than a premature celebration, Subaru."
"The moment I accept that I'm prematurely celebrating, it really does start to feel like I'm getting too carried away."
Walking hand in hand beside him,
Given the circumstances, his good mood was only natural, and he wanted to defend himself on that point — but when he considered how little he personally had contributed to bringing those circumstances about, he couldn't deny that he was being more than a little giddy.
In truth, Subaru had no practical role to play in the upcoming event — traveling to the Water Gate City of
"That's why I asked Reinhard — who's been overworked lately — to include me in the expedition group heading to Priestella."
"Naturally, Betty will be going too. Emilia, who will thaw the frozen citizens, along with Garfiel and Otto, who both have lingering ties to that city, will be coming as well."
"Garfiel's family friend — the man's father — is apparently a victim of the 'Lust' Archbishop. And Otto is... overseeing the collection of books he'd entrusted to the restorer, right?"
"So it seems. ...Honestly, that man never misses a beat, does he?"
Beating her cheeks out in a puff, Beatrice muttered with complicated feelings that Subaru could well understand.
The book Otto had left with the restorer in Priestella was the Tome of Wisdom — said to have been left behind by
Still, for Beatrice, who had lost the Tome of Wisdom entrusted to her — only to have it burned to ash — the matter must have been a complicated one to process.
"There's nothing to worry about, Subaru."
"Beatrice..."
"If Betty needs a guide for her future path, then for now, that would be you, Subaru. Otto's penny-pinching miserliness in trying to recycle even the ashes is enough to make Betty's skin crawl. But if doing so can one-up Roswaal... then it doesn't feel so bad, I suppose."
"...I see."
His concern brushed aside so powerfully, Subaru found himself growing fond of this contract spirit of his, and he rubbed her adorable head to his heart's content.
As mentioned, the group traveling to Priestella via the Reinhard Express would, coincidentally, be the same members as before. Ideally, Subaru would have liked the entire camp to move together, but he couldn't very well drag
Joining from other camps were Reinhard, who had taken on the duty of hauling the dragon carriage, and
"Honestly, with everything already going sideways, suddenly putting Felt and Fillore together in one dragon carriage feels like mixing volatile chemicals — but I can't shake the feeling it's a recipe for disaster."
"But from what Betty's heard, their meeting already happened ages ago."
"Yeah. Apparently, on the very day Fillore first showed her face at the castle and treated Lady Crusch. The two of them ran into each other that same day... and it was Felt who tested Fillore by having her hold the emblem to verify whether she qualified as a Royal Selection candidate."
"That girl's got more nerve than sense. Normally, you'd hesitate and second-guess yourself when your own position could be threatened."
"From the start, she never counted on her own origins, did she? That kind of straightforwardness is honestly kind of cool."
Felt's way of living carried a charisma that drew people in — a purity that attracted all manner of followers.
Indeed, those who wished to see her enthroned had been captivated by her words, actions, and very way of being, finding in her small back the embodiment of their ideals.
If that was the unalloyed product of the brilliance of Felt's soul, then the current situation was nothing but an unnecessary complication layered on top of something that should have been pure.
"One of them — Felt or Fillore — is the real princess, and the other is a fake."
"The whole premise is absurd to begin with. Regardless of which one is genuine, if you intend to exploit the possibility, you need to be far more aggressive about it. Make people believe, make people doubt — that's supposed to be the whole point of the advantage. What a waste."
The more Subaru thought about it, the more forced and poorly utilized the surviving princess theory felt.
As Beatrice pointed out, this powerful advantage was being squandered — one could even say that Felt and Fillore had each been saddled with the negative image that, if one was the real princess, the other was definitively a fake.
If that was the case, then the question that gnawed at him most was— "—In the end, what was the Church thinking, keeping Fillore's existence hidden?"
According to Fillore, she had been abandoned in front of the Church fifteen years ago, taken in, and raised as an orphan at the Divine Dragon Church's care facility. There, she had been educated as something of a sheltered daughter — ignorant of the outside world, yet bursting with a terrifying, uninformed energy.
Whether that energy had produced the present-day chaos was one thing, but the Divine Dragon Church should have known her appearance, her age, and even her name.
The idea that they had failed to connect her to the Lugunica royal family was absolutely, categorically impossible.
Moreover, if the miracle Fillore wielded held power capable of standing against the authorities of the Sin Archbishops of Lust and Gluttony, might it not have been effective against the disease that had struck the royal family?
If so, then why had the Lugunica royal family been left to die by the Divine Dragon Church?
"At the very least, that mystery has to be solved before anyone can accept what's happening."
As it happened, with the Royal Selection now known throughout the kingdom, all eyes were upon who would sit the throne of the era. Whether for good or ill, the people would not overlook — and would not forget — the conspicuous deeds of the candidates.
That was precisely why Subaru wanted to understand the Church's intentions.
And for that purpose— "—Microltov's invitation couldn't have come at a better time."
"So it couldn't."
Standing beside Beatrice, who answered with a brief nod, Subaru recalled the events of the other day — accompanying Fillore as she accepted the request to join the Royal Selection, and sitting in the castle's conference room with Emilia, exchanging words with Microltov.
It had been a tumultuous affair — Fillore's bombshell declaration about knight selection had thrown everything into chaos, ending in a flurry of hurried wrapping up. But Subaru had gained something from it.
Microltov — a key member of the Council of Wise Men and likely one of the foremost scholars in the
While Fillore's deafening spectacle continued in the background, Subaru had made his pitch on a whim, asking if they could talk, and Microltov had cheerfully agreed.
"Hmm. Then I shall clear my schedule for you, Lord Natsuki. As it happens, there are certain things I've been wanting to discuss privately with you as well."
"That's incredibly generous of me — I mean, you want to talk with me?"
"Yes. Things I'd like to confirm, things I'd like to convey, things I'd like to consult about... Forgive this old man's rambling, but I'd appreciate your company."
With that, Microltov flashed a grandfatherly smile, told Subaru where his residence was located, and carved out a time for their private meeting.
That date happened to be today — after the Hour of Fire, before the departure for Priestella.
On the eve of this momentous occasion, Subaru was heading alone to the agreed-upon address — or rather, with Beatrice, his inseparable other half, for whom he had given advance notice.
"Whatever Microltov wants to talk about... setting aside what I want to hear and what I want to say, the 'consultation' part has me a little on edge. But I've got a mountain of questions of my own. Ideally, I'd get to see a real Dragon Chronicle Stone up close."
"Betty's heard that Dragon Chronicle Stones, like the Dragon's Blood, are kept under extremely tight security. But if Betty could see it, she could probably formulate a hypothesis about what kind of function it serves."
"It's not that I think the stone itself is suspicious or anything — but the royal family gets completely wiped out, and nobody does a damn thing about it, yet the Royal Selection that comes after gets all this elaborate treatment... doesn't that strike you as weird?"
He couldn't help but suspect some manner of malice or deliberate design behind it all. He didn't want to believe that even the royal family's deaths had been orchestrated, but— "————"
In the mausoleum, he had seen with his own eyes the stone coffins of the Lugunica royals who had truly lost their lives. —Considering the impact that the deaths of those beloved royals, especially the fourth prince, had on Crusch and Felix, whom he knew — if someone's will had been involved, Subaru could never forgive that someone.
Thinking this, he clenched the hand that wasn't holding Beatrice's— "—My, my, my. You're thinking some awfully ominous thoughts there, my friend."
A casual voice suddenly called out from the side, and Subaru whipped his head around. There, at the apex of a T-intersection, stood a dashing young man waving at him.
With that familiar greeting, Subaru broke into a grin— "My friend? Talk about jumping straight to first name basis..."
"Hey, hey, hey — you're the one who started it last time! Don't pull the ladder up after you!"
"I'm kidding. Good to see you again, Tigre."
The young man — Tigre — narrowed his eyes at Subaru's unrepentantly outstretched hand, then shrugged before clasping it in return.
The handshake was exchanged and their friendship reaffirmed, but— "Lady Beatrice, a pleasure as always. It's an honor to see you again."
"Betty's doing well enough. ...But why are you here, of all places?"
"I was about to ask you the exact same thing. I wasn't exactly lurking, but this was supposed to be a secret invitation, wasn't it?"
"A secret invitation... Don't tell me you were also invited by Microltov?"
"—So, you too?"
Eyes wide, Subaru and Tigre pointed at each other simultaneously. Standing between them, Beatrice stretched up on her toes and lowered both their pointing arms.
Perhaps aided by that adorable gesture, Tigre let out a soft "ha" and relaxed his shoulders.
"I thought maybe I was being tailed and panicked for a second. I figured, no matter what, nobody would tail someone with a kid in tow, but... no, never mind."
"What do you mean, 'never mind'? I won't get mad, so say it."
"Really? Alright then — I was thinking that if the infamous
"You bastard, who are you calling a 'little girl handler'?!"
"I only said it because you told me you wouldn't get mad!"
At the sudden resurrection of that inglorious epithet, Subaru lunged at Tigre in outrage. But Tigre deftly dodged every grab and slipped behind Beatrice with a quick sidestep.
At that spirited display of shamelessness, Beatrice shrugged at Subaru— "Since we're not getting anywhere, why don't we call it a draw here? You should be the bigger man, Subaru."
"Tch. Fine. I'm an adult, so I'm not going to whine and throw a tantrum like a child. Because, you see, I'm an adult."
"Adults don't feel the need to declare themselves adults that loudly, honestly."
Tigre straightened from his crouch, adjusted his hat's position, and jerked his chin toward the far end of the intersection — the direction they all shared as their destination.
"We're heading to the same place. Probably the same time slot, too. Let's go together."
"Fine by me, but if that's the case, there was no reason to give me a separate appointment. Emilia-tan and
"Setting Rem aside — Lady Emilia is your master, isn't she? You don't drag your lord along on your own errands."
"I'm not dragging her along. If anything, I just never want to be apart from her, even for a moment."
"That's—"
Light jabs met with light jabs. But as Subaru returned the volley, Tigre's words caught in his throat, and he averted his gaze for a moment.
At this reaction, Subaru exchanged a glance with Beatrice and tilted his head.
"What's wrong? Did my big love for Emilia-tan and the others scare you?"
"It's not your big love that's scary. It's just... Subaru's heavy affection resonated with a chord in my heart that even I don't fully understand... something like that."
"—I appreciate the sentiment, but I've already got my heart set on quite a few people..."
"You make it sound all devoted and pure, and then you drop a line like that?!"
The rhythm of their banter had fully returned, and Subaru laughed at Tigre's sharp retort. From the start, he'd felt they were on the same wavelength — "my friend" wasn't just for show.
Tigre, drawn in by Subaru's laughter, forgot his momentary unease and laughed as well.
"That's enough excitement from the two of you, I think. We've arrived."
Without anyone noticing, Beatrice had moved ahead of them, and now she stood at the corner of the street, beckoning them over. Subaru and Tigre quickened their pace — stopping short of breaking into a run — and arrived at Beatrice's side almost simultaneously.
And there, at the edge of the noble district, stood a grand estate matching both the address they'd been given and the roof color they'd heard about. They concluded it had to be Microltov's residence.
"So, Tigre — what was Microltov's business with you?"
"A consultation about a search, I suppose. And you two?"
"Betty and I are pursuing a bit of historical romance — we wanted to ask about the kingdom's darker side, and maybe get a look at a Dragon Chronicle Stone if at all possible."
"Ah, I see. So that's what led to that ominous conversation earlier. A word of friendly advice — don't go talking about Dragon Chronicle Stones in the middle of the street..."
Tigre had been about to continue, but his words cut off abruptly.
Subaru and Beatrice turned to see Tigre standing still halfway to Microltov's front gate, glaring at the stone wall enclosing the estate.
And there, on his refined, handsome profile, was a distinct look of wariness as he murmured— "—This is bad. I smell blood."
△▼△▼△▼△ With Beatrice in his left hand and Guilty Whip in his right — gripping both lifelines firmly — Subaru held his breath and pressed into the estate, where the stench of blood hung thick in the air.
"Subaru, don't get separated. We cover each other's blind spots."
The hushed voice came from Tigre, who was scouting ahead. Moving low to the ground with silent footfalls, he held a sword that he had drawn without a sound — a silver crescent tracing a deep, sharp arc: a shamshir.
His bearing alone made it clear he was a master of that curved blade, and Subaru couldn't help the offhand thought that Fillore really had no eye for knights.
"————"
Tension flowed from Beatrice's hand into Subaru's, and from his into hers.
Fortunately, thanks to the far calmer Beatrice, they managed to avoid the negative spiral of mutually escalating tension — and with it, the danger of falling into the Authority of Wrath.
—Microltov's estate had become a scene of carnage that made one want to look away.
Entering from the rear, they had already discovered more than ten people connected to the household. Every one of them was a butchered corpse, each cut down in a single stroke.
Should the clean, painless killing blow be called mercy? Or should the overwhelming lethality that left no room for resistance be called ruthlessness? Subaru couldn't find the right final words to dress their deaths in.
All he could feel was the raw, vivid presence of death so close it seemed to still be breathing — and his heart pounding as though it might burst.
"————"
The situation had already exceeded Subaru's capacity. He was certain that the better judgment would be to leave the estate immediately and seek help and reinforcements.
But at the same time, by pressing forward now, there was a real chance they could save someone still alive.
Because— "They were all killed just moments ago."
"...Agreed. If only one of them were still breathing..."
Another body — a slash mark carved into the corridor wall, and a corpse collapsed directly beneath it. The heavy blow had been aimed diagonally, cleaving through the victim and into the wall behind.
The blood of the one who had died with a grimace of futile regret had not yet dried. Its warm, rank smell carried that unique quality of freshly dead flesh — a mingling of life force and death that clung to someone who, just moments before, had still been alive.
"It's really irritating that my experience from the Empire comes in handy at times like these..."
In the life of Natsuki Subaru, the most wretched, hellish sight he had witnessed — the carnage of the gladiatorial island where, agonizingly, many familiar faces had been piled into a mountain of corpses. The catastrophe brought by the detestable
He had seen a great many deaths there. That was how he could tell — how long ago the deceased had died, and how much they had suffered before drawing their last breath.
"They didn't suffer."
Among the bodies found inside the estate — thirteen now — not a single one had been made to suffer. But whether that was the result of mercy, or simply the result of flawless technique, he couldn't tell.
The fact that they hadn't suffered in death was a comfort — but only to the hearts of those who had verified it. Even now, arrogance and Felix's bitter words flickered through his mind.
Why? Perhaps because Felix had said he hated death more than anything in the world — Subaru felt that, of all people, he might understand the helplessness that now gripped him in the face of this tragedy.
"Damn it."
Having seen more deaths than he could count, and still never growing numb to the nausea and the sense of loss, Subaru closed the eyes of the dead and pressed onward.
He couldn't retreat. Because there remained the possibility that someone — someone yet alive — was still inside this freshly begun massacre.
If he withdrew now, he would be crushing that person's chance at life.
And besides— "—Microltov is still someone this country needs."
Subaru had never exchanged many words with Microltov. He had no fond memories of the Council of Wise Men — the summit of the kingdom's wisest minds.
But among the few points of contact, and the memories smeared with negative feelings he would rather forget, there was something Subaru clearly recalled.
"You have shown that you are not the kind of half-elf the world fears. —You serve a fine master."
Those words had been spoken during Subaru's selfish rampage — when he had made a fool of himself before a crowd, lost every ally, and been expelled from the throne room.
He hadn't needed to think back to that moment until now. But on that day, in that place, someone had looked at Subaru's behavior with eyes different from everyone else's.
He hadn't noticed. But so what? However it came to be, Subaru was grateful.
He would return this golden feeling — this feeling of being saved — to Microltov.
"—Subaru, Lady Beatrice."
Having steeled his resolve and found the driving force behind his refusal to flee, Subaru was called by Tigre, who had arrived before the grand double doors.
They couldn't say they'd examined every corner of the estate, but they had finished checking the larger rooms. Given the layout, this was the room that would serve as a shelter in emergencies — and therefore, the room where the master of the house was most likely to be found.
"—!"
It wasn't a shout — but the moment Tigre nodded, he burst through the opened doors with Subaru and Beatrice right behind him.
The first thing that struck their eyes upon entering was a massive national flag of the Kingdom of Lugunica — a single sword flanked by two facing dragons — plastered across the white wall of the spartan room. It too had been sliced diagonally, one half crumpled to the floor.
And there, slumped against the wall in a pool of blood, wrapped in the fallen flag as though it were a shroud, was a body that had clearly suffered the same slash— "—Ah."
An involuntary groan escaped from deep in Subaru's throat.
The figure against the wall — its bowed face was not clearly visible. But there was no mistaking who it was. Even the distinctive long white beard, unmistakable in its way, had been soaked in the prodigious outpouring of blood, dyed a vivid crimson.
"————"
This was no longer the Microltov McMahon who would ever move again — the Grand Sage who had long sustained the Kingdom of Lugunica, meeting a fate far too abrupt, far too merciless.
And yet — even this death, even this end — was not the reason for Subaru's groan.
The reason Subaru had groaned was not for the victim, Microltov. —It was for the perpetrator.
In the center of the room, with the diagonally slashed flag and Microltov's corpse before her, stood the perpetrator with her back to them.
A slender, lithe frame. Beautifully lustrous long green hair swayed with her movement. The womanly curves of her figure could not be concealed by her deep navy attire, lending an air of sensual decadence to the carnage.
And the long, straight, keen-edged blade in her hand bore not a single drop of blood. —Of course. Her swordsmanship did not cut with steel, but with the wind.
"————"
As Subaru and the others stood frozen in shock, she slowly turned to face them. One eye hidden beneath an eyepatch, the remaining amber eye reflecting them — this woman of regal beauty dressed in men's attire— "—Ah. Natsuki Subaru. —Are you truly the 'real thing' I know?"
——Amid a scene drenched in blood and death, at