—The reconstruction of the vessel into that of the
That was the grand purpose for which the Witch
The purpose of her creation—something she had failed to fulfill in over three hundred years of existence in this world—remained a proposition forever lodged at Sphinx's core.
If one were to follow the logic of the "Star Reader," said to manifest only within the Volachia Empire, this could be called the heavenly fate bestowed upon Sphinx from the moment of her birth.
To fulfill that heavenly fate, she would not hesitate to destroy a kingdom or an empire alike.
And as a matter of fact— "—So it was your aim that you flooded the Empire with the dead?"
Chained to the prison walls with both arms raised, Priscilla narrowed her crimson eyes.
In those keen, perceptive eyes there was no trace of surprise at the events before her—only a quiet understanding, burning like kindling beneath a blazing conflagration.
Meeting that crimson gaze with lips twisted into a smile, Sphinx—who had become the Witch of Greed—nodded.
"Originally, the vessel and the soul are inseparable. I understood that from the very moment I was created. One could say that my long years of exploration were a journey to reconcile that discrepancy."
Tasked with the reproduction of the Witch of Greed, yet placed into a vessel that differed from the Witch of Greed, Sphinx had been born in an incomplete state as the Witch of Greed.
She did not find those three-hundred-plus years of trial and error—riddled with defects—to be a burden. And yet, even Sphinx could feel a sense of accomplishment at the horizon she had finally reached.
As Priscilla said, there was no doubt that the path which led to this completion had been paved by the "Great Disaster" she had unleashed upon the Empire.
—As stated before, the vessel and the soul are fundamentally inseparable for all living things.
This applied equally to beings like spirits, who lacked physical form. What mattered was not whether a physical body could be touched, but rather the vessel as a container for the soul.
When those two were mismatched, the result was an unnatural state of existence. And between the inseparable soul and vessel, a force would naturally arise to correct that unnatural dissonance.
Of course, no matter what corrective force might act, it was exceedingly rare for the vessel to change to match the soul.
Techniques of shinobi that altered the soul and reshaped the vessel to fit, or reincarnation curses that sacrificed countless lives—these were the rare exceptions. But the former required exceptional talent in the arts of properly aligning soul and vessel, while the latter could not be achieved without a strong bond between numerous sacrifices and the practitioner.
Both were conditions that Sphinx could not fulfill—possibilities she had been forced to abandon for lack of practicality.
And so Sphinx had made use of the "Great Disaster."
"Raising every corpse across the Empire through dark arts, and in that process, observing the invisible, untouchable souls without limit. Quite the ideal verification for your purposes, then."
"The occurrence of the 'Great Disaster' had been foreseen. The question was whether my plan would be recognized as worthy of it... and as you can see, the result speaks for itself."
"For someone crowing about her victory, you certainly walked a rather precarious tightrope?"
"I won't deny that. It was, in essence, a challenge."
Priscilla's words were correct. Indeed, it had been a trial rife with uncertainties.
Whether she could modify the formula of the "Secret of the Immortal King," connect with the "Mass of Stone," the great spirit of Volachia, and bring the corpse army into reality; whether Sphinx, created as she was, would be recognized as a singular soul and included among the targets of resurrection as a corpse; whether, among those corpses, one might emerge who could undergo the soul transformation that Sphinx herself could not achieve—all of it had been uncertain.
"But—"
Sphinx had succeeded in the resurrection of corpses through the reproduction of the "Secret of the Immortal King." Her own plan to be resurrected as a corpse had also gone smoothly. Moreover, individuals receptive to soul transformation—like
And then— "That the final push came from the flames of the 'Yang Sword'—now that is ironic."
"—————"
"Had it continued as it was, I would have been destroyed without question. That crisis, paradoxically, became the catalyst that drove me to conduct my final, countless deliberations."
"—No. That's not right."
"Not right?"
Tilting her head at the denial of her near-death experience—of the fact that she had escaped being incinerated soul and all—Sphinx's demeanor was markedly different from before, when she had been an incomplete vessel for the Witch of Greed. Her face, her neck, and her exposed skin were no longer deathly pale and drained of blood. Her eyes, too, were no longer the black-and-gold of a corpse—her black pupils had been fully restored.
And yet, Sphinx was unmistakably still a corpse.
The reproduction of a soul in a state approaching that of the living—its very realization had profoundly affected her outward appearance. The fact that this had been achieved at all was nothing less than proof that Sphinx's theory was correct.
"And what, precisely, have I gotten wrong? In essence, an explanation is required."
"Don't describe what you did with such bloodless words as 'countless deliberations.' You clawed desperately and hideously for life at the very brink of your soul's immolation."
"....I am a corpse, you know."
"So corpses are not permitted to claw for life? The narrow rope you crossed time and again was not something one could traverse by simply maintaining one's composure."
"—————"
"You clawed for life, and drew the desired result to you. Even if it is unpleasant and inconvenient for me, you will acknowledge that fact for what it is. —If you would be my enemy."
Priscilla spoke those words with regal composure from her chained position.
Priscilla's words—her gaze—though sharp, did nothing to diminish her essential character. Rather, it was almost as though she were praising Sphinx's struggle.
As though acknowledging the fact that Sphinx's trial and error had borne fruit.
"—————"
That created the faintest splinter in Sphinx's heart. A sentiment that the Witch of Greed should not possess—ought not to exist.
"—I should avoid engaging with your rhetoric. In essence, self-defense."
"What's this? Chaining me here is not enough for you—you would even plug your ears to my words? If that is the case, there is little point in your remaining here or in keeping me alive. And yet—why do you continue this?"
"I already told you I would not engage."
"Hmph, very well. Then I shall lay everything bare for you."
Arching her red lips into a bow, Priscilla ignored Sphinx's declaration of disengagement.
Her words, her voice—they carried immense force. Once she began to speak, no matter how much one might want to plug one's ears, there was a power that drew one into listening all the same.
"That you executed this plan in the Empire, and that now—having succeeded in reshaping yourself into the Witch's vessel—you continue to stand before me. Both have the same, perfectly transparent reason."
And so, unable to be silenced, Priscilla pressed on.
And then— "You intend to show me the Empire's demise while keeping me alive. Why? To show me the ruin of my homeland and shatter my heart. —As an act of inexhaustible hatred toward me."
She had accurately identified Sphinx's two grand purposes: the reproduction of the soul's transformation into the Witch of Greed, and her revenge upon
△▼△▼△▼△ —For Aldebaran, this encounter should never have taken place.
"ECHIDNAAAAA!"
Voice trembling with fury, Al seized a hastily conjured stone green dragon blade rising from the ground and hurled it at the Witch of Greed, who hovered in the air with her white hair billowing.
Distorting the space like a mirage, the Witch had been about to launch some manner of attack when the green dragon blade hurtled toward her in a vicious vertical spin.
The blade flew straight toward the Witch of Greed—a target far beyond the reach of Al's jumping ability— "I'm surprised someone still calls me by that name. In essence, an explanation is required."
With that flat declaration, the Witch of Greed dodged the green dragon blade with minimal movement.
The blade, its target missed, flew past without so much as grazing her.
—And that was exactly the point.
"Take this!"
The instant Al roared those words, the whiffed green dragon blade glowed and detonated.
He was not so naive as to believe a thrown blade would actually hit. If anything, Al understood perfectly well that his attacks were generally ineffective against most opponents.
That was why, for Al, combat was meaningless unless every movement was a calculated feint.
"—————"
The detonating stone green dragon blade burst into shrapnel that tore mercilessly toward the slender body of the Witch of Greed.
It had been designed to fragment in a specific way—while far from lethal even if it hit, it would inflict damage that could not be ignored.
Even with a limited amount of mana, Al had deliberately shaped the green dragon blade so the shards would be sharp. He had always been skilled at making the most of whatever materials were at hand.
"That's the kind of environment where you die if you can't do it!"
Above the roaring Al, the shrapnel shrieked as it drove toward the Witch of Greed. —But things did not go as he had hoped.
"Hmm."
Facing the oncoming shrapnel, the Witch of Greed merely narrowed her eyes slightly and did nothing. There was no need. The shrapnel parted around her as if of its own accord, avoiding the Witch who floated in midair.
Al's attack could not even penetrate the ambient wind currents surrounding the Witch of Greed.
But even that was exactly what Al had expected, sad as it was.
"—!"
If the Witch of Greed so much as glanced away for an instant, for a single heartbeat—that would be enough.
Seizing that gap, Al activated magic at his feet, and the rising earth became a launching pad, propelling his body high into the sky.
Then, mid-flight, Al transformed a stone in his grasp into a second green dragon blade.
Shaping a small stone into a large sword consumed far less mana than conjuring fire or water from nothing, and the crafting speed was incomparably faster.
"Oooooooooh—!!"
Using every spring in his body, Al swung the overhead strike down upon the Witch of Greed.
Unlike the shrapnel, this was not something she could auto-dodge with wind alone. His entire being drove into that annoyingly perfect, hateful face— "Ga—"
"I do appreciate the initiative to compensate for insufficient ability with creative ingenuity, but the essential issue remains your ability."
The Witch of Greed's slender arm slipped smoothly to redirect the green dragon blade, and her long leg pierced through the torso of the stunned Al. Folding his body into a V shape involuntarily in midair, Al was then kicked down to the ground by the Witch's added hip rotation.
"Gguah!"
He managed to curl his body at the last moment, preventing his neck from snapping on impact.
But the damage from the full-body blow was severe and unavoidable. And the harm dealt to Al was not limited to the physical impact alone.
"That movement just now..."
"As if to say it was unexpected. It is the result of having learned from my previous defeat and refined my insufficient abilities through dedicated effort."
The Witch of Greed lowered the leg she had used to kick, and as her words sank into his brain, Al was struck dumb.
Something was wrong. It was impossible. To the best of Al's knowledge, she had been the type to meddle indiscriminately with everything, yet her motor skills had been catastrophically poor. No matter how sound her theories, she had never been able to put them into practice—such a feat would be impossible for her even standing on her head. For that matter, she couldn't even stand on her head.
In other words— "Sensei... You're not
"That reaction is intriguing. By all normal logic, this should be impossible, but you knew my creator. —Why is that?"
When confronted with the question, Al looked again at the figure of the Witch of Greed hovering in the air—the one who bore an identical appearance to Echidna—and faltered.
Her appearance, her voice—it was all Echidna. And yet, she was not Echidna.
This Witch of Greed—no, this Witch—did not possess those black eyes. The bottomless, savage, grotesque, and insatiable curiosity that the true Witch of Greed should have held was simply not there.
"—————"
As Al closed his mouth in certainty, the being who looked like Echidna but was not narrowed her eyes—rimmed with white lashes—in faint dissatisfaction.
"You refuse to answer? I would like to know more about what you are than Priscilla Barielle's subordinate knows, but—"
"—Ah, I'm afraid that's no longer possible."
It happened in a flash of lightning, in the span of a heartbeat.
The instant the Witch was about to gesture toward Al, who had barely managed to rise, Cecilus appeared behind her—holding
Supporting Arakiya with one arm alone, he drew the Dream Sword with a single right hand and flashed—without hesitation, the Witch's head was cleaved clean off.
"Ngh—"
"You said I couldn't kill you, didn't you? Well, how about now? That remark was honestly a bit of a sting, so I'd be delighted if this clears my name!"
The blade parted the Witch's head from her body with such ease it was almost anticlimactic.
Above the speechless Al, the tip of Cecilus's tongue flicked out—the wind of his sword had cut down even the Witch.
That much Al could grasp, even amid the confusion of the Witch's appearance and the fact that she was apparently not the real thing.
But— "—In essence, that required deliberation."
What happened next, he could not comprehend in a single pass.
"—————"
Even as her severed head spun through the air, scattering the white hair sheared in the collateral cut, the beautiful face—now nothing but a head—slightly relaxed its lips into a mocking smile.
The instant after, the space around the falling Witch warped violently and turned white— × × × "You refuse to answer? I would like to know more about what you are than Priscilla Barielle's subordinate knows, but—"
"—Ah, I'm afraid that's no longer possi—w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-what?!"
The Witch narrowed her eyes beneath white lashes, murmuring in dissatisfaction.
Cecilus, who had been aiming for her slender neck from behind, was stunned by the earthen wall that suddenly materialized before his eyes. He immediately kicked off it to extract himself from the airspace, spun around, and landed—then fixed Al with a look of furious reproach.
"Hey, hey, hey, Al! What's with the sudden interference?! That was supposed to be the scene where I, underestimated from the start, show off my real ability and feel great about it! The audience is going crazy with boos!"
"Sorry for stealing your spotlight, but I can't let that happen. If I let you do it, everyone—or well, at least I'd get blown to smithereens."
"—Hm."
As Cecilus stamped his feet in protest and Al gave his reply, the Witch interjected a sigh.
With that single exchange, the Witch seemed to grasp that Al had seen through her trap—a formula that distorted space and used the rebound force to obliterate everything in the area.
It was a dead-man's switch—the same mechanism as a bomb that detonated not when the button was pressed, but when the button was released. The moment Cecilus severed the Witch's head and the power maintaining the distorted space was severed, the trap would trigger.
Its destructive power was such that Al could not survive it, whether he braced with an earthen wall or clad himself in stone armor.
Honestly, Cecilus might be able to escape even while carrying Arakiya, but for Al, this was a death sentence with no means of evasion.
That was precisely why he could not allow the Witch to be killed carelessly. —It was a fact Al had confirmed through fifty-three rounds of trial and error.
Furthermore, he had arrived at one other certainty.
"You're not Echidna. So who the hell are you?"
"That answer has already been provided. I am the Witch of Greed."
"So that means you're Echidna's—"
"Wait, wait, Al, you don't get it? Or rather, maybe you've never actually encountered one before."
Cecilus physically inserted himself between the arguing Al and the Witch. He lightly kicked off the ground and planted himself between their lines of sight, adjusting his hold on Arakiya.
"That woman is the mastermind behind the great catastrophe currently unfolding in the Empire—she's the one who's been raising the dead! Her appearance is different from when I last saw her, but I think she's even more villainous-looking now, so she really does have the look of a final boss!"
"So you're the one behind the 'Great Disaster'..."
"There is no need to conceal it. I am your enemy."
With those words, the Witch stated her position plainly, without any attempt to obfuscate—and at last, Al caught up to Cecilus in terms of situational understanding, escaping the humiliating position of being one step behind.
However, the question of the Witch's appearance remained unresolved.
"That face of yours... No. I can't think of any possibility other than Sensei doing something she shouldn't have—!"
"I would very much like to confirm what you know about my creator."
"But as it happens, I'm right here."
As Al clutched his helmet's visor in anguish, the Witch directed an interested gaze at him. But once again, Cecilus cut off her line of sight, standing in the way to deny her curiosity.
But having Cecilus here did not work entirely in their favor.
As mentioned before, the Witch's dead-man's switch was still active—until they could breach that, they could not afford to carelessly take down the Witch of Greed.
"...No. This thing is no Witch of Greed."
Saying that, Al denied the thought that had sprouted in his own mind.
The Witch certainly bore a face identical to Echidna's, but the title of Witch of Greed was not something given to a mere look-alike.
This was not limited to the Witch of Greed. —The "Witches" were not something so trivial.
"Since when does any random person get to become a Witch?"
"I have no desire to boast about my accomplishments, but being told that reaching this point was easy is rather disheartening."
"Shut up. Say that after you've died a hundred times and come back a hundred times."
The Witch seemed to find that unpleasant as well—but Al was no less annoyed.
This was no laughing matter. He desperately needed to reach Priscilla at the Crystal Palace, and being held up by the Witch's irritating face was out of the question.
"—Restarting thought experiment. Redefining the domain."
Fueling himself on his rising fighting spirit, Al updated his matrix and locked eyes with the Witch.
Even with Cecilus present, he could not let his guard down. This was because, combined with the fact that he could not carelessly kill the Witch, there was another fact Al had arrived at.
That was— "Cecilus, hold on to Arakiya tight."
"Of course I wasn't planning to just toss her aside, but... that phrasing doesn't exactly mean 'treat Arnya like a princess,' does it?"
"That's right. —That nasty-faced woman's target is Arakiya's life."
The reason the Witch—the one behind the "Great Disaster"—had personally come here was because Arakiya's life was at stake, sleeping in Cecilus's arms.
△▼△▼△▼△ "Normally, Arakiya would have been unable to suppress the 'Mass of Stone' she consumed and would have burst, losing her life. But your calculations went awry."
"—————"
"My 'Soul Marriage Art' and Masayume of the Azure Lightning were the unexpected factors. Either one alone might have been manageable, but Arakiya had both. —Though, had Arakiya herself not been able to endure until those factors aligned, your plan would have succeeded."
Priscilla stated this with conviction, and Sphinx's silence confirmed her assessment.
There was no hint of the sting of being exposed on Sphinx's face. Nor did she attempt to deceive with evasive language. Quite the composure when faced with a situation where things had gone sideways.
—Arakiya's survival was supposed to be a deviation from Sphinx's plan.
Had things proceeded as Sphinx had anticipated, Arakiya should have self-destructed from absorbing power beyond her capacity in order to save Priscilla.
Showing Priscilla that gruesome end was supposed to be one of the traps Sphinx had prepared to torment her, alongside the destruction of the Volachia Empire.
That was why Sphinx had deliberately fed Arakiya the "Mass of Stone."
But it had backfired. —Because Arakiya had endured without self-destructing, the interference of Priscilla and Cecilus had succeeded in extending her life.
As a result, Arakiya the "Spirit Eater" had not only foiled Sphinx's designs but had risen to a position that could greatly disrupt her plan.
Namely— "The 'Mass of Stone' within Arakiya was subdued by
"—Yes, that's correct. I have no objection to your assessment."
Priscilla's assertion was confirmed with a nod from Sphinx.
It was an acknowledgment of the dramatic, fateful shift in circumstances—that the "Mass of Stone,"
Arakiya's original aim had likely been to absorb a portion of Muspel, then have Cecilus kill her while she was thus connected, imparting the fear of death upon the great spirit and ending Sphinx's ability to use the "Mass of Stone" for the large-scale deployment of the "Secret of the Immortal King."
But judging by results alone, that plan had failed.
In short, this situation—an unanticipated "pickle" for both the living and the dead, with the "Mass of Stone" caught in the middle—was something neither side had foreseen.
"However, you are still the ones being cornered. If she... if General Arakiya falls, the 'Mass of Stone' Muspel will die as well. The end of the Volachia Empire cannot be averted."
"You think my eyes will cloud with tears if the homeland I already abandoned is destroyed? How you underestimate me."
"Then, sit and watch. That should make it clear whether your bravado is genuine or not."
Crimson and jet-black—Priscilla's and Sphinx's eyes locked in a fierce confrontation.
But against the heat and sharpness of Priscilla's gaze, Sphinx's iron will did not waver. There was a ferocity to her that refused to let her opponent celebrate freely, even though the gears of her plan had been disrupted.
The source was a hatred of Priscilla that rivaled the centuries-long obsession through which Sphinx had achieved her goal of becoming the Witch of Greed— "You hate me that much... no, is it Echidna that you yearn for, Witch?"
"The splinter deep in my heart has no name. Or perhaps—do you know what this inside me is? In essence, an answer is required."
"—I shall not be the one to utter something so indelicate as to name what the principal herself has not named."
Priscilla had no desire to assign a name to an emotion whose owner had not named.
A flower in full bloom was a flower, even without knowing its name. Even if it was the kind of flower that only bloomed atop a mound of corpses, the beauty of that flower was not a sin.
"—————"
In response to Priscilla's answer, Sphinx was silent. In her place, she snapped her fingers.
The moment she did, before the Witch's form could change, the distant vision reflected in the mana crystal embedded at the tip of her staff was projected onto a water mirror that materialized in the air.
—A being with the same form as the Witch before them, bringing an end to the Sword Wolf Kingdom by making stars fall from a still-bright sky.
△▼△▼△▼△ "—Moon, then cumulus, then wind."
Dropping those elegant, beautiful words onto his tongue, Cecilus dared to plunge into the storm of shrapnel.
Directly ahead, the swirling vortex of rising debris was a curtain of lethal steel, but Cecilus pulled Arakiya close against his chest and evaded it entirely with minimal movement. —No— "Excellent! A difficulty level that only I can handle!"
He licked the blood trailing from his grazed cheek and fixed his gaze on the Witch, who continued to summon the great gale.
The problem was that the Witch maintained her altitude, refusing to give up her advantageous position. The surrounding buildings—the only terrain that could serve as footholds—had been almost entirely leveled by Arakiya. There was nothing on the battlefield that could close the distance needed to leap and reach her.
And even if he wanted to lure the enemy to a different battlefield— "—Al Goa."
A short chant. What followed was a rain of massive fireballs descending on a scale that defied belief.
If even one of those landed, the entire area would be engulfed in flames, creating a hellscape rivaling the battle with Arakiya.
And unlike Arakiya, the Witch had no need to limit the scope of the battlefield.
"Simple but nasty! Slash!"
In an instant, the flash of the Dream Sword—drawn at the speed of lightning—split the clouds, cleaving the massive fireball above in two.
The fireball, bathed in the blade's arc, released into the sky the flames that would have scorched the ground into a sea of fire. The sky, once restored to its normal hue, was once again painted over with a destructive crimson.
The spectacle was spectacular—grandly so—but there was no leisure to admire the view.
Because the fireballs were not limited to a single volley.
"Goa. El Goa. Ul Goa. Al Goa."
Successive chants brought an apocalyptic deluge of flame raining down like a nightmare.
Against the inescapable fire, Cecilus blazed with fierce light in both eyes—then hurled Arakiya sideways and gripped the Dream Sword's hilt.
"Bangbangbangbangbangbangbangbang!!"
The staccato of blade strikes cut down the descending flames one after another. Thunderous booms, explosions, the sound of the world ending—the sky grew ever more dangerously vivid.
Though his cheeks were twisted into a grin, Cecilus did not welcome a war of attrition.
He could afford to push the Dream Sword's power to its limit while ignoring the accompanying risks, but managing resources that should have been limited—both he and the Witch were clearly doing the same thing.
In other words, the battle between Cecilus and the Witch had devolved into a stalemate.
If Al's words were true, carelessly lopping off the Witch's head would blow up the entire area. Looking closely, the air around the Witch was indeed warped, lending considerable credibility to the claim.
Even if he were caught in the spatial detonation, Cecilus might be able to run and escape. But the fact that Al—who harbored the suspicion of being able to "observe" things, just like Schwartz—did not suggest that strategy told him this was a losing gamble.
And so, the stalemate continued. Unless something could dramatically shift the situation, and if that something was Cecilus, they were heading straight for destruction— "That's why this is my moment to shine, Al!"
"I know that! And stop tossing Arakiya around like a ball!"
"Toss her?! How insulting! This is the fruit of the trust between you and me!"
Arakiya, tossed from Cecilus's arms, was caught by Al with one hand as he roared those words from above.
Of course, Cecilus had thrown her believing Al would catch her from a good position—but from Al's perspective, it looked like he was just tossing her away.
Still, Al had not failed a single catch. And more importantly— "Will you dodge this, too?"
The Witch murmured those words curtly, and from her fingertips, a white heat ray lanced forth.
It was not aimed at Cecilus, but straight at Al—no, at the Arakiya he was holding. But the attack that sought to stop her heart would not reach its target.
At the very last instant, Al dodged in a way that could only be described as barely, in the most precarious manner.
It was graceless, with no regard for appearances—utterly undignified evasion.
"If the result is good and it fits my character, that's all that matters! But just as Al said, Arnya is definitely being targeted!"
"Because if Arakiya dies, it's like the bottom drops out of the Empire!"
"That makes absolutely no sense!"
Receiving what sounded like a joke delivered with deadly seriousness, Cecilus laughed but did not dismiss it. In a single fluid motion, he snatched Arakiya back from Al's hands and accelerated.
"Come, come, come—chase me if you can with your eyes, with your heart, with your soul—oh!?"
Al kicked off the ground, and the speed of Cecilus holding Arakiya surged toward the speed of lightning.
Surrounding Cecilus's trajectory, beautiful mirrors of water materialized in the air—their surfaces reflecting and refracting the white heat rays the Witch unleashed, scattering light in every direction.
Lethal beams crisscrossed from all directions, targeting Cecilus.
"I-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-it hurts!"
Through that maelstrom of raging light, Cecilus danced. He leaned, bent forward, spread his legs to lower his stance, and at times took massive strides to leap over the beams.
Where dodging was impossible, he met the rays with the Dream Sword's blade, reflecting them back and shattering the water mirrors. As the shattered mirrors sent droplets scattering like the splash of a stone skipped across water, he cut through the storm— "—This is what it feels like to make an enemy of the world."
In that instant, the Witch's declaration and the sound of taut air struck Cecilus's eardrums.
The pain that ran through his body in a flash was proof that the spray from the shattered water mirrors had frozen in an instant, stealing his body's heat and his freedom.
Even the water mirrors had layers upon layers—thoroughly, meticulously devised.
"Making an enemy of the world"—what a refined way to put it.
Indeed, in the Volachia Empire, where genuine mages were exceedingly rare, one would likely never encounter an opponent like this.
"But I'm afraid you're not quite right. —The world is always waiting for me to take the stage!"
Even as his body temperature dropped, his spirits soared. In a flash, the mana coursing through Cecilus's body erupted with a reckless force like lightning struck, instantly evaporating the freezing that had stolen his warmth and freedom, and he resumed his charge.
Breaking free of the icy restraints with that momentum, Cecilus looked up at the sky and grinned.
It was not a grin directed at the Witch in the air. —It was because, beyond the Witch, falling from an even higher point in the sky, he could see the light of stars.
"—Al Shario."
The chant announced that those starlights were the Witch's doing.
Faced with the preposterous reality that a mage of terrifying power could bring down stars, the Dream Sword sheathed at Cecilus's waist pulsed with eager resonance.
It resonated with him. Masayume hungered to devour its master's swelling "dream."
"—Interesting."
The falling light said: Cut a star.
The blade at his waist said: Cut a star.
The countless spectators, rising to their feet, said: Cut a star.
Cecilus Segmunt's soul said: Cut a star.
"—————"
For one moment—just one sliver of a moment—he diverted his consciousness from the star, and Cecilus licked his lips.
Now, the supreme proposition that galvanized his soul was the "dream." Everything else was relegated to the past. As a ritual to that end, Cecilus laid the girl in his arms upon the ground and stood before her.
He chose the flattest ground he could find. He removed his outer coat and laid it beneath her, taking the utmost care.
From this point on—he was sorry, but he would purge even her existence from his awareness.
"Ha."
A ragged breath, and after a single beat, Cecilus drew the Dream Sword at his waist.
The drawn blade touched the air and began to vibrate, as if drinking in the heat of its gripping master, and took on a radiant glow.
The demon sword that devoured its owner's "dream" and made dreams into reality.
Cecilus focused his consciousness on the starlight, forgetting to blink, to breathe, even to feel his own heartbeat. He poured everything into the singular goal of becoming one with the demon sword in his hands.
During this time, the Witch was clearly doing something to try to disrupt his concentration.
"Ha."
Cecilus's awareness converged upon a single point: the starlight. And to achieve it, he excluded everything unnecessary. Color, sound, scent, taste—earth, water, fire, wind—everything was unconsciously discarded.
But merely removing things was not enough.
—When necessity demanded.
"—————"
The starlight hurtling toward the earth was wrapped in a destructive force so immense that the ground cracked and the air burned and light itself became pain—all from the pressure alone, without even touching the ground.
Facing the sky to meet it, Cecilus Segmunt gave thanks in this moment.
With that gratitude in his heart, he celebrated everything.
"—————"
The sigh that escaped his lips—who would notice how its timbre had changed?
What Cecilus needed in this moment, what he wanted in order to wield the Dream Sword in his hands without reservation—the answer was terribly faint, born of a raw, blood-soaked emotion.
The final exchange he had shared with his father had taught Cecilus Segmunt where his soul resided.
The sword of
And therefore— "—Swordsman, Cecilus Segmunt."
Uttering that solemn declaration, Cecilus Segmunt of the Azure Lightning swung the Dream Sword with limbs befitting the star performer of the Volachia Empire—its strongest being.
△▼△▼△▼△ —Lightning cleaved the starlight.
There was no better way to describe what occurred.
But when faced with the actual event, the only question that remained was whether one could believe what one's own eyes had witnessed.
However— "No matter how ridiculous it is...!"
Cecilus Segmunt had cut down a star.
The mastermind—bearing the likeness of the Witch of Greed and wielding the forbidden magic she had been known for—gazed in wide-eyed astonishment at the same reality Al was witnessing.
Bringing down a star was no easy feat.
Even the real Witch of Greed had said she didn't want to bring down more than one per day.
In other words, it could not be repeated.
"Oh—!"
The severed starlight bleached the sky white, and in a world where sound itself had been erased, Al screamed to bolster his own spirits alone. Using the stone pillars he was generating as footholds, he surged into the sky—toward the Witch, who stood frozen in shock after her star was cut down— "I admit I was surprised. But—"
The green dragon blade Al brought crashing down was shattered in the Witch's palm. She had wrapped her hand in wind and amplified it into ultravibrations—a combined spell of magic and martial technique that pulverized its target.
A spell that, if it connected squarely, would shred flesh, bone, and everything else to pieces.
With that technique still coursing through her palm, the Witch moved to crush Al's head—helmet and all.
Having witnessed Cecilus unleash a blow far beyond all measure, the Witch recalibrated her assessment of him as a threat and deemed Al merely a pebble to be swiftly removed as an obstacle to killing Arakiya.
But she did not know. —Even a pebble could kill the one who tripped over it.
"In essence, creative ingenuity—"
In that instant, Al's left arm—a makeshift prosthetic of stone and earth—struck the Witch's head.
"—was your undoing."
"—————"
With those words, imbued with a meaning different from his usual tone, Al watched the Witch's pupils tremble.
In that split second, she was plotting some counterattack or defensive measure. —But that split second was an eternity before Al, who had already finished his preparations.
"—Oru Shamak."
Inside the iron helmet, Al's lips wove the chant, and the world was transmuted.
It enveloped the Witch—caught in momentary cognitive paralysis from the unexpected blow—binding her entire body, halting her movement and shutting down the gates within her.
It was Al's trump card against the Witch of Greed, developed through countless repetitions.
"—Ah."
A weak breath escaped, and the Witch, robbed of her freedom, fell to the ground.
Entangled in what could only be called black light—a paradoxical power—she resembled an insect in its cocoon. In fact, Al had immobilized her to precisely that degree. —The same way one would restrain the world's most terrifying Witch.
"But that should... do it."
Landing beside the fallen Witch and attempting to raise his head, Al was overcome by a sense of collapse and collapsed to his knees, vomiting.
The makeshift left arm had already crumbled. With his right hand, he hastily lifted his helmet's visor, and from his exposed mouth he retched up copious yellow bile, his entire body creaking under the devastating exhaustion.
A throbbing, brutal pain assaulted his head, and his vision went completely black.
This sensation meant his sight would not return for some time. It was some comfort that the Witch was already restrained—but— "—In essence, corrections are required."
"Huh?"
Gasping for breath, his mouth's corner smeared with bile-streaked saliva, Al raised his face.
His vision remained dark, but he turned toward the direction of the voice and raised a question.
What had the Witch just said?
The Witch, whose gates had been forcibly sealed and who should have been unable to channel magic—what had she— "What was that?"
Al, his sight sealed, did not notice. —That the Crystal Palace, at the northernmost point of the imperial capital—the building heralded as the most beautiful in the world—had begun to glow faintly in its entirety.
△▼△▼△▼△ "—————"
The Crystal Palace flickered, and the mana cannon—the imperial capital
It had been fired once before, during the imperial civil war when the living were still fighting over the throne, just before the "Great Disaster" threatened the entire Empire. It was a weapon beyond human control, one capable of rewriting maps.
Cecilus Segmunt instantly recognized that the cannon's targeting was locked not on them—but on the dark mass that was the Witch, collapsed on the ground.
It was a self-destruct tactic designed to lock onto the Witch directly and guarantee the elimination of the target—the work of a genius at pettiness, truly wicked and cunning, befitting a villain.
"Masayume."
He confirmed the feel of the demon sword in his hand, and Cecilus steadied himself after the feat of cutting down a star.
Al had achieved a great victory—any further spotlight for Cecilus would be excessive. Behind him was a sleeping heroine whose protection was narratively non-negotiable for both the story and a star performer. And the perfected Cecilus, revived with his father's death as a dim catalyst—surely, he was roused.
A star, then the Empire's treasure; facing it all as the Azure Lightning—and at that very moment— "—————"
He had been about to take a step forward, but Cecilus froze with his foot still raised, blue eyes wide.
Then he let out a breath, lowered his foot where it was, and shook his head with a weary "good grief"— "—AL SHARIO!!"
Just before the mana cannon's light could reach him, a great voice echoed through the imperial capital's sky.
The instant after, the sky—painted at will in red and white—was swallowed by black, and an abyssal hole of unfathomable size opened in the heavens, devouring even the light.
It was a magnificent, exhilarating intervention that utterly shattered the Witch's scheme to sacrifice herself and steal victory— "You were just about to come out, weren't you, Boss? You would've missed your turn."
Spotting the tiny, tiny silhouette in the sky that had created the great void, Cecilus grinned at the sight of a black-haired boy and a girl in a dress, their hands clasped together.
Cecilus's grin may not have reached them, but the boy shouted: "Don't even think you're getting away with this! —Lady