——Gustavo Morello, Governor of the Sword Slave Prison Island, Gnounhive.
The significance of being granted his post by the Emperor of the great, holy Volakia Empire was no small thing.
In the Volakia Empire, where the maxim "Imperials shall be strong" thrived even in peacetime, the role expected of the prison island's sword-slave exhibitions was extraordinarily important.
It was not merely for entertainment. Under the current Emperor's reign—a ruler who could even smolder the spark of civil war down to embers—it was to keep the hearts of the Imperial citizenry from straying too far from "strife," lest the Empire's fangs be blunted.
No one had stated this explicitly, but that was how Gustavo understood the duty he was to fulfill when Emperor Vincent Volakia appointed him Governor.
In truth, Gustavo had carried out his duties as Governor more faithfully than any of his predecessors—up until today.
"Gustavo Morello. I have arrived with the sword slaves of Gnounhive."
Before the Emperor, Vincent Volakia, who gazed down at him from above, Gustavo put all four of his multi-armed species' arms to the ground and knelt as he spoke.
——The great civil war that shook the entire Empire had its premises completely demolished by an intervention from the dead.
To flee the rampaging hordes of corpses, mass evacuations of the Imperial Capital and its surrounding residents were carried out, and warriors—regardless of whether they belonged to the regular army or the rebel forces—were compelled to cooperate against the onslaught of destruction.
Dispersal evacuations of the overwhelming number of refugees were underway, yet the fortress city of Garql still sheltered more than half the total refugee count. Gustavo had joined the effort supporting that massive influx, and immediately after entering Garql himself, he had been granted an audience with Vincent.
"————"
Inside a chamber of the great fortress, beside the kneeling Gustavo stood Idra Misanga, his face a picture of despair.
The band of sword slaves, once mere outlaws, had rechristened themselves the "Pleiades Battle Group," organized with Natsuki Schwartz as their figurehead and Gustavo serving as strategist. It was as strategist that Gustavo had chosen Idra—of all people—to assist with tasks beyond mere brawling.
Among the sword slaves, Idra had a particularly deep bond with Schwartz and possessed a corresponding level of thoughtfulness and composure, making him invaluable among the rough-and-tumble lot.
Even so, those qualities proved impossible to display before His Majesty the Emperor on the spur of the moment.
"I have received reports of your efforts from Zekul Osman. That man... Natsuki Schwartz, too, was squeaking away about his own accomplishments."
"Squeaking... ah."
Perhaps from excessive tension, Idra had let that slip from his mouth unbidden, and his face went deathly pale.
Vincent narrowed his dark eyes. Despite his refined and delicate features, he was infamous for his fierce temperament. For Imperial subjects who knew the Emperor only through rumors, it was understandable that simply drawing his attention could make one prepare for death.
However, Gustavo—still kneeling—looked up at Vincent and said: "Your Majesty, this man is Idra Misanga. He is one of the sword slaves, but he supports my work in ways no other can. I humbly ask that once this conflict is resolved, you grant him a pardon—"
"You're uncharacteristically talkative, Gustavo Morello. But—"
"—Urgh."
"Since you vouch for his value, I'll take your word for it. Work hard, is all. If you wish to discuss matters after the war, then survive the war and produce results worth discussing."
"Y-Yes! What an honor!"
Idra threw himself forward with such enthusiasm that he struck his forehead hard against the floor.
Overcome with the sense that he had narrowly escaped death, Idra failed to realize that—having once been nothing more than a miller's son—Vincent had just spoken to him with unexpected leniency.
Of course, Gustavo believed Idra had contributed enough to merit such treatment, but what struck him simultaneously was the change in Vincent—his newfound tolerance toward others.
Vincent had always been a wise Emperor, and one who was perhaps too wise.
Because of that, the Emperor whose foresight ran far too deep had been cold toward those who could not share his vision. That was precisely why those around him were driven to work desperately to understand the landscape the Emperor saw.
But the Emperor who had accepted that state of affairs now seemed to have changed—transcended it, even.
"Still, that was quite the reckless thing you did."
Vincent's voice suddenly cut through, breaking off Gustavo's train of thought.
At the Emperor's words, Gustavo—still kneeling—closed his mouth with its protruding fangs that he could not fully conceal, and waited for Vincent to continue.
At Gustavo's silence, Vincent narrowed his dark eyes further.
"What I ordered you to do was serve as Governor of the 'Sword Slave Prison Island.' In this crisis, you abandoned that post, led the island's sword slaves, and marched all the way to the Imperial Capital in the far east... It's only natural that you'd bare your single head before an Emperor who would make anyone tremble."
Seated in a great chair with his cheek resting on the armrest, Vincent's words drew a faint swallow of fear from Idra beside him.
The ultimate act of lese-majeste against the Emperor—a situation where any Imperial subject would despair of their life.
"——May I offer a few words in my defense?"
"You may. Choose them carefully, however. Even if you lost two arms, you could still fight at the level of a commoner, could you not?"
Yet Gustavo did not sink into despair. With all due reverence, he returned words to the Emperor, and Vincent granted him leave with a gaze that could be read as either sadistic or provocative.
Before that gaze, Gustavo was surprisingly calm. Perhaps it was the influence of that fearless, bold young man who knew no terror more than anyone else.
"Your Majesty says I abandoned my duties as Governor, but that is not true. And one more thing—it was not I who led the sword slaves—"
"Not you?"
"——It was Your Majesty's son."
Gustavo would never forget Vincent's reaction in the moment those words left his lips.
"————"
For an instant, Vincent's dark eyes went wide, and his face lost every trace of its severity.
It could only be described as the look of someone whose blind spot had been struck. Both the speaker and the content were entirely beyond his expectations—that was the only proof of it.
That fleeting expression, Vincent erased it almost immediately by pressing a hand to his mouth, and said: "I had valued your unwavering loyalty to your duties and your lack of indulgence."
"I share the same sentiment. However, had it gone exactly as both Your Majesty and I foresaw, we could only have watched this great crisis of the Empire unfold from the far western edge of the world."
Had Schwartz not committed the outrageous act of seizing the Sword Slave Prison Island, Gustavo would have remained on that island even in the face of this great crisis, absorbed in his role of managing the sword slaves.
Whether anything happened to Vincent in the Imperial Capital or not, he would have been obedient to his assigned duty—perhaps considering it a reward that no one would be around to evaluate.
It had not come to that. He did not have to remain that person. Gustavo felt genuine relief at the bottom of his heart.
Even though this was the result of being incited by Schwartz, of interpreting the Emperor's orders selfishly, and of exploiting the provisions for "emergencies" to the fullest extent to rush to the Imperial Capital.
"——And even if the Emperor had died together with the Imperial Capital, in that case I would have used you lot rather well, wouldn't I?"
"Your Majesty?"
Gustavo had believed—regardless of whether his judgment was correct—that he could affirm it himself. Yet Vincent's murmured words contained a different intent altogether.
But Vincent did not allow that seeping intention to be probed further.
Instead, he shook his head and said: "Very well. I'll be swayed by your silver tongue. In this situation where the Empire's survival hangs in the balance, you had best brilliantly carve out your own fate, and secure a pardon for those sword slaves.——Withdraw."
"Yes. I shall risk everything in my power to see it through."
Between Gustavo and Vincent, an understanding was reached regarding the handling of the "emergency" directive.
Whether Gustavo's actions had truly deviated from his duties as Governor of the Sword Slave Prison Island would be proven from here on out—by Gustavo himself and by the efforts of the Pleiades Battle Group.
He had no certainty that he could accomplish it. But at this point, Gustavo thought that at least he would not have to regret being incited by Schwartz.
Just as Gustavo allowed himself a slight, crooked smile and turned to leave the Emperor's presence— "O-Oh, if I may be so bold as to ask Your Majesty something—"
Idra, still pressing his forehead to the floor, suddenly spoke up, and Gustavo involuntarily held his breath.
Trembling, Idra had addressed Vincent with all due reverence. Still prostrate, he deftly craned his neck upward, directing eyes that looked ready to spill tears at the Emperor.
Idra had shown courage even during the "Sparka" on the prison island, but clinging to an Emperor who had ordered him to withdraw was, to put it mildly, a reckless act that bordered on courting death.
However— "What is it?"
Vincent's unexpected response stunned Gustavo once more.
Idra, who did not hesitate to seize opportunity when it presented itself, did not let this opening slip away. Drawing on the survival instinct honed at the razor's edge of a sword slave's life, he moved his dry lips and posed the question he had been prompted to ask.
It was— "Your Majesty... after this battle is over, what do you intend to do with His Highness... with Prince Schwartz?"
"Misanga?!"
It was an untimely, catastrophic question that only the bravest soul in the Empire would dare ask.
Rumors of the "Black-Haired Crown Prince" that had surfaced across the Empire were inextricably tied to the great civil war inscribed in Imperial history—a war that had been overshadowed by the conflict between the living and the dead.
Indeed, the Pleiades Battle Group had been founded in the first place because Schwartz had shown willingness to clash with Vincent. That confrontation was the battle group's primary objective.
It was only natural, then, that Idra would want that answer from Vincent.
The problem was that Idra—overcome with tension—failed to realize this constituted the ultimate form of lese-majeste, one that could cost him his life.
"————"
At the silence that followed, Gustavo became aware of a rare tremor within himself.
When he thought back, the disturbances he had felt recently had all been caused by Schwartz or Cecilus. That Idra now joined their ranks was a terrifying prospect.
Even Gustavo himself nearly sought escape from reality before the situation unfolding before him, when— "——Idra Misanga."
Vincent's lips formed Idra's name.
At this, not only Idra but Gustavo too widened his eyes and swallowed hard. Before the two of them, the Emperor shifted his long legs and continued: "The right or wrong of that one's future is not within my purview."
Vincent's answer was, to put it mildly, nonsensical.
To claim that Vincent, who stood at the apex of this Empire, did not possess the authority to decide Schwartz's fate was something no one could reasonably accept.
But above all, he could not afford to let Idra press the matter further.
"Depart while your head is still attached to your body.——Any further would be treason."
The Emperor had drawn a clear line, indicating he would overlook things up to this point. Seizing on that, Gustavo quickly hauled Idra to his feet, lifted him with two of his arms, and clamped his mouth shut with the other two.
Carrying Idra—probably the luckiest man in the fortress city, or perhaps in the entire Empire, that night—Gustavo bowed deeply to Vincent.
And then— "Please, Your Majesty, I beg you to show mercy regarding Prince Schwartz's position."
Having hitched a ride on Idra's improbable fortune, Gustavo added those final words before taking his leave, bringing to a close the episode of his exoneration from the Sword Slave Prison Island.
△▼△▼△▼△ "To make Gustavo Morello say all that... He really is a man you can never fully read."
Gustavo had departed carrying Idra like a convict, having tacked on one final unnecessary remark. Watching his retreating figure, Vincent sighed quietly.
The fact that he had not only flown unexpectedly to the Sword Slave Prison Island, but had also managed to bend the thinking of every sword slave there and that duty-bound-to-a-fault Gustavo was nothing short of astonishing.
Honestly, no matter how much the man denied it, it would make more sense if he really were a "Star Reader."
In any case— "Even with them joining the city's defenses, we're far from impregnable. We can't afford to skimp on selecting the assault force for the Imperial Capital, but..."
There was much for Vincent to consider regarding how to allocate forces.
As for the personnel from the allied Kingdom, that selection could be left to their own experts. But on this side, they would need to play their own hand. Leaving Berstetz and Selena in the fortress city, and with Goz present for military affairs, should suffice.
In terms of raw military strength, the lack of personnel who could be folded into the assault force was painful—but "Those who excel at commanding large-scale operations are irreplaceable. In that regard, Cecilus is worth more than ten of anyone else. ...Though the thought of ten Ceciluses is nothing but a nightmare. His reason for not arriving yet—did he encounter something that caught his curiosity in the Capital? I'd rather not have the country destroyed because of that man."
Everyone who knew the danger of the "Stone Block" and Cecilus's personality shared a common concern: Cecilus slaughtering the corpses en masse and thereby draining the Great Spirit's mana dry.
Just as Haribel had held back the Black Dragon with the Chain Dragon Carriages, even if Cecilus's limbs had been shortened, it seemed unlikely he would fall behind the corpses. But the problem was that falling behind was not the issue.
"If the country were to be destroyed by that, it would be Chisha's fault for picking him up that day. It would be mildly satisfying to see his schemes backfire... though whether there's enough time for that kind of amusement is unclear."
Vincent had just reconfirmed his own reasons for urgency when— "H-Hey, wait! She told me I wasn't supposed to let you in, Your Majesty!"
"I t-o-l-d you! I haven't agreed to that yet!"
A sudden loud commotion filtered through the door, introducing static into Vincent's thoughts.
A coarse, gravelly voice and a shrill, angry retort—and before Vincent had even looked up, the chamber door was flung open from the other side with tremendous force.
"Abel! Lend me your face for a sec!"
"Not a chance."
Bursting through with enough force to kick the door clean off its hinges was a tall woman with long golden hair swaying behind her. Striding up to the Emperor with two barbarian swords strapped to her waist—performing what could only be described as an act of insanity with complete nonchalance—was
Behind Medium, Jamal O'Reilly—who had been stationed in front of the door—peered out with an utterly wretched expression, which Vincent pierced with a frigid gaze.
"I gave the order to let only those I authorized pass through. Is that not what I commanded?"
"Y-Yes, that's exactly what you said, sir... but when the other party turns out to be Your Majesty's consort, a lowly soldier like me just doesn't know what to do..."
"Then if a 'general' superior to you in rank appeared with rebellious intent, you would be equally powerless?"
"Yes! I mean—no! Between you and a 'general,' I'm pretty sure you're absolutely higher, sir. It's just... I don't really understand where the consort fits in the hierarchy... sir!"
Despite letting his roughness show at the edges, Jamal chose his words with care. Vincent, for his part, gave up on that exchange for the moment and turned to Medium, who stood before him with arms akimbo.
The panting, aggressive Medium who had barged in did not match the impression Vincent had received from what he had heard.
"I was told you had locked yourself in your room, sobbing away."
"Who said I was sobbing?! That's so not like me at all! I mean, sure, I cried a little... maybe...!"
"Your brother.
"Big brother! Big brother! How could you say something like thaaat?!"
"It's simple, dear sister. Of course, it's so that Emperor-kun here develops a strong interest in Medium and a desire to protect her, in preparation for the upcoming contest for the position of Empress!"
Medium whirled around at his words, and it was none other than Flop who—when confronted—unabashedly confessed his scheming with a clueless look on his face.
As for Jamal, who had let the two of them pass, there was nothing left to say. But even if the siblings started bickering here, Vincent had no time to entertain it.
"I told Jamal too—I'm not on board with that! I don't dislike Abel, but I don't know what becoming Empress even entails!"
"Oh, I see, I see. But, dear sister. You are my sister, but did you become a sister because you knew what a sister should be? You were able to become one without knowing anything in particular, weren't you?"
"Eh? Come to think of it, maybe that's right..."
"If that's the case, then whether you know what you're becoming isn't important. What matters is the will to become it and the circumstances around you. Sisters and Empresses are fundamentally the same thing!"
"Ohhh! I get it now, that's amazing, big brother... Just kidding, I'm not falling for that, big bro!"
Medium nearly swayed by his words but then immediately pounced on Flop, who made a deflated face and pressed his hand to his forehead.
"Well, I guess that didn't work."
It didn't look like a full-blown sibling quarrel, at least.
"Take your unresolved family squabbles somewhere else. I'm busy. Jamal, escort them out."
"Ah, wait, wait! Whether I'm going to be Empress or not isn't what I came for! I wanted to borrow Abel's face because of something else entirely—"
"What is it?"
"I want you to take me to the Imperial Capital too!"
Medium thumped her chest with her fist and made her demand with unmistakable clarity.
Vincent's brow furrowed at the content of her request. At that moment, Flop—standing beside the fierce-looking Medium—raised a finger and said, "You see—"
"I know this comes out of nowhere, but my sister's demand isn't some spur-of-the-moment thing. Just before we arrived in this city, it was the last thing we saw aboard that dragon carriage—"
"——Barroy Temegriff."
"Yeah, that's right."
Flop nodded without surprise, and Vincent recalled the dragon carriage's final confrontation.
Subaru had the girl called
And the one who carried away the dying sister once more was Barroy Temegriff, the "Marksman of Magic Bullets," riding a fallen flying dragon.
Having witnessed Barroy there, Medium had indeed said: "Bar-nii..."
Medium's voice had been weak and fragile.
She had called out to the departing Barroy repeatedly, her voice cracking.
"Flop and I have known Barroy for a long time. We used to be under the care of Upper Count Dracroy. That's where we met Barroy... We never imagined we'd reunite like that."
"Calling that a reunion might be a bit too generous."
At Vincent's words, Flop answered in an uncharacteristically subdued voice: "You're right."
The complex emotions that Medium and Flop harbored toward Barroy, now a corpse—watching someone close to you appear in a form utterly changed from life—Vincent could understand the heartache that entailed.
But— "————"
He would sooner have his lips split than say he could fully empathize.
At the very least, he himself had delivered the final blow to his own resurrected sister.
"So how does your connection to Barroy tie into your request?"
"Abel, you're smart. You know exactly what I'm trying to say. So saying it like that—it's really not cool, and you should stop."
"————"
"I want to talk to Bar-nii. Even if he's become like that, even if I have no idea what he's thinking, I want to talk to him. Because—"
At first she spoke with force, but gradually her words grew halting as she searched for the right way to convey what was in her heart. Then Medium paused for a moment.
The most important word—she wanted to choose it as carefully as she could, thinking seriously— "Because I wanted to be Bar-nii's bride."
"——That's nothing but sentiment."
Vincent responded flatly to the teary-eyed Medium's appeal, then looked toward Flop.
Medium was on the verge of tears. It was Flop who had recommended her as one of the Empress candidates. His true intentions, Vincent suspected, stemmed less from ambition than from concern for his sister's well-being.
"And you would not stop your own sister from heading to a battlefield?"
"My, my, Emperor-kun, it seems you don't understand just how much my sister and I value open communication! Of course, I tried my best to stop her on the way here—she threw me off with brute force, and I had to rewrap my bandages!"
"So she overpowered you by force. Surprising that you could be ignored."
"I love my brother dearly, and he's almost always right about everything. But my brother and I are different people, and sometimes we want to do different things. Right now is one of those times."
Since neither force nor words could stop her, Medium's voice regained its vigor.
At that powerful appeal, Vincent fell into contemplation.
In terms of raw combat ability, Medium was perhaps slightly better than a common Imperial soldier—barely.
Even Jamal, who couldn't follow simple orders, was probably her superior in swordsmanship. Taking her along would be unlikely to dramatically affect the battle.
But conversely, that meant her presence would not sway the outcome of the war either.
"Do as you please."
"——! Really? Abel?"
"Don't act surprised when your request goes through. Your presence or absence will not affect the battle. However, because of that, you will bear your own burden."
"That means..."
Medium looked surprised at his answer, then blinked at Vincent's following words. Flop chimed in: "In other words: protect yourself. There are no resources to spare for protecting Medium."
"Correct. Without that resolve, throwing yourself into the vortex of battle would be..."
"Oh, is that all? Then I'm fine! Protecting myself is something big brother and I have been doing our whole journey together!"
"————"
Vincent had been about to tell her not to expect special treatment as an Empress candidate, but Medium's own words cut him off before he could.
She let out a sigh of relief, as if she had been handed a surprisingly light condition.
"Phew~ I was so nervous about what you were going to say! But that was way less mean than I was afraid it would be."
At having his thoughts nearly exactly predicted, Vincent's lips tightened with a faint grimace.
In any case, Medium had articulated her demand and declared she accepted the risks that came with it.
There was nothing left for Vincent to add.
"Tomorrow morning."
"Huh?"
"In the morning, the selected personnel will depart for the Imperial Capital. Be ready."
He said this curtly, then looked at Flop.
"Surely you're not going to say you're coming along too? I should warn you—I have no intention of debating whether a man who can't even protect himself should be allowed to volunteer for suicide."
"Thank you for your concern. Even I don't intend to go get myself killed. I don't want to be a burden to my sister either. ...As for Barroy, I'll leave that to Medium."
"Big brother..."
"——I can't say I'm certain you'll even meet him."
Vincent did not contest Flop's decision, only pointing out the possibility that his hopes might go unfulfilled.
But to that, Flop smiled.
"It'll be fine. I'm sure we'll meet."
"What makes you think so?"
"I believe in fate. It's stubborn, but it's not tasteless, I think."
The convictionless claim carried no more persuasive power than Medium's sentimentality.
But Vincent chose not to press the matter. He had a feeling that if he said anything, each sibling would fire back twice as hard.
Besides, they probably already knew.
"Well then, Abel, see you tomorrow! You'll get terrible dark circles under your eyes if you don't sleep properly!"
Medium gave a big wave and turned on her heel with a brisk stride.
Her straight, upright back bore not a trace of the tears she had shed moments ago. If those weren't fake tears, then she was truly an emotionally whirlwind girl.
As Flop moved to follow the departing Medium, he paused momentarily.
"Emperor-kun. Thank you."
"For what?"
"For taking our feelings into account—Medium's... no, ours. And for not faulting Medium for saying she loves Barroy. Especially for an Empress candidate."
Flop lowered his eyes and scratched the back of his head with a sheepish smile.
That was why Vincent snorted and replied: "Are you telling me to punish love? That would be an uncouth thing to do—far more pathetic than simply letting it be."
At that answer, Flop broke into such a delighted smile that it was frankly irritating to witness.