"—Lady
Receiving this report from Crind—who had flown in using the Authority of "Melancholy"—Roswaal was shaken by the gap between the difficulty of rationally accepting what had happened and the far greater difficulty of accepting it emotionally.
The location was the Barielle mansion—the estate that the late
It was in a room of this very mansion that Crind had appeared, bearing his report.
To be perfectly honest, Roswaal had not welcomed Subaru's proposal to take the grieving Al to the
It had already taken considerable time to recover Subaru after he'd been flung to the Empire of Vollachia. —
Naturally, Rem's return was cause for celebration for everyone in their camp, but considering the time it had cost, there was no room for optimism. They needed to start recovering the delays in the initiatives required for the Royal Selection immediately. —And Subaru's proposal about the Pleiades Watchtower had come precisely at that moment.
What should take priority? Roswaal had tried to persuade Subaru from that angle, but had been unable to change his mind, and in the end, Subaru's proposal was approved.
Even so, there was not a shred of merit to be found in Subaru's judgment.
"Please, I implore you—do look after Lord Al..."
The one who spoke while bowing his curly, peach-colored head was Schult—Priscilla Barielle's attendant, the loyal retainer she had cherished and protected.
Though still a young child, Schult strove earnestly to be wise and strong. Despite the tremendous shock of Priscilla's death, he refused to let his late mistress's name be tarnished and was desperately holding himself upright on his own thin legs. Schult was also close to Al, and had been deeply worried about the severity of his injuries.
Subaru's consideration for Al was proving extremely useful for winning Schult's heart.
Ingratiating themselves with Schult and placing him in the Emilia camp's debt was a major strategic advantage—particularly for the Royal Selection going forward, and for how they would handle the now-vacant Barielle Domain.
When the Royal Selection began, Emilia and Priscilla had been rivals, but over the course of their competition, the two had come to acknowledge one another and become friends whose hearts were deeply intertwined. Now that Priscilla was gone, Emilia—who would carry on her legacy—would support and guide the people of the Barielle Domain who had been under her protection. —To make that story a reality, Schult, who had been so deeply favored by Priscilla, was indispensable.
Besides, Emilia had already given her word that "once the Royal Selection is over, I'd like to become friends with Priscilla," so a certain amount of embellishment fell well within the realm of acceptable storytelling.
For that reason, though reluctantly, Roswaal had sent Subaru and the others off to the Pleiades Watchtower and chosen to accompany Schult back to the Barielle Domain. —But it had been a miscalculation.
"Lord Subaru and the others... then what about Garf? What happened to Garf? He went along to protect Lord Subaru and the others, he did."
"Unfortunately, Garfiel was defeated by Aldebaran's stratagems and sustained serious injuries. Fainted. One would like to hope for the effects of the 'Blessing of the Earth Spirits,' but the injuries were sustained in the
"Garf...!"
Standing beside the contemplative Roswaal, Frederica—who had accompanied him to the Barielle Domain—heard Crind's account of Garfiel's condition and gritted her fangs with a conflicted expression.
What showed on her profile was not disappointment or discouragement at Garfiel's failure to fulfill his expected role, but rather relief that he was still alive, tinged with deep concern at imagining the pain he must have endured.
Roswaal too felt relief at Garfiel's survival, but— "...It doesn't quite add up, does it? In the first place, Lord Al's abilities shouldn't come remotely close to Garfiel's. Of course, Garfiel's mental fortitude is still far from complete, so the possibility that his mind was attacked and that gap was exploited does exist, ne."
"...That would be the most likely explanation for Garf. That boy is too soft."
"Kindness is nothing to be criticized for. Even if it was for the sake of self-discipline, there was no need to deliberately choose harsh words. Pointing that out."
"You, of all people, only say things like that when—"
At Crind's words of concern, Frederica gritted her fangs with a conflicted expression.
Their relationship had begun more than ten years ago, back when Frederica had first left the
Initially, Frederica had adored Crind like an older brother, following him around at every opportunity with cries of "Big brother! Big brother!" But around the time she started growing taller, that relationship had undergone a complete reversal.
What had triggered the change—Roswaal, who knew the circumstances, understood Crind's perspective. But Frederica, who had been abruptly kept at a distance, never accepted it. And so she had continued to loathe him with a serpent's tenacity ever since—a matter on which no judgment could be passed.
In any case— "Crind, judging by your attitude, I'd surmise there were circumstances that prevented you from simply blaming Garfiel... so what happened, ne?"
"—The 'Divine Dragon'
"—! The 'Sword Saint'? But if that's the case..."
"Could it be—Lord Al even took down Reinhard?"
"More precisely, it would be appropriate to say he was sealed away. Correction. Additionally, various problems have been arising in the
At Crind's words, Roswaal narrowed his eyes and fell deep into thought.
Frederica sat with her green eyes wide in shock, unable to absorb the torrent of information. Roswaal's inner state was roughly the same. The difference between them was that, even while being pelted with information that would naturally leave anyone stupefied, Roswaal still had options.
In other words—was this not the stage at which he should fulfill his promise with Subaru?
"————"
Before Subaru had formally received his knight's investiture, when the situation surrounding the Sanctuary had been resolved, Roswaal had laid out his thinking and his stance to Subaru.
If
"Lady Priscilla had been a difficult judgment call, that one."
Whether to include Priscilla in Subaru's "everything" had been a troubling question.
But in the end, Roswaal had judged the death of his ultimate political rival to be a tailwind for Emilia's bid to win the Royal Selection, and decided Priscilla's death fell outside the terms of their contract. —Furthermore, to the best of what he'd heard, Priscilla's death was one that should not be overturned.
Priscilla Barielle's death was the result of Priscilla Barielle's choice.
So long as she was not an indispensable asset to Roswaal's objective, he did not believe that choice should be denied.
—But Subaru's current situation was, by any account, dire.
According to Crind, there appeared to be no significant casualties, but given the situation Al had been placed in, it was only a matter of time. If it would happen sooner or later anyway, and Subaru had already been pushed this far, then perhaps it was time to make him start over.
If a final push was needed, Roswaal would deliver it.
But— "—Beatrice."
Roswaal clung to a slender hope in Beatrice, who had been captured alongside Subaru.
Not because she was a Great Spirit who had mastered shadow magic, nor because she was the supreme creation of
He simply found himself wanting to believe in Beatrice.
"—My Lord, please, do pull yourself together."
The one who spoke was neither Frederica nor Crind.
It was Schult—the young attendant who had been seated in the mansion's reception room, present for the discussion about the Barielle Domain's future. He had been repeatedly startled by Crind's sudden appearance via "Compression" teleportation and the subsequent report, exclaiming "Eh?" and "Ah!" at each turn. But now, as the child fixed Roswaal with those words, much of the fragility that had characterized his face until now had been carved away—no, concealed.
That concealed, untouchable veneer—people call it courage or resolve.
"For what Lord Al has done, I will apologize in his stead. And beyond that, I ask you—please do not let Lord Al do anything more dangerous."
"Lord Schult..."
"I am fine. For Lady Priscilla's sake, everyone at the mansion will help me, so... please, I am begging you!"
Schult bowed deeply. Frederica watched his trembling shoulders, then turned to Roswaal. In her eyes was a prayer—that he would heed Schult's wish—and a plea of her own: that she wanted to be of help to him. But— "To honor Schult's wish to the fullest extent, I cannot leave Frederica behind. Especially if Lord Al has the 'Divine Dragon' with him, ne."
"My Lord, what do you mean by..."
"—On that matter, I will handle it myself. I volunteer."
Frederica furrowed her brow, not understanding the connection between the "Divine Dragon" and herself. Before she could ask for clarification, Crind had already stepped forward with that proposal of his own volition.
Frederica, not grasping the meaning, grew more confused—but Roswaal understood. The meaning behind Crind's words carried weight beyond their surface.
Crind had believed that no matter how many words he used, Roswaal would never make that decision again. Meeting that gaze, Crind allowed a faint smile to cross his lips and said: "I was told that I could no longer remain a bystander—kicked into motion by the radiance of a soul too bright to ignore. Envy, he called it."
* * * "—The fellow can apparently rewind time to a point that has already passed. Doesn't seem to be a very long stretch, though, eh?"
"————"
The instant Old Man
Emilia's large, beautiful, jewel-like eyes went perfectly round, while Rem blinked repeatedly, her eyes shimmering like the surface of a clear lake.
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," she remarked, echoing Emilia's sentiment.
Had Crind been present, someone might have been there to receive Old Man Rom's report with a bit more composure. But since he had only just arrived with Rem and Ram and had asked Roswaal's group to pick them up, his reaction could not be observed.
Still, before she'd had time to prepare herself, it might have been a blessing in disguise that she hadn't had to hear this alongside Roswaal.
"Rewind time, that's..."
"—'Return by Death.'"
Beside Petra, whose voice trembled ever so slightly, "Subaru"—arms folded—murmured those words.
At the sound of that, Petra tucked her chin in, but even she didn't have the composure to feel her heart flutter at the thought that the answer matched that of her beloved.
This was the Authority—the extraordinary power Al had been wielding—that Old Man Rom had uncovered through their initial confrontation.
At the Pleiades Watchtower, Al had repelled Garfiel and Ezzo. In the Augria Sand Dunes, he had fought Reinhard to a standstill while borrowing the "Divine Dragon's" power. With just three people, he had broken through the five-hundred-strong force Old Man Rom had commanded in
The sheer magnitude of Al's villainy was now finally connecting the dots—showing how each of those feats had been brought to fruition.
It was possible. —If Al, like Subaru, was a user of "Return by Death."
"That guy Al is an otherworlder just like me. So there was totally a possibility he'd have awakened to a similar power. I mean, isn't that basically a given in isekai stories? And yet I never even thought about it... I'm way too slow on the uptake...!"
"So Al really is the same as Subaru?"
"Yeah, the probability's high. Actually—his leap ability might be a different type that's even more practical. It's also a given that the powers wouldn't be exactly the same, and enjoying those differences is one of the highlights of isekai."
"Your life is on the line, so who cares about 'givens' or 'highlights'! What matters is that we've figured out one of Al's secrets, and what to do about it!"
"Yeah, yeah, you're right, that's exactly it. ...But we've unraveled a lot. If that's the case, then running from Reinhard, setting traps for him—could he pull it off? Could he? Would Return by Death really be enough against Reinhard? Wouldn't he have to die like a hundred times?"
Having realized that Al was presumably a time-leap user, "Subaru" held his head in his hands.
Honestly, Petra didn't think the "Sword Saint" Reinhard van Astrea was all that incredible—not to the extent everyone around her hyped him up. Part of it was that she'd never met the man himself, but Reinhard was supposedly strong, and she saw no reason to be surprised that he performed up to that standard.
If anything, she thought Subaru was far more impressive—someone who, up against opponents far beyond his level, squeezed out every ounce of power he had and then some to deliver results beyond what anyone expected of him.
And so, the fact that this "Subaru" ranked himself lower than Reinhard didn't sit well with Petra at all. She wanted him to puff out his chest and declare himself the greater one. On the other hand, too many people catching on to Subaru's appeal would be a problem.
"Well, with me, Lady Emilia, Lady Rem, Beatrice, and
Petra was proud of the fact that, even if someone had recently caught on to Subaru's charms and tried to muscle their way in, the fortress they'd built was impregnable.
If there was any concern at the moment, it was the possibility that the overly kind Subaru might side too much with the other camp. But even so, she trusted that he would keep Lady Emilia at the top. —Though that was itself a bit of a headache for Petra.
In any case— "If Old Man Rom is in his right mind, and his eyes aren't just holes in his head, then we've got a problem, yeah."
"That girl's ramblings raise all sorts of concerns, but I'm glad you understand. It's because of that power that Aldebaran broke through our encirclement. And the reason Emilia was cornered in the Royal Capital was that Authority of his, I'd wager."
"Um, sorry. I still haven't really grasped what's going on..."
Ram and Old Man Rom, the two cleverest among them, were pushing the conversation forward, but Emilia held up a hand to slow things down. At her side, Rem nodded adorably.
"I'm the same as Lady Emilia. Rewind time? Sister, what does that even mean...?"
"Right, I suppose I haven't explained enough to Rem, who's only just woken and isn't in top form. —Look at this."
Ram stepped forward and showed Emilia and Rem the coin resting in her palm.
It was a Saint Gold Coin, engraved with the image of the "Divine Dragon" Volcanica. After making sure they got a good look at it, Ram rotated her hand and let the coin drop.
Seeing the trajectory of the falling coin, Petra understood Ram's intent. The Saint Gold Coin hitting the floor—using that to demonstrate the advantages of time leaping— "Careful! Ram, you really are such a butterfingers sometimes."
"Sister can be unexpectedly clumsy at times. That's part of her charm too."
But before the coin could hit the floor, Emilia moved swiftly and caught it. She returned it to Ram, and Rem offered words that fell somewhere between comfort and encouragement.
The expression on Ram's face as she received the coin was... rich with meaning.
"Oh, Ram was going to show it falling—to demonstrate 'if you know it'll fall, you can stop it,' right? She didn't know Emilia would catch it, but that was the kind of thing she was going for?"
"Probably. But since this is a good opportunity, why don't we leave the explanation for Lady Emilia and Lady Rem to Sister Ram? The two of us talking isn't going to fill their heads."
Sorry to Ram, but Petra decided to hand off the lecture to Ram and Old Man Rom—enough for Emilia and Rem to catch up—and turned her thoughts to the problem beyond that: specifically, how to deal with Al.
She wanted more details about Al's Authority. And if she could disprove "Subaru's" earlier assessment— "...Are you okay, Petra?"
"Meili..."
While Ram and Old Man Rom devoted their words to explaining things to Emilia and Rem, Meili happened to turn to Petra.
Meili should have been among those who understood little about time leaping, but what she prioritized here wasn't understanding Al's Authority—it was Petra's complexion.
She gently reached out and touched Petra's forehead, murmuring, "You're warm..."
"You've been running around nonstop from the tower all the way here, so I haven't said anything, but—I know you were reading the book in the tower, Petra."
"Yeah, that's right. —Thank you for keeping it a secret from Lady Emilia and the others."
"You're just trying not to worry your sisters, right? I can trust that?"
"Of course."
Petra took Meili's hand from her forehead and squeezed it tightly between both of hers.
As Meili said, she probably did have a slight fever. But this felt less like illness and more like a brain fever from overexertion.
She already had so much to think about, and now it wasn't just Petra's own thoughts—she was also processing the emotions and thoughts of "Subaru," as though the brain in her little head had taken on that burden too.
She supposed it was partly the depth of her attachment, but Petra had only read the "Book of the Dead" for one person—Subaru—and look what it had done to her. Ezzo, who had read more than ten, was well beyond the pale. And Pflügel, the suspected designer of that tower who had built the Great Library—a mechanism so extreme that only someone equally unhinged could use it properly—was even more out of his mind.
He was probably the type who assumed everyone could do what he could, and his way of thinking was, for better or worse, the kind that grated on Petra's nerves.
But at the same time, Petra also thought this: If that Great Library hadn't existed, there were so many things she might have gone to her grave without knowing.
And among the things she'd been able to learn, there were things she had truly wanted. As long as those things continued to light a fire in her heart, she didn't want to stop.
Even if, after it was all over, her brain did boil over.
"And you know, I've been thinking."
"...Thinking about what?"
"If Old Man Rom is right, and Al's Authority is what I think it might be..."
"Petra?"
Meili and "Subaru" both leaned in to peer at Petra, who had pressed a finger to her thin lips and cast her eyes downward. The two of them didn't recognize each other's existence, and their confused reactions were so alike that Petra almost burst out laughing despite the circumstances. Then she said: "—I think I figured out Al's weakness."
* * * "—Reinhard's mother was put to sleep by that bastard himself?"
Felt caught herself and felt bitter about even hesitating to say that out loud.
Not because it involved Reinhard. Well—in a sense, yes, because it involved Reinhard.
From the moment they'd met, Reinhard had thrown Felt off balance at every turn, and she often found herself unable to make the kind of judgment or decisions that felt like her own when it came to events he was involved in. That was partly because he had repeatedly used force to prevent the outcomes she decided on, and if she was being more honest, it also stemmed from the very first time he'd seen her cry over the matter of the stolen goods vault.
But what was probably the biggest reason was that Reinhard had given up on so much.
That was what made Felt hesitate to fully accept Reinhard. At the same time, it was the reason he never truly entrusted anything to her from the bottom of his heart.
The philosophy Felt carried from the slums—"Live strong"—was words to live by.
Regardless of where you were born or who you were, that spirit alone would see you through anything. And measured against that philosophy, Reinhard was not living strongly.
As a lion, as a dragon, as a human—Reinhard was half-hearted in all of it.
But if part of the reason for that lay in the fact Felt had just realized— "—Nah, that doesn't add up."
Even so, Felt immediately shot down her own hypothesis.
She was convinced, with a certain certainty, that Reinhard was connected to his sleeping mother—Luanna Astrea. But if Reinhard had known that fact, then his conduct up to this point wouldn't hold together.
Of course, it wasn't impossible that Reinhard had concealed this from Felt and was quietly hiding the fact that he was involved in the reason his mother wouldn't wake. But— "No way. That clumsy oaf couldn't pull off something that subtle."
Was there anyone else in the world besides Felt who would describe Reinhard that way?
Those who projected their ideals and dreams onto the "Sword Saint" might have filed a complaint, but within Felt's camp, treating Reinhard as a hopeless klutz was practically the norm.
Flam and Grassis, whom he'd known the longest, with their easy familiarity regularly tied Reinhard in knots with their fondly poisonous barbs.
Ezzo, who often had opinions about the Astrea family's domain management, frequently held his head in his hands wondering "How did he manage to... until now?" And Old Man Rom, who apparently had no high opinion of the "Sword Saint," had maintained his curt attitude toward Reinhard from the very start.
And of course, the person who had spent the most time tearing Reinhard down, bad-mouthing him, and dragging the title of "the greatest knight" through the mud was Felt herself.
All the various remarks and actions from those in her camp—Reinhard had taken them in.
And what did he do, having taken them in? —He laughed.
And he did so with genuine joy.
In that instant alone, he looked as though he hadn't given up on a single thing.
"If that bastard could hide his true feelings, he wouldn't be able to fake that laugh."
That was Felt's conclusion—the kind of thought that only someone who, unlike those who insisted on putting Reinhard on a pedestal, saw him for what he was could arrive at.
And so, the people besides Felt who described Reinhard that way were those in the camp, the knight friends who were close to Reinhard, and— "I don't wanna have to add 'because he's your brat' to the reasons I think that bastard can't keep a secret."
In front of Felt as she scratched her head, Heinkel—who had taken a blow to the face and dropped to one knee—gripped the sword that had been tossed back at him, his face deathly pale.
His grip on the hilt was too tight. His fingers and hands were white, trembling, chattering audibly.
The emotion driving this was not anger, not fear, not grief—and Felt could see that clearly in Heinkel's shaking blue eyes.
If she had to sum it up in a single word, "despair" would be most fitting.
The inescapable, ineluctable despair of someone who had learned something that should never have been known. That despair, carved deep into every fiber of his being, bound and cornered Heinkel throughout.
The wretchedness of his appearance was so extreme that Felt momentarily mistook it for despair snuffing out his life.
But Heinkel probably couldn't die that easily. If the despair that consumed him whole could have claimed his life, it would have happened long ago.
"Aa—kuh—uh—no—uh—"
Heinkel's mouth hung open, flapping uselessly, producing sounds that never quite formed words.
At Heinkel's reaction, Felt narrowed her crimson eyes and gazed down at the man before her from beneath the starlit sky peeking through the gaps in the rock face, thinking about the relationship between this man and Reinhard.
—Felt, who had decided to enter the Royal Selection and taken Reinhard as her knight.
From Felt's perspective, Reinhard was the world's strongest knight, known as the "Sword Saint"—and simultaneously, the person responsible for separating her from Old Man Rom, and an infuriating opponent who had tried to force education, dresses, and high-heeled shoes on an unwilling Felt.
With that as her starting point, Felt had never felt inclined to press Reinhard on the deep details—though the information found its way to her ears regardless.
How Reinhard was treated in the Astrea household, and how the world perceived him.
What came up most often were the various rumors surrounding the death of the previous "Sword Saint,"
None of these were topics Reinhard had spoken about at length, and Felt had never pressed him on them either. But looking back now, she found that only a sense of unease had accumulated.
The most glaring example was the claim that Reinhard had been at Heinkel's beck and call.
If that were true, then what was the point of Heinkel's desperate struggle?
Felt hadn't looked into Reinhard, but she had investigated Heinkel in order to understand the circumstances surrounding the Astrea household head's authority.
Heinkel had a rather poor reputation, and most of it painted him as a failure as both a knight and a father. But the instances where Heinkel had used the Astrea name to force things through were all attempts to find a way to wake his sleeping wife, Luanna.
While you couldn't exactly call the man frugal, he was far from the kind of luxury befitting a noble. He had stripped his entire way of living down to nothing, devoting it all to waking his wife—that was the impression his finances gave.
But— "If you could really boss Reinhard around, you could've done anything you damn well pleased, couldn't you?"
There was no one in the kingdom who could surpass Reinhard in fame, martial prowess, or anything else.
Reinhard himself never used any of it for his own benefit, and there were signs he considered it virtuous to restrain himself from doing so. But if the rumors about Heinkel were true, he was different.
If Heinkel was the man those rumors said he was, he could have used all of Reinhard's fame and strength and everything else—could have skipped the trouble of going to a location in person, negotiating directly, and resorting to the sword when words weren't enough.
But he didn't do that. He went out of his way to keep Reinhard out of it, insisting on waking his sleeping wife through his own efforts. Why?
If his wife was the most important thing to him, then no matter what you placed on the other side of the scale, it shouldn't tip. —Unless something of equal weight was placed there as well.
If that was the case— "The way you... the way you care about what matters to you... is twisted beyond recognition."
"—!"
In an instant, Heinkel—who had been shrinking back—ground his back teeth and something flashed in his eyes.
A beat later, a pressure erupted from him that Felt could feel in the air. She saw a glint of light—Heinkel's sword strike—and by the time she registered that the blade had been drawn with blinding speed, the tip was already pressed against her neck, its coldness finally driving the point home.
"Stop... spouting... unnecessary garbage!"
"Hey, let me tell you—"
"Don't move!"
Heinkel's eyes were bloodshot, foam gathering at the corners of his mouth as he screamed. Felt bit the inside of her cheek, cursing herself for pushing too hard.
Unlike the easy threat she'd managed earlier when she'd punched him back, the killing intent radiating from Heinkel now was genuine.
She knew its source wasn't hatred or rage, but a kind of defensive instinct—which was precisely what made it such a troublesome emotion to have provoked.
Before Felt's tensed body, Heinkel's blue eyes shaking violently— "This is our family's problem. I won't stand for outsiders butting in. And especially not some kid like you—finding out any more—"
"—Any more? There's still something you're hiding?"
"—Shut up!"
Felt caught the slip at the edge of Heinkel's words and couldn't help but interject. That only deepened the tremor in Heinkel's expression—but the very next instant, he exploded.
The blade that had pulled back for a fraction of a second now lunged forward with greater speed, aimed an inch deeper— —"Please don't provoke the old man any further."
"Gah!?"
A figure leaped in—a hand gripping a stone sword, the Stone Dragon Blade—which slammed mercilessly into the side of Heinkel's head, sending him crumpling to the ground.
Heinkel fell sideways, eyes rolling back. Standing beside him with a weary shrug was Aldebaran, who had intervened at the critical moment.
At Aldebaran's appearance, Felt snorted softly.
"You were watching me until things were about to get seriously bad, weren't you, bastard?"
"You too, Felt—you were chatting with the old man while making sure I was keeping an eye out so you wouldn't accidentally get killed. Cute way to go about it."
"I hate being called cute, so stuff it."
Felt stuck out her tongue and did not thank Aldebaran for saving her.
She merely confirmed that Heinkel, lying on the ground, was not dead, and sighed. —Those last words from Heinkel... it seemed there was still something about Reinhard he wasn't telling.
The "Sword Saint," apparently the cause of his mother's slumber, and on top of that, something Heinkel was still concealing— "At some point, saying 'I won't listen until you actually come out and say it' is starting to feel irresponsible."
"Now that's a fine statement of intent. You understand the situation?"
"Your story's got no reason to hurt me, and once you've gotten everything sorted out, you want to restart the Royal Selection, right? I'd rather you lose, but either way—win or lose—what I have to do going forward is the same."
"No comebacks, huh."
Aldebaran waved his right hand dismissively. Felt snorted again and sheathed Heinkel's sword—which he still clutched in a death grip—back into its scabbard.
Just before the blade slid home, the inscription "Astrea" engraved on the sword's surface caught the starlight, and to Felt's eyes, it looked mercilessly cold. It pissed her off.