The sound of footsteps—steady, deliberate footsteps drawing closer—made Subaru's heart clench with dread.
He had to stop Todd and Arakia, the pair who had come from the imperial capital, from carrying out their massacre.
Desperately, furiously, he had fought to beat back the malice and absurdity raining down on him. He struggled and struggled and struggled, and still the worst came to pass.
The ever-shifting restart point, anchored to death and always pushed further back.
What Subaru feared most in that moment was not death itself. It was the reality that would be cemented by his death—the reality that continued past it, locking into place as certain and irreversible.
—What he feared most of all was the life he could not save slipping through his fingers.
And that inescapable someone's death was drawing closer, footstep by footstep.
"Aaaaaaahh—!!"
At the sight before him—Weitz, drenched in blood and collapsing—Subaru's throat tore itself open in a scream.
He screamed and lunged forward, but fingers seized the sleeve stretching from behind him, freezing him in place. It was
He had seen this too. He had already seen it. He had looked at it, seen it, and recognized it for what it was.
The same scene—the very scene he had witnessed just one minute ago, playing out once more.
"————!!"
Immediately after, an ugly, ear-splitting cry tore through the air. The massive grey frog's body crushed Weitz's prone form along with the corridor itself, then burst through the floor and plummeted into the island's midsection below.
The frog's enormous grey bulk and the chunks of debris swallowed Weitz whole, vanishing from sight.
"No—no, no, noooo—!!"
"Lord Schwarz!?"
Flailing with desperate force, Subaru wrenched free of Tanza's grip. Leaving the stunned girl's voice behind him, he sprinted toward where Weitz was falling.
If he could reach him in time, he could scoop him up, seal his eyes and left arm, patch every wound he'd sustained. If he got him to the healing room, bandaged him up, treated everything, then surely, surely, surely— "Still not—"
"You're more fragile than I expected."
Subaru had run toward Weitz with reckless abandon, desperate to save him.
What met him head-on was something swinging horizontally. He didn't realize it was the blade of a red-blackened axe until his vision began spinning wildly, accompanied by a heavy, hard crack.
His vision spun and spun, and as it rose high, he could see from above the ungainly shape of a child's body running. And then—realizing that the body tipping forward and falling was his own, now headless.
Then where was his head? And more importantly—Weitz. Weitz. Weitz, Weitz, Weitz— × × × His spinning vision snapped abruptly to a single fixed point, and Subaru's brain lurched violently.
It felt like a camera that had been whirled around at full speed was suddenly locked in place—like his semicircular canals, which hadn't actually been moving at all, had been completely scrambled.
The nausea surging up, the confusion, and then the desperate urgency that he had to save Weitz, that he couldn't afford to stand still— "I'd heard... about you..."
When Subaru's vision finally cleared, there was Weitz, blood-soaked and murmuring.
His left arm and right eye gushing blood in terrible amounts, Weitz's body would collapse completely within the second.
"The guy who said... he'd trust me..."
"Aaaaaaahh—!!"
That irreversible reality ground
× × × The footsteps of ruin were closing in, steady and certain.
Subaru had started running the moment the massacre began, determined to stop it.
But the dozen-odd seconds of pushback on his restart point had shaved away any margin for miracles, stripping hope clean from Subaru's heart.
He had snuck into Gustav's office and tried to uncover the truth behind the massacre with Hiein's help.
Over and over, just as Todd and Gustav's negotiations were reaching the heart of the matter, he was discovered. He failed, again and again, repeating trial and error in hopes of getting it right next time—until there was no turning back.
His restart point had been pushed all the way back to the moment he and Hiein were hiding in the office.
From that instant on, Subaru could hear the deafening laughter of ruin ringing in his heart.
He had pinned Hiein down, terrified, listening to her racing heartbeat—though Subaru's own heart was probably pounding even harder.
What would he do if he couldn't stop the massacre and his restart point landed after it?
If an irreversible moment became the starting line, what on earth could Natsuki Subaru even do? He was filled to the brim with despair.
And then— "Pssh—"
When Gustav's head exploded with a deflating sound, Subaru understood.
He absolutely must not die anymore. If he died and came back to a point where Gustav had already been killed, then saving Gustav's life would be permanently impossible.
Once someone's death became fixed, it was the same as if Subaru had killed them himself.
A world where salvation was impossible—no matter whose hand had brought about that death—was a murder committed by Natsuki Subaru.
So he fought desperately not to die.
Whether Gustav died, whether Nuru died, whether the gladiators died, whether the guards died, no matter who died, Subaru fought back with everything he had to prevent his own death.
If Subaru died, those who were killed would truly die.
He knew it was irrational, but Subaru had no choice but to struggle in exactly that way.
As long as Subaru didn't die, there remained the possibility of sparing those who had already perished from their deaths. That way, they wouldn't truly die—so if only— If only he never died again, no one would have to die. That fantasy— That fantasy, nothing but a fantasy, was proven wrong by the wretched death of Subaru himself.
× × × How many times had he faced death now?
"What good does it do if they disappear right in front of you?"
"Suba—"
The voice, about to call his name, cut off as it reached the knees where the limp Subaru knelt.
The axe swung without mercy, cleaving Hiein's body and soul in two. His eyes rolled white as he crashed to the floor with a tremendous sound.
Blood poured out in thick rivulets, spreading across the floor, mixing with the blood of Idra's corpse that lay there already.
Idra had been killed before Hiein—his skull split open.
Because Subaru had failed to save him from Todd's very first attack. First Idra was killed, then Hiein, and finally Subaru was left alone once more.
Tanza had already been flung aside by Todd's hand, sent tumbling through the hole in the wall to the outside.
By now, the world had been pushed back so far that Tanza's scream as she fell could no longer even be heard.
Weitz, whose arms and face had been destroyed and who had been swallowed by the corridor along with the frog-type magical beast, and Tanza, who had been shoved outside while trying to shield Subaru—all of them had been "locked" into a reality Subaru was powerless to change.
And then— "So, honestly, what's the deal?"
Todd, his axe resting on his shoulder, looked down at Subaru, who sat slumped on the ground with his knees stained in the blood of two people, and asked.
His numb brain throbbed, and the words that followed came unbidden.
He had heard it from Todd so many times already—this question— "Are you really His Excellency the Emperor's child?"
"Don't read into what people say before they say it."
Todd's voice was tinged with displeasure at Subaru's downcast words.
Whether Todd was impressed on the inside was unclear, but he apparently didn't feel threatened enough to fly into a rage and attack—it wasn't that Subaru had intended to rattle him; the words had just slipped out involuntarily.
But if it had thrown Todd off his rhythm even slightly— "If you don't want to die, don't move."
With that, Subaru pulled a black sphere from inside his coat—the cursed tool that had been placed inside Gustav's body—and thrust it toward Todd in plain view.
The black sphere, wiped clean of blood, had a glassy texture and feel. For something roughly the size of a golf ball, it was surprisingly heavy.
He had no idea what it was made of, and the material didn't matter.
What mattered was that it held an immense and cruel power.
It was the key needed to activate the "curse law." If Todd wanted it too, then it could be used.
This could serve as a second option—a way to get Todd to listen.
"This is it, right? What you need for the curse law. If you don't want to die..."
"——. You there, that thing—"
"I'm—talking—right now!! Didn't you hear me say 'if you don't want to don't want to die'!? Can't you hear?!"
Subaru waved the hand holding the cursed tool, spitting as he roared.
His mind, packed tight with regret and despair, had no room to carefully weigh Todd's words. All he could do was demand obedience, his fury boiling over.
"Fine, fine, I get it, I get it."
Watching Subaru's rage, Todd let out a small sigh, lowered his axe, and raised both hands.
Seeing Todd comply so readily, Subaru was stunned. Todd raised one eyebrow at Subaru's reaction and said: "You're a strange one. Aren't you the one who told me to do this?"
"Th—that's... just... something so simple..."
Unable to retort, Subaru's eyes went blank as he bitterly regretted his own stupidity.
It had nothing to do with whether the Emperor had an illegitimate child or not. He should have simply brandished the cursed tool as a shield from the start. Panicking and jumping to the easy option had ruined everything.
Gustav, Nuru, Weitz, Tanza—all of it because of Subaru.
All because Subaru hadn't bothered to actually think— "By the way, you there—do you even know how to use that thing?"
"Huh...?"
Lost in self-recrimination, Subaru's thoughts were interrupted by the voice.
Todd, hands still raised, had asked the question. Subaru let out a hoarse voice and looked down at the cursed tool in his hand. If he was asked how to use it, the truth was, he didn't know. There was no obvious switch, no mechanism that revealed its operation simply by being held.
"—Figured."
And from that slight flicker of doubt in Subaru's eyes, Todd instantly saw through the bluff.
"If you knew how, you'd have used it already. You wouldn't be threatening me with it."
"Oh—"
In the next instant, Todd, hands still raised, kicked out with his raised leg and sent Subaru's hand flying.
The hand thrusting out the cursed tool was kicked hard, and the black sphere launched straight up. Instinctively, Subaru's eyes tracked it—and that was yet another stupid mistake.
Looking up meant offering your neck.
"————"
His gaze followed the rising cursed tool—and then suddenly cut off.
Just before it cut off, he felt something hard pass from his left side to his right, but there was no way to confirm what it was, no reason to even try.
And there was nothing left to do but accept it.
—that he had no idea how to stop
× × × —The fool who played at being a good person, was mocked for it, and had everything taken from him.
That was how those around him evaluated the man who lost his trade, ended up destitute, and ultimately became a slave: Idra Misanga.
A small farming village in the empire's northwest—that was Idra's birthplace, and the land where the Misanga family had operated a flour mill for generations.
He had heard that it was Idra's grandfather's grandfather who had originally started the mill, and that man had apparently been quite shrewd.
He had built a waterwheel along the village river and was appointed by the lord to manage the milling operation, overseeing the processing of all grain harvested in the village.
The returns were substantial, and the labor was light. To those who had no choice but to borrow the Misanga family's services to mill their crops, Idra was born into the privileged class.
But neither Idra himself nor his family lived flaunting their trade.
Compared to others, they certainly lived comfortably. But when harvests were poor, they would shoulder the taxes owed to the lord on the villagers' behalf, or go negotiate directly, filling the role that should have belonged to the village head—functioning as members of the community.
—To conduct business honestly, and strive to earn widespread trust and goodwill.
That was the Misanga family's creed, and their philosophy as millers.
During the milling process using the waterwheel, many were tempted to skim grain for themselves. The Misangas knew the miller's trade attracted suspicion, and that was precisely why humility was essential—Idra's father had been told this repeatedly by his own parent, and had in turn impressed it upon Idra.
Because the role invited mistrust, it was all the more important to deal openly with people.
Never hoarding prosperity for oneself, sharing joys and hardships with the community—this was not the way of the Volakia Empire, where strength was revered, but in the remote border villages where the iron laws of the capital did not reach, it was respected as the correct way to live.
Idra too had grown up benefiting from this tradition.
And so, even after inheriting the trade early from his ailing father, he had tried to uphold that legacy.
"It's a perfectly decent life, isn't it? I'm jealous."
The man who said this to Idra was a stranger who had stopped by the village tavern.
He carried himself with the bearing of a seasoned soldier, and revealed that he made his living as a mercenary, traveling from battlefield to battlefield with the greatsword in his hand.
Unfamiliar outsiders were rare in the village, so Idra drank with him and listened to his many stories.
For Idra, who barely knew the outside world, the man's tales were full of wonder.
Unlike the peaceful, unhurried flow of life in the farming village, the world the man inhabited was dangerous and cruel—yet simultaneously brimming with an unforgettable fire.
Even before that, Idra had carried a vague yearning.
As a man born in the Volakia Empire, he had harbored a half-forgotten hope—had there not been other choices for him besides inheriting the family trade? He had never seriously agonized over it, but the desire was there.
The way of a warrior who valued personal strength and honor, never stooping to a base existence.
"Idra, you've got a cousin, right? Actually, I've had my eye on her..."
The man visited the village every few months, and each time he and Idra would drink together and grow closer.
And then, on one of the nights they spent together, the man confided in Idra with a serious expression. His young cousin was still unmarried, and Idra had taken a liking to the man as well.
Without a moment's hesitation, Idra introduced his cousin to the man, arranged everything for them to be properly wed, and on the wedding night celebrated the birth of a new family with drinks.
One month later, the man conspired with the cousin and seized the Misanga family's trade.
The man claimed that the cousin had equal right to carry on the family business, and furthermore accused Idra and his father of having falsified milling results and cheated the villagers all along.
Of course, Idra protested that no such thing had ever happened, but the inherent suspicion attached to the miller's profession could not be shaken off, and the village's opinion split cleanly in two.
Before the matter was resolved, Idra's ailing father died of illness, and his mother, broken by grief, followed shortly after.
"I've had enough. I will protect my home, no matter what it takes...!"
After mourning his parents, Idra cursed his own carelessness but resolved to fight back.
If the man and his cousin were plotting something foul, then Idra would reclaim what was rightfully his. To that end, he planned to file a lawsuit against the man and asked fellow villagers to serve as witnesses.
He believed in the trust that the Misanga family's honest business had cultivated over the years—that justice would prevail.
But— "—Why... why...?"
No one showed up at the agreed-upon meeting. Instead, preparations for an armed uprising were found in Idra's home.
Dragged before the lord and subjected to an unwanted trial, Idra desperately pleaded his innocence—but not a single villager spoke up for him.
The man and the cousin had orchestrated everything.
The villagers chose the lying man who offered them profit over the honest Idra.
There was not a shred of a chance.
Stripped of his trade and reduced to a slave, Idra was shipped to the island by slave traders.
Having lost all purpose, with even the life he had left now plaything to others—this was the worst of all places:
In this arena where life-or-death combat was entertainment, Idra felt his heart being stained black and his soul rotting away, and he considered surrendering to that despair.
Isn't it fine now?
I've tried so hard for nothing—so why, why would I even want to keep trying?
What I believed in was a lie. What I relied on was a mistake.
Everyone is just thinking about how to use someone else, trying to save only themselves.
Then there's nothing wrong with doing the same. Nothing at all.
And that was the end of it for Idra Misanga.
It was only natural that no one chose him.
He had no honed strength, no particular useful ability. Who would choose Idra?
Idra himself wouldn't even choose Idra.
And yet—who, in all the world, would choose Idra—honest, foolish Idra— "You wanted to become a warrior, didn't you, Idra!? Then now is the time! This is that moment!"
—Living honestly would never be rewarded. It never had been.
× × × The hammering pain in his head left Idra unable to move.
His tongue was numb, his throat felt sealed shut, and he couldn't breathe. The sensation in his limbs was distant—as though his body had fallen apart piece by piece—and a terror like that washed over him.
Terror. There was no avoiding it now.
Given what had just happened, even that feeling from his hometown—when no one had stood by him, when his blood had frozen cold throughout his entire body—even that was nothing compared to this fear.
Weitz killed before his eyes. Brave Tanza hurled out of the corridor.
Watching it all happen, Idra had simply frozen, unable to do a thing. If his cowardice had allowed him to outlive Weitz and Tanza, that was too cruel an irony.
Could these few seconds—these dozen or so seconds—and the humiliation burning through his chest possibly balance each other out?
He had watched two people who could do something die, when he could do nothing.
The despair and regret this brought to Idra—even compared to the life he'd had stolen when his trade was taken by that clumsy, foolish act—it was heavier still.
"—Hah."
Thinking that far, Idra laughed at how little life experience he actually had.
Setting aside happy times, every painful experience he could recall was nothing but the downfall that followed losing his trade. He realized, with genuine feeling, how blessed and prosperous his life had once been.
Perhaps Idra's very way of being had enraged the man who stole his livelihood.
Even so, that was no excuse for what the man had done.
"————"
Struggling to breathe, his vision blurring, Idra took stock of his surroundings.
What exactly had happened? Was the pain throughout his body related to this incomprehensible situation? Was any of it even real?
Was the entire island of gladiator slaves really going to be massacred? Was Schwarz really the Emperor's bastard child? Were Weitz and Tanza really dead? Was all of it just a dream?
A dream—and right now, Idra was still living in that blessed life, finding his comfortable existence boring— "You've got some nerve, you know that."
A chill ran through Idra as a cold voice reached him, and he forgot his pain entirely.
His blood didn't just run cold—it froze solid. Slowly, Idra understood that the footsteps of that voice's owner were approaching.
And then— "Standing there like a pole isn't great, but jumping down without a plan is going to result in... well, this."
The man's exasperated voice was not directed at Idra.
It was aimed at someone not far away, and Idra felt a surge of relief. Then, against his better judgment, he squinted toward where the voice was headed.
There— "—Ugh."
He saw a battered, bloodied black-haired boy crawling along the ground.
"————"
Recognizing the crawling boy, and realizing this was not the upper corridor from moments ago, Idra's mind flashed back to what had happened before his consciousness went white.
Weitz killed. Tanza hurled away. The man's motives incomprehensible as he screamed wild things. Just before Idra was killed, Schwarz had moved.
Schwarz, shrieking, grabbed Idra and Hiein around the waist and dove through the opposite wall hole from where Tanza had fallen.
The hole had been blown open by a massive bird's impact. Tanza had fallen on the island's far side, and Schwarz had leapt in with Idra and Hiein on the opposite side—but even so, the odds of survival were slim.
Scraped by the wall, battered by protrusions, slammed from the high ground into the earth below—it should have killed them.
Nine times out of ten, it would have been death. It was reckless, desperate, the only instinctive escape available.
Catching that one survival out of ten was nothing short of a miracle. But the miracle ended there.
Both Schwarz, crawling on the ground, and Idra, lying there fallen, could not escape the man pursuing them.
Hiein was nowhere to be seen—either she hadn't managed to land safely on this mid-level ledge, or she was using her mimicry to hide.
Even if she was hiding, there was no expecting courage from Hiein.
He was no villain, but he was no hero either. Servile, cowardly, easily swept up in the mood—he was attached to Schwarz, but nothing more could be expected of him.
Still, if there was even the slightest chance of surviving, he should stay hidden and hold his breath.
If Schwarz's desperate miracle could save Hiein's life, then so be it.
That was the least reward Schwarz deserved.
"————"
A stray thought crossed Idra's mind.
If, in this battered state after falling from a great height, with the man's attention fixed on Schwarz—perhaps Idra, too, could be mistaken for dead and left alone.
The man was terrifying, but surely he wouldn't go around smashing the heads of every corpse.
Depending on Idra's condition, if he could put on a convincing act of being dead, he might survive. He could escape with his life—at least his own.
"————"
It was a moment of choice.
What would Idra Misanga sacrifice, and what would he gain, in order to survive?
In this cruel world—this place where the strong and cunning took everything they wanted—what would Idra Misanga choose to become?
The man who had foolishly believed that honesty earned trust and goodwill, and had lost everything— "One... two...!"
Raising the axe above his head with both hands, about to bring it down on the crawling boy's skull—there was the man's back.
If he just held his breath, closed his eyes, turned his face away from everything— —What exactly would that save?
"Nooo—!!"
Forcing every fiber of his broken body into motion, he peeled his seemingly earth-bound frame off the ground, vomited blood, and ran in the most wretched fashion imaginable.
He ran and threw himself at the man's back. His left arm wouldn't move, so with only his right hand, he clung to the body, trying with everything he had to bite down.
"I knew you were still alive."
In that instant, as if mocking Idra's resolve, the man dropped the axe he'd raised behind him. With the hand now free, he drew a knife, spun around, and in one flash, Idra's right arm was severed at the elbow.
Flour milling depended on the waterwheel doing the work—these were soft, untrained arms that knew nothing of heavy labor. The arm flew away.
But— "Take him... with you!!!"
A searing heat crawled up from the severed arm, and Idra's vision flooded red. But in that one instant, forgetting all pain, Idra screamed with everything he had.
The sheer volume of that blood-choked scream made the man in front of him raise an eyebrow slightly.
He couldn't understand Idra's scream and action—what they were meant to achieve.
But— "Tch."
Clicking his tongue, the man spun around and threw the knife that had taken Idra's arm.
It was aimed at the figure crawling on the ground behind him—no, not there anymore—carrying Schwarz away. At that writhing shape in the distance.
It was Hiein.
Holding his breath and hidden until now, Hiein had scooped up Schwarz and made a run for it. Seeing this, Idra clenched his teeth and launched himself at the man's back.
His right arm was gone, his left arm wouldn't move, so he bit into the man's clothes and clung on.
"Ugh—"
An elbow struck him in the chest from behind, and a kick sent him sprawling. But the impact of the fall jolted his dislocated left shoulder back into place, and the arm moved again—trading pain for function.
And then, another miracle: the axe the man had dropped lay right beside that left arm.
"Did you really think they'd just run?"
The man, having released his knife and lost the axe, tilted his head and looked at Idra.
His face showed no sign of being at a disadvantage despite having lost his weapons. And rightly so. The blood Idra had spilled, the blood still flowing—it was limitless.
Being alive was a miracle, and too many miracles had already occurred.
So to the man's question, Idra shook his head.
"No. I thought they would run. But I also believed—"
"————"
"That he wouldn't run. That he'd stay."
Servile, cowardly, easily swept up in the mood—but not a villain. That was Hiein.
Idra had simply, foolishly believed that Hiein would stay.
People really couldn't change easily, could they?
The lie he'd told—pretending to be a warrior, trying to deceive and use those around him—had been exposed almost immediately.
To live honestly, to earn widespread trust and goodwill.
Even if people pointed and laughed, calling him a self-righteous fool.
Idra Misanga could become neither a warrior nor a con artist.
Raising the axe overhead with his one remaining arm, blood streaming from his body, Idra screamed: "I am Idra Misanga! Son of a miller!!"
"I don't care."
Pouring every last drop of strength he possessed into his body, Idra charged at the man with the blank expression.
—That day, thanks to Schwarz, he hadn't had to become a liar. He was glad.
× × × Carried at a frantic run by someone else, being hauled from the jaws of death.
He was being shaken so hard it hurt, with no regard for his own wounds or condition—but that was only natural.
Subaru was wrecked, but the person carrying him was far worse off.
"Ha—ah—hiein...!"
His waist was gripped so hard it hurt, and Subaru dug his nails into the other's body. He couldn't even tell where he was scratching. The person carrying him looked like a total mess already.
Not just wounded—his colors, his patterns, everything was incoherent. He had been mimicking every surrounding landscape in rapid succession until nothing made sense anymore. And now, in that state, the body running at full speed suddenly went limp and pitched forward.
"Guh!"
Obviously, when the carrier fell, Subaru went down with him.
He was flung forward over the fallen body and rolled across the cold stone floor. He couldn't even brace for impact, and the shock felt like his front teeth had broken.
Still lying face-up, he lifted his aching head and looked behind him.
There— "Hh... hh..."
Hiein lay there, literally on death's door, groaning.
He was face-down, completely limp, with a large knife embedded deep in the center of his back. Subaru had no idea when it had happened.
During the flight? Earlier still? Even if it had been earlier, he couldn't have done anything.
If Subaru died, he would restart just before Idra's skull was split open.
Maybe even after it. —No, he'd jumped outside before that happened, so it might have been before the fall, or after, or in midair.
Getting all three of them to fall without dying was nearly impossible, and it had seemed like for once they'd managed it—but then Todd arrived.
Idra's voice. Hiein's breathing. They were far away.
Everything was beyond reach now.
"That's... funny... isn't it..."
From where he lay, trying to crawl, Subaru heard Hiein's weak voice reach him.
It sounded like someone talking while lifting their head from underwater—his throat must have been filling with blood. He probably needed something done about that, some kind of procedure to clear it out.
He had to do it. Even if he wasn't a doctor, he had to— "Life... is supposed to be... plucked... like a flower... they used to say, I heard..."
"D-Don't... talk... I'm coming, right now..."
"Then... it's better if someone like me... a lowlife... dies first..."
Crawling. He kept crawling.
To reach Hiein, who was drowning in his own blood on the ground, and pull him up.
But his body wouldn't move forward. Not at all.
"But..."
Not at all. He couldn't reach him.
"...if I go first... it's better... right?"
Slower than a snail. Moving at a pace too slow to even qualify as slow, with movements smaller than an ant's—crawling.
Crawling, crawling, and when he finally reached him, it was too late.
Hiein's color had returned to its original grey.
With a knife buried in his back, one arm broken, and blood pouring from his entire body—it would have been no surprise if Hiein had died during the run.
Perhaps he had been dying the whole way. That must have been it.
Everyone Subaru couldn't save was already dead.
It was the same as if Subaru had killed them himself.
Because he couldn't save them all—it was the same as killing them all.
"Guuh..."
Was that blood, or tears, or snot smearing his face?
He couldn't tell anymore. He couldn't tell what was what, who was who, what the answer was. He couldn't— He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't—he couldn't tell anything anymore.
"Oh my—is that moaning face over there Basu by any chance?"
"————"
"Oh, it really is Basu! Well, well, what a coincidence running into you here. Things have gotten quite lively, haven't they? Are you enjoying the excitement?"
A lighthearted voice fell upon Subaru, who had abandoned everything in his numb despair.
He couldn't turn around toward the voice. Slowly, with all the strength left in his body, he forced himself upright, fixed his eyes on the absurd person who had addressed him, and tried to say something— "There's no need to go to all the trouble of turning around on your last legs, you know."
"—Ah."
"After all, this isn't really the place for that kind of exertion, is it?"
Cecilus had walked around to face Subaru directly—and was peering down at him with a carefree smile, the left half of his body charred black.
"The Blue Lightning," grinning without a care in the world.