— As it happens,
The divine mandate granted to him was to save the Volachian Empire from destruction in the Great Calamity bearing down upon it.
To that end, the man who had been nothing more than a male prostitute acquired an extraordinary intellect, eventually rising to earn a measure of value from Vincent Volachia himself.
Of course, Ubilk was not so blessed as to delude himself into thinking this was his own achievement.
And yet, while most who were given the role of "Star Reader" were thought to walk a wretched path, he considered himself fortunate by comparison.
Most Star Readers had their humanity warped by the divine mandate they received, forced into an entirely new way of living. Some called that misfortune or a pitiable fate, but from Ubilk's perspective, those were complaints with rather luxurious prerequisites—something only the truly blessed could afford to say.
A human nature that could be bent, and people around you who would acknowledge that change—without both of those things, one would never have formed such a recognition in the first place.
Ubilk was exactly one of those people, and he was deeply, genuinely grateful to the divine mandate that had changed a life otherwise destined to be consumed without a trace.
—Even now, having fulfilled his role as a Star Reader, that gratitude had not changed.
"Well, it's not like I've managed to save Volachia or anything..."
At the fortress city of Garcl, where preparations for war were being carried out through the night—military buildups, proper personnel allocation—Ubilk, who had no post, gazed down at the bustling crowd and murmured.
There was a sensation, as though the fog that had always occupied one corner of his mind had finally cleared. The fog's influence withdrew smoothly from his thoughts, and Ubilk realized with full awareness that he was no longer a Star Reader.
As previously stated, the divine mandate given to Ubilk was to save Volachia from the Great Calamity.
And yet, the fact that he had been released from his mandate at this juncture amounted to an implicit message: there was nothing more Ubilk could do against the Great Calamity.
In an instant, he sobered from the fervor that had been driving him, and Ubilk felt utterly stripped bare.
"I am grateful, you know? I am grateful, but..."
It had taken nearly ten years to realize—truly a once-in-a-lifetime gamble.
To have the rug pulled out just before the results were in was, understandably, cause for complaint. To prove to Vincent that he harbored no divided loyalties, Ubilk had gone so far as to destroy the magical eyes he had been born with as a member of the Magic Eye tribe, thereby demonstrating his position.
Even now, the old scar where he had crushed that eye remained at the center of his chest. It was a lonely thing.
"Well, as a wielder of magical eyes, I was useless anyway, so that's fine."
The real problem was that the fuel which had been fed to him ceaselessly until today had gone out, leaving only lingering smoke from a borrowed conviction—and the question of where he, as a person, was supposed to exist after that fire had died.
Until now, he had always moved in the direction the divine mandate pointed, fulfilling his role as a Star Reader.
That had been Ubilk's way of fighting. He had never trained himself in a warrior's craft—whether swinging a sword or drawing a bow. Even his days on the gladiator island had been governed by the supreme priority of not dying before he could fulfill his mandate. He had zero practical combat experience.
And so, in this fortress where everyone had steeled themselves for battle, Ubilk was alone.
"Perhaps I shouldn't have been so honest with His Excellency when he asked..."
Vincent, who had departed from the fortress city of Garcl for the imperial capital of Lupgana to fight the decisive battle— Before his departure, Ubilk had been directly asked by Vincent whether, as a Star Reader, there was anything he could still contribute toward averting the Great Calamity.
Could he have lied, saying his mandate still remained? If so, perhaps he wouldn't have been left behind at the fortress.
"But it's not like I want the Empire destroyed or anything."
Lying that he had somewhere to go, misleading Vincent—that would be treason.
Weighing whether it would be better for the Empire if Vincent stayed or if Chisha stayed, Ubilk sided with Chisha's plan and helped ensure Vincent's survival.
He himself had been granted a divine mandate, but Chisha—who had never received one yet had carved out his own path in life—was a truly remarkable man.
He did not want to tarnish that choice. On the other hand— "————"
Amid the hectic bustle of the fortress, Ubilk, who had nowhere to go, passed by any number of people.
Every one of them understood the dire circumstances they were in, yet were able to throw themselves into what needed doing. Regardless of whether their abilities were superior or inferior, Ubilk respected those who could fulfill their duty to the fullest. At the same time, he envied them—just a short while ago, he had been on their side.
That was why Ubilk thought: "If the Empire were to fall into danger again... might I receive another divine mandate?"
If his role had been taken away on the grounds that he was no longer needed—what if he were needed again?
There was nothing Ubilk could do for Vincent and the others who had departed for the capital at this point. But what if, even after Vincent and the others removed the source of the Great Calamity, someone in a key position within the Empire lost their life, or an ally from the Kingdom was killed?
Wouldn't that also be a crisis of imperial extinction—just in a different form from the Great Calamity?
"A Star Reader who has once received and fulfilled a divine mandate being granted a new one—the probability is close to zero. But it's not zero."
If the divine mandate was something bestowed to save the Volachian Empire from destruction— Then if a new crisis arose, a new mandate might come to avert it.
—It was that desperate hope that guided Ubilk's feet toward the back of the fortress.
"————"
What housed Ubilk and other important figures from both the Empire and the Kingdom was the most impregnable grand fortress in all of Garcl.
For the corpse soldiers to reach even this fortress, they would need to breach the city walls and the multiple fortresses along the way. If they accomplished that, it would constitute a devastating defeat from a defensive standpoint.
However, there was no further retreat from the fortress city. The soldiers would have to fight to the last man. This grand fortress would literally become the Empire's final stronghold.
—And if there were a crack in that.
"Just the smallest..."
A single crack would suffice.
You didn't even need to fully remove the door's bolt—just leaving it slightly ajar would make it easier to slip open. You could attach a simple magic-stone timer device to the fortress's outer wall. One little push on the back of a corpse soldier.
If that could be arranged, then next—fuel for Ubilk's heart, where all fire had gone dead— "What are you doing all the way over there?"
Suddenly, a voice dropping from above made him stop in his tracks, and Ubilk stiffened.
Turning around, he found a gaze looking down at him from a second-floor corridor of the fortress—a dark-brown-eyed woman seated in a wheelchair, her expression unfriendly. Their eyes met.
She was the woman of unclear status who had also been aboard the dragon carriage convoy. Fixing Ubilk with a suspicious glare, finding him in the deserted back of the fortress— "Don't tell me... you're slacking off? If you are, that's the worst. Look—even a woman with busted legs like me is working. You looking to die, or what?"
"No, I'm not exactly slacking off—"
"Then why are you over here? Hey, don't give me some half-assed excuse, all right? Don't think you can fool a sheltered woman like me. I can tell when someone's lying, you know."
With an oddly self-punishing perspective woven into her rebuke, the woman lectured Ubilk.
It was a thoroughly one-sided approach, but any rebuttal seemed sure to only make her angrier. Ubilk genuinely struggled with what to do. And then, in the midst of his deliberation, a thought occurred to him.
"I'd like to ask you something, if I may. A young lady with bad legs, who probably can't fight in this battle—how is it that you're still alive?"
"Are you picking a fight with me!?"
"No—no, that came out wrong. Miss, I'm not trying to say anything bad about you—"
The woman leaned halfway out of the window, eyes wide, and Ubilk raised both hands in apology. While apologizing, he assembled in his mind what he had actually wanted to say.
In this situation—in the great fortress where warriors were rushing about—a disabled woman of no use.
"How is it that a young lady like you can keep looking for something you can do?"
"What do you mean, 'how'? It's obvious—if I did nothing, I'd feel terrible! That's all there is to it!"
"————"
Ubilk was taken aback by the blunt, unsparing retort.
To this stunned Ubilk, she clicked her teeth in irritation, muttering, "Ugh, honestly." Clenching her jaw, she fixed Ubilk with a glare as if he were her mortal enemy.
"Listen. My fiancé died in this battle. He came all the way to save me, and he died."
"...That must have been rough."
"Don't act like you know. In fact—not just you, everyone does this. Everyone acts like they understand, and it's the most useless thing. But you know..."
"But?"
"If I—sitting here in this wheelchair—whined and moped around, staying worthless, what would people think? They'd say, 'Ah, that idiot wasted his time saving someone like that,' and Todd would be mocked!"
Her voice and lips trembled, tears brimming in eyes filled with fury, as she spoke.
Todd—presumably her fiancé's name, thrown out without any preamble. What she voiced was, unmistakably, a persecution complex. But while the delivery was extreme, she was hitting on the truth.
If someone didn't know the circumstances, didn't know about her relationship with her fiancé, and only briefly crossed paths with her life as an outsider—that person would most likely end up pitying her.
"I don't need pity. If—I could hold myself with some dignity, if I had even a shred of work I could do, then that idiot—that idiot wouldn't be looked down on by people who don't even know him!"
"————"
"I'm going to live with my head held high."
With teeth clenched, tears in her eyes, her voice straining with pain—she said it. And then, once more, she fixed Ubilk with her glistening gaze.
From her vantage point above, she pointed a finger down at him: "If—if you understand, then go find some work and start doing it. Are you worse than a woman in a wheelchair?"
Whether that was meant to motivate him or simply because she had a vicious tongue, Ubilk—who didn't even know the woman's name—could not tell.
He couldn't tell, but he understood perfectly what kind of life she had staked out for herself.
And that— "You're extraordinary, young lady. You've single-handedly removed one of the reasons the Empire could fall."
—became the trigger that truly freed Ubilk from his divine mandate.
△▼△▼△▼△ "That man tried to confuse us with incomprehensible nonsense, tried to shroud us in smoke. Well, it seems he actually went to the fortress soldiers afterward to find some work, though..."
Walking beside Kachua, who was huffing with indignation,
Even in a situation where everyone needed to unite as one, a certain number of problem children would inevitably appear—the sort who dampened the morale of those around them and disrupted the group.
"But please be careful. There's no guarantee the other person won't fly into a rage and turn violent against you."
"Ugh, well... that's true..."
"Thankfully, the other person listened sincerely this time. While I'm away, please don't do anything reckless, all right?"
Bitterly pursing her lips, Kachua had no comeback for Rem's concern.
She didn't want to simply agree, but she also didn't want to say anything pointlessly abrasive. Catching a glimpse of that very Kachua-like inner conflict, Rem softened the corners of her eyes.
With Subaru and the others having departed for the capital, Rem and those who had remained in the city were caught up in preparations for the defensive battle.
Those who could fight took up their assigned positions, and those who couldn't provided support. Rem, who could use healing magic, was in great demand—it was a true all-hands-on-deck effort.
Having reformed one troublesome individual in Kachua, Rem was doing everything she could to help—of course, she also knew that her hard-fighting friend had not yet recovered from her grief.
Having lost her fiancé Todd, and having had her brother Jamal even boldly declare he was heading to his death—when Rem imagined what Kachua was feeling inside, her own heart felt ready to burst.
And Kachua's habit of putting on a brave face, trying to keep Rem from worrying, only made it worse.
That was why— "Kachua, could I ask you to help gather clean cloth? Once the battle starts, we'll surely need a great deal."
"Sure. See, you can actually fit quite a lot on my lap."
Without pointing out Kachua's bravado, Rem asked for her help. She believed that was what Kachua needed right now, and that it would help even one more person make it to tomorrow.
And then— "Ah, Rem-nee-sama!"
Hearing her name called, Rem looked up to see a young girl waving from down the corridor.
A cute girl with a large ribbon in her hair—Petra. Beside her stood the tall Frederica, and yet another person— "All three of you? What brings you here?"
Spotting
The three of them, she had been told, were colleagues of the Rem who had existed back when she still had her 'memories,' as Subaru put it. She had more or less accepted the nature of her relationship with Ram, but she was still unsure how to gauge her distance with the other two.
Sensing Rem's slight tension, Frederica smiled and lowered the corners of her eyes: "We've finished our work for now, and came to invite you on a break. We shouldn't let our guard down too much—a minimum level of tension is still necessary, but..."
"You can't stay on edge the whole time. Besides, the more time you spend with Rem, the better."
"I also side with Ram-nee-sama. And besides..."
At Ram's honest words, Petra smiled and looked up at Rem meaningfully.
Meeting Petra's gaze, Rem fell silent for an instant, then grasped their true intention. They were people she was still feeling out in terms of relationship, but the same was true for them.
That said, it was an emergency— "I appreciate the gesture, but this really isn't the time..."
"No, Rem. It's the opposite."
"Nee-sama...?"
"With the situation as it is, you might think there's no time for this. But you could also say that now is the only chance we have. Ram trusts you without question. But—"
Narrowing her pink eyes, Ram indicated the other two with a glance.
Rem had thought that in an urgent situation, bonding should be put on the back burner. But Ram and the others believed that precisely in times like these, trust was what mattered most.
"...What do you think, Kachua?"
"Ehh!? D-don't ask me about that! Besides, I wasn't even invited..."
"What are you talking about? You're Rem's friend, aren't you? You come too."
"Just because you look alike doesn't mean you're not completely pushy—actually, wait, now that I think about it calmly, you're pretty pushy yourself..."
Being addressed simultaneously by both Rem and her sister, Kachua was thoroughly bewildered.
Regardless, when pressed for her opinion, Kachua's gaze wandered for a moment: "...Can't you just get along? As long as you're talking about work and not slacking off, nobody's going to think anything of it. And she probably wanted to see you too, I'd imagine."
"Kachua—"
"—Kachua-sama."
"Hey! Don't come at me all at once! I don't even know your names!"
Having ultimately sided with Rem and Ram after much deliberation, Kachua was greeted by Petra's and Frederica's delight. Watching her grow flustered by their enthusiasm, Rem resigned herself.
It wasn't as though Rem felt bad about it either. It was simply that she couldn't help feeling pressed for time— "Are you that worried about Barusu?"
"Yes. That man is always doing reckless things—ah..."
At Ram's quiet question, the side of Rem's face with her hand pressed to her chest was so natural that her true feelings leaked out reflexively.
Startled, Rem moved her hand from her chest to her mouth and stared at Ram. But her sister merely closed one eye and smiled smugly, and Rem was reminded once again that she simply couldn't win.
And then it happened—a tremendous, deafening explosion echoed across the sky of the grand fortress.
"—!"
In an instant, as if spring-loaded, Rem spun toward the window and saw a flash of light tearing through the dawn sky.
It was the predetermined, precommunicated signal from the city's watchtower— "Frederica!"
"I know!"
Before Rem could even move, Frederica responded to Ram's sharp call.
She swiftly moved behind Kachua's wheelchair and grabbed the push handles.
"Kachua-sama, be careful not to bite your tongue!"
"Wai—hey, wa—don't you d—gyahh!"
"Frederica-nee-sama, this way!"
As Frederica broke into a run with Kachua screaming atop the wheelchair, Petra took the lead with her small body, dashing through the fortress corridors.
A moment later—throughout the grand fortress, no, across the entirety of the fortress city of Garcl—people began to move, and in an instant, the city transformed into a single living creature.
A community bound by fate, in life and death together—one organism, every last one.
"Rem, are you prepared?"
Holding her breath at the illusion that the entire city was shaking, Rem found Ram standing beside her.
At the question, Rem looked back at her sister's refined profile, let out a small breath, and: "If I said I wasn't, what would you do?"
"Then Ram would have already prepared for the part of your heart that isn't, so rest easy."
"...Nee-sama, you never cease to impress."
"Naturally. Ram is the kind of sister who loves to hold her head high."
Without needing to say more, Rem nodded at the sister who lent her courage, and dashed after Kachua and the others, running through the increasingly noisy fortress alongside Ram.
The battle was about to begin—the final battle that would determine the fate of this Empire.
"I'm counting on you. Because you're the one I'm counting on."
Thinking of the boy who was not here, Rem suppressed her frustration and prayed.
Whether it was a prayer to rely on the boy, or a prayer born from the helplessness of not being able to stand by his side—the source of her bitterness was unclear.
Chasing after Ram's back as she ran ahead, Rem dashed through the trembling fortress.
△▼△▼△▼△ The large-scale evacuation from the imperial capital of Lupgana, and the unprecedented withdrawal battle that accompanied it.
Despite significant casualties among both civilians and soldiers, the fact that the actual damage was dramatically lower than initially projected was largely due to the mindset that the citizens of the Volachian Empire carried at all times.
—Be strong, citizens of the Volachian Empire.
That teaching and philosophy had seeped into every corner of the Imperial citizenry, enabling many to make the optimal choices for survival even in the most extreme conditions.
That individual resolve and action bearing fruit, combined with the emergency preparations—beginning with the dragon carriage convoy—functioning to their fullest, was a tremendous factor. This was the achievement of someone who, having foreseen the arrival of the Great Calamity through the Star Reader, had prepared as though facing an inevitable threat.
That this very person had been unable to reach the battlefield against the Great Calamity was a painful regret.
"But that selflessness has saved the Empire! I pay my respects, General Chisha...!"
With that roar, Kahma Ilulx swept through the hordes of corpse soldiers with thorns launched from both arms, fighting desperately to protect the road leading back to the fortress city.
The
Among the 'Generals' who had participated in the capital's decisive battle, the role given to Kahma was the most critical. Though he himself would not admit it, his actions could truly be said to have been pivotal to the Volachian Empire's survival.
The relatively low civilian casualties owed to the resolve of the Imperial citizenry, the fortress city's robust defenses to prior preparations, and the Imperial soldiers' high morale and minimal attrition to Kahma's fierce fighting.
At every position during the army's gradual withdrawal to the fortress city, he had served as rearguard, using the 'bugs' he had internalized to continually slow the corpse soldiers' advance—a feat worthy of the history books.
But that was all contingent upon the Volachian Empire surviving.
And Kahma's extraordinary achievements were, in part, the result of not factoring in his own survival.
"————"
The great plain was filled to the horizon with the corpse soldiers' army.
Smashing them with thorns, light bullets, and wind blades, Kahma clenched his teeth against the 'bugs' gnawing at him from within, strangling back his own screams.
Members of the Insect Cage tribe wielded the power of 'bugs' coexisting within their bodies, manifesting a wide range of abilities and combat strength depending on the types of 'bugs' they harbored. But the relationship between the Insect Cage tribe and their 'bugs' was strictly symbiotic.
It was neither one-sided servitude nor complete assimilation.
Naturally, the 'bugs' demanded payment from their host for their services—mana, life force, and if that wasn't enough, flesh and blood.
Already, more than fifty hours had passed since Kahma had committed to fighting with everything he had, and in that time he had gone completely without food or water.
His heightened fighting spirit had honed his consciousness to an unprecedented degree, but the host's mental state was of no concern to the 'bugs' inside him. They simply made their hunger known to their host, and when ignored, grew tired of him and began trying to devour his flesh.
"I am the one breaking our promise. However...!"
He could not retreat from the front lines now, nor could he fall.
The Empire had many dependable warriors besides himself, but Kahma prided himself as the bravest among them when it came to death. He had to prove that pride was real.
For that reason— "I cannot fall here—"
Just as he was steeling himself, about to step forward even as his innards were being devoured— A large hand gripped his shoulder from behind.
And the owner of that hand was— "Stand down, General Kahma Ilulx! You've done more than your part!"
The booming voice was, for this individual, simply their natural speaking volume.
Struck speechless by the voice that washed over him like a gale, Kahma's eyes went wide. He turned to see the golden-armored giant who had appeared at his side—
Goz, with the massive war hammer that only he could wield gripped in his hand—Kahma was stunned by his appearance.
"Why are you out here, First General Goz? You should be commanding from the fortress—"
"Marquis Dracluy is there! Even if I hole up in the fortress, that remarkable woman will manage the troops well enough. Rather—it's on the battlefield where I can best serve His Excellency!"
"Then... allow me to fight alongside you."
His heart, nearly cracked by desperation and exhaustion, tried to re-form its armor with Goz's arrival. But Goz cut short Kahma's plea with a flat refusal.
Without another word, Goz pressed a thick finger against Kahma's chest— "I can hear something clawing and devouring inside you. The 'bugs' are losing control. If you were to be consumed, that would be a tremendous loss!"
"That may be, but everything I've accumulated was for this battle!"
"Kahma Ilulx! Dying is not atonement!!"
"————"
Hit squarely with a proper rebuke for the first time, Kahma's entire body trembled.
In that moment alone, even the 'bugs' that had been so focused on devouring Kahma's body paused, cowering before Goz's ferocious aura.
Gazing down at Kahma in this state, Goz furrowed his scarred, bearded face in anger: "I understand that you are still trying to atone for the rebellion your people committed alongside Barroy. But! Dying is not how you make that amends! You must live, Kahma!"
"First General Goz..."
"Even after this Great Calamity has subsided, the Empire will not immediately return to how it was! There is still so much where both you and I can serve His Excellency! That is why!"
Cramming loyalty until it nearly burst into his roar, Goz hammered his words into Kahma.
That this was not a place to throw away his life—his innermost thoughts laid bare—Kahma shut his eyes tightly and bowed deeply before Goz.
"At any rate, it's not a fight you could walk away from so easily. You'll have your turn again before long! Until then, eat, sleep, and restore your strength!"
"Understood. First General Goz, I leave this position in your hands..."
"I don't need to be told. —I've got plenty of pent-up frustration of my own!"
Breaking into a grin at Kahma's strained words, Goz hefted the war hammer on his shoulder and aimed it at the enemy lines.
Bracing that weapon of such impossible weight that no one else could even hope to lift it, Goz released a torrent of fighting spirit so dense it was almost visible to the naked eye.
Feeling the 'bugs' inside him shrink once more, Kahma thought: That
Imagining his own past, where he had nearly stood among them, and the future where he must— "—The Empire is strong. We are not so easily taken by corpse soldiers and calamities."
△▼△▼△▼△ "It's not a question of strong or weak—sheer numbers are a problem regardless. Fortunately, the fortress city's supplies and defenses are ample... but we won't hold out for many days."
"How refreshingly candid. Well, I find that far more agreeable than someone who can't voice an opinion without reading the other side's face. If strategy could match military might, I'd be even more pleased."
"Countess Dracluy, please rein it in about there."
Berstetz chided her, narrowing his thread-thin eyes at Serena. Serena shrugged off the gaze, and Otto, who had been on the receiving end of her earlier verbal flirtation, let out a small sigh.
The location was the command room of the grand fortress. Those gathered around the table were the individuals tasked with leading the full-scale urban defense.
Based on reports from the watchtowers, the fortress city of Garcl had entered a state of full combat readiness with the grand fortress at its center.
The delaying units that had been holding back the enemy advance had joined the city as well, and on the stage of the Volachian Empire's most heavily fortified city, the largest siege battle in Imperial history was about to begin.
"That said, the usual condition for winning a siege is the arrival of reinforcements—but we can't count on that this time. The only way we can call this a victory is..."
"—When Natsuki-kun and His Excellency the Emperor have struck down the enemy's mastermind. Until then, our role is to keep Volachia from falling."
"If Volachia falls,
Anastasia spoke with a smile, touching her pale cheek, while the fox-fur stole draped around her neck sighed with exasperation.
Quite an unusual appearance, but the fox-fur stole was apparently a spirit Anastasia had brought along. An extra head was useful when you could get one—truly, this was an all-hands-on-deck affair.
"First, we see how far the city's walls hold. Ilulx the Second General has stepped aside, and Ralfon the First General has gone forward. He looks the part but does surprisingly delicate, skillful work, that man. He'll try his best to follow His Excellency's orders and avoid killing the zombies, but..."
"Maintaining a non-lethal stance consistently is impossible. That goes for General Goz as well as anyone else. If we must hold out hope for something..."
"Maybe Natsuki-kun's friends and their group?"
"I'd say so."
Anastasia and Otto exchanged looks, reconciling their opinions.
The ones they were discussing were the members of the 'Pleiades Battalion,' on whom expectations were pinned as the fortress city's most distinctive defensive fighting force.
A black-haired boy who had forged what seemed a miraculous friendship with Vincent—this group, led by him, had contributed significantly to the evacuation support with their strong solidarity and inexplicable combat ability.
Currently, the representative boy had departed with Vincent and the others for the capital, and the group was being led by Gustavo Morello—at the forefront, the stern multi-armed race member, with the gladiators running rampant.
"High morale, and strong non-lethal capability. I keep saying it, but Natsuki-kun is a genius at bringing the right tools to the right place."
"Yes, that's about his only saving grace. If only he'd limit himself to delivering things and making connections, instead of charging headlong into the most dangerous spots—"
"But isn't that more of an
Anastasia shook her head with a resigned look, and Otto sagged in agreement.
Watching this exchange—observing the shifting dynamics between people had its own charm, but lingering too long would draw the Prime Minister's stern gaze.
Serena cleared her throat, drawing everyone's attention: "As agreed upon in advance, our battle strategy is strictly siege and defense. If there's a specific target whose defeat would end this, we would consider assassination, but..."
"In the current situation, His Excellency and the others who departed for the capital serve as that assassination arrow, as it were."
"Exactly. —This is an all-hands-on-deck battle."
At Serena's words, the air seemed to dry with a sharp snap, and the warmth drained from everyone's expressions.
The good-natured banter of moments ago was over. From here on, they would have to give everything.
The Imperial Army's officers and soldiers, the rebel warriors, the Pleiades Battalion's gladiators and the 'Shudrak people,' the allied Kingdom's supporters, the city-state's emissary—every asset at their disposal, thrown into the fray.
And as the first threshold— "I'll be counting on you, emissary of the city-state."
"Sure, leave it to me. —In all the time I remember, I've never let anyone's expectations down."
△▼△▼△▼△ —In the wars of the Volachian Empire, what was the most different from other nations?
If you set aside the Imperial soldiers' mindset and the strength of their fighting spirit, the answer was simple and clear—the presence or absence of aerial forces.
The unique 'Dragon Riding' technique that other nations lacked, combined with the abundance of dragons native to the Empire, gave it an overwhelming advantage in warfare.
It was something anyone could grasp without explanation—being able to fly was a massive advantage in any battle.
In truth, the fortress city of
Being bombarded from positions out of reach—that alone was enough to render any battle completely one-sided.
That threat held true even for the fortress city of Garcl, with its towering walls.
But— "Release—!!"
Standing in a line atop the wall, the Shudrak drew their bows and loosed their arrows skyward in unison.
An inescapable barrage of arrows blanketed the sky, and what met the onslaught head-on—pierced by countless arrows from the front—were the corpse dragons, ordered to strike the fortified city from above as they soared down.
Mercilessly struck, their heads shattered, the corpse dragons crumbled to dust and fell to earth one after another.
Some among them tried to continue flying despite taking moderate damage— "Finish 'em off!"
"Hope they drop!"
But those struck by arrows of incomparable size and weight were blown to smithereens in midair.
The Shudrak, who possessed unparalleled strength against aerial forces—their performance was deeply shaped by their experience in that earlier crushing defeat at the fortress city.
Without that defeat, the Shudrak would never have been able to fight the corpse dragons here.
Giving meaning to every battle, the 'Shudrak people' had likewise been fighting this turmoil in the Empire—born from
And, answering their fighting spirit— "Go! Handsome man!"
"I shall meet your expectations. —Al Clauseria."
An elegant voice wove the incantation, and as the tip of the knight's sword traced the sky, a trail of rainbow light followed in its wake, blocking the corpse dragons' path.
The aurora of the rainbow, despite its beauty, served as a barrier that rejected all things.
"The shimmer of the Shudrak in full bloom—as opposed to when they were still buds."
For the briefest of moments, the aurora of the rainbow blanketed the sky of the fortress city—but its scale and breadth covered nearly half of the vast city.
The Imperial soldiers on the front lines, and those defending the city from the walls, were struck speechless by its extraordinary power—and then could not help but be emboldened by its dependability.
Feeling that surge of morale on his skin, the knight who had produced the rainbow—
The striking young man with the white scar beneath his left eye, participating in this battle out of conviction, surveyed what he had to do without the slightest hesitation—watching the sky where the dead bore down, keeping the earth in his gaze, and believing in the fight of his friends who had gone to face the enemy beyond— "I will fulfill my role. You do the same—give it everything you've got, Subaru."