Watching the servants working at the Bariel estate from afar, Frederica couldn't shake her restless feelings.
"Being treated as a guest alongside my master is something I'm quite accustomed to... but in this particular manor, things work quite differently."
As she murmured this, what filled Frederica's emerald-green eyes was the bustling activity of the estate. The servants moved with crisp efficiency, clearly a capable and well-organized lot. Even upon receiving the devastating news Frederica and the others had brought back, they hadn't descended into disarray. That alone was worthy of admiration.
"Lady Priscilla seems to have been quite beloved by the servants."
The news delivered to the servants — it was the report that their mistress, Priscilla Bariel, had lost her life in the Volachia Empire.
"———"
Frederica, gazing down from the balcony at the garden and the estate below, let out a quiet sigh.
In her own position, Frederica knew well the feeling of having those she served — Roswaal,
In truth, many of the servants were overcome with grief, and not a few shed tears. Yet not a single one had chosen to leave the manor upon learning of the news — that itself spoke to the depth of their bond with Priscilla.
But it wasn't only because Priscilla was beloved— "—The composed bearing of Lord Shult is what truly struck my heart."
What had moved Frederica so deeply was the posture of the young attendant who had accompanied Priscilla to the Empire, bore the duty of conveying her death and her final will, and had carried it out splendidly.
Shult, delicate and seemingly helpless as a small animal, had refused to let Roswaal or Frederica play the villain. He had shouldered this great responsibility with his own mouth, with his own words, and seen it through to the end.
The servants' decision to remain at the manor and continue in their current roles was undoubtedly driven by their devotion to Priscilla and their trust in Shult. Even Frederica, though an outsider, could not hold back the warmth pricking at the corners of her eyes.
Therefore— "—Oh my, there you are, Frederica. I was looking all over for you~."
"Master..."
The tall figure who raised a hand lightly and stepped onto the balcony — Roswaal. Frederica bent her knees and offered a small bow.
"I'm sorry for making you search. What did you need?"
"Need? Well, it's nothing that significant. Things on my end have reached a natural pause, so I just thought I'd have a little chat with you."
"A natural pause..."
"That's right, a natural pause~."
With a thin smile, Roswaal — his mismatched eyes, the yellow one remaining open — stood beside Frederica by the railing, leaning his back against it.
"There's quite a bit to observe about this territory. I don't have many acquaintances in the south, after all. Priscilla's late husband, Leip Bariel, wasn't exactly well-regarded either~."
"Heavens, if even you say that, he must be quite displeased even now."
"Oh my, how harsh. Could it be that you, too, are being poisoned by little Petra, losing your docility toward me? Or perhaps—"
Roswaal tilted his head and peered into Frederica's eyes beside him.
"—Could it be that you disapprove of my plan to use young Shult?"
"...I don't think you're doing anything wrong, Master. I understand it's for the Royal Selection — and moreover, for Lady Emilia and our camp."
"On principle, yes. But convincing the heart is not so easy, is it~?"
The fact that Roswaal said this while fully aware of it was proof of how incorrigibly twisted his personality was. If you asked Emilia, she'd probably call it the mischievous heart of someone who genuinely wanted to be scolded properly.
"In the relationship between the two of you, that's rather difficult, Lady Emilia..."
If Emilia or Petra were here, they could address Roswaal head-on. If
—The greatest objective keeping the Emilia camp united as a faction was, above all, the Royal Selection.
In that Royal Selection, the time they'd spent embroiled in the Volachia Empire's affairs had been a total loss. And Emilia had already been behind from the starting line. If they hoped to recover that deficit and perhaps even gain momentum, they couldn't rely solely on fair play.
For that reason, Roswaal's tireless scheming was proceeding steadily — attempting to bring the Bariel territory, which had just lost the absolute pillar that was Priscilla Bariel, over to their side.
"Now that Priscilla is gone, a temporary regent will need to be appointed until the next lord is chosen. Fortunately, I can field candidates from my own network, and as a liaison, if we could borrow someone from Ryuzu's people — one of the 'Meiwers' — that would suffice."
"...Isn't it premature to involve the grandmother's... those children?"
"They say you should let the ones you love spread their wings and travel, don't they? Keeping them locked away in a birdcage won't teach them how to fly. I agree~."
Watching Roswaal calmly and methodically assemble his flawless plans, Frederica genuinely began to wonder whether Emilia's assessment of him was accurate — whether he wasn't merely playing the villain, but truly was one.
Perhaps it was precisely because he could execute the role of the antagonist without a single misstep that he could never get his campmates to truly open their hearts to him. He was too serious.
"Master, at the very least, could you show a little more tact—"
She was about to point out that this misunderstanding — not only within the camp, but in the Bariel territory and, ultimately, in Shult's heart — could plant dangerous seeds of doubt, when— "—T-t-t-terrible news! Where is the Margrave!?"
"That voice... Shult?"
Suddenly, the panicked voice of Shult rose from below, and Frederica exchanged a glance with Roswaal. The Margrave raised his eyebrows, seemingly at a loss as well. Turning from the railing, he called down to Shult, who had burst into the garden below: "Young Shult."
When Shult heard himself addressed, his round eyes went even wider.
"Margrave! You must come immediately! There is someone who wishes to see you, and I need you to hear what they have to say!"
△▼△▼▼△▼△ "What you have just read was the final will of the late lady of the house."
So spoke the red-haired girl — calling herself Yae Tensen, a maid — revealing the contents of the wax-sealed letter, and Roswaal's eyes went wide in shock.
"———"
It was rare to see their master so shaken, but the reaction was hardly surprising. Frederica, who had confirmed the same contents, and everyone present were equally struck with astonishment.
Especially large was the shock of Shult, who stood at the center of the letter's contents.
The letter read: "—I, the current head of House Bariel, Priscilla Bariel, do hereby declare that in designating my formal successor, I shall rename the following individual, Shult, to Shult Bariel, and welcome him as the legitimate heir and successor of House Bariel."
"Priscilla chose... me?"
Shult blinked at the unexpected revelation, his expression unable to tell dream from reality.
But then, hands were placed gently on both of his shoulders from behind, and Yae — the one who had revealed the letter — smiled and nuzzled her cheek against his.
"Considering how madly Lady Priscilla adored you, Shult, this is hardly a stretch, is it? —If anything, I think she intended to keep this hidden until after the Royal Selection was decided."
"Yae... How long have you known about this? You'd only just returned after being away from the manor for months..."
"—I found out just before Lady Priscilla departed for the Empire. The letter was prepared around that time as well."
At Yae's quiet answer, large tears welled up in Shult's eyes.
As it turned out, Yae had previously worked as a maid at this very manor and had been on extended leave. Upon learning of Priscilla's death, she had rushed back.
As could be seen, Yae had been close to Shult as well, and she had held a position of deep trust with Priscilla — entrusted with guarding this precious letter she had left behind.
The truth revealed by this letter would severely disrupt Roswaal's plans— "—But perhaps, thinking of Shult, this is for the best."
"...Frederica?"
"It may diverge somewhat from what you had in mind, Master... but it should provide comfort to Shult and everyone in the manor. —She really was a remarkable person, wasn't she?"
Despite being a Royal Selection candidate and standing on the opposite side from Emilia, Frederica could only describe Priscilla — with whom she had barely interacted — as a towering figure.
After all— "To have your plans so thoroughly upended like this, Master — she was without question Lady Emilia's worthy rival, wasn't she~?"
△▼△▼▼△▼△ "———"
Yae, embracing the trembling Shult from behind as he once more looked down at the letter with his small body shaking, let out a sigh — a sigh for her own decision to return to the Bariel estate.
—Everything had been a judgment made to help further Al's goal, to assist him in achieving it.
"No signal came, which means the plan at the tower must have failed, huh~."
In truth, Yae had planned to meet up with Al in the nearest town after he headed for the
But when the designated time passed with no signal to rendezvous, Yae determined that Al's plan had failed, withdrew from the nearest town, and with those very feet, made her way back to the Bariel territory.
"This is the first time I've openly returned to the manor since the lady's assassination was prevented by Al."
Of course, in less than open fashion, she had been entering and leaving the manor quite frequently to maintain contact with Al. —The letter, which she had used as a pretext to return, had been obtained during one of these clandestine visits, found in the attic.
To Shult, to the noble who had tried to exploit it — Roswaal L. Meisters — and to the accompanying maid, she had claimed the letter was entrusted to her by Priscilla.
"In truth, I just peeped at her placing it in the secret vault while she prepared it."
Because the vault storing the letter turned out to be a hidden safe, no one else had known of its location. Yae was able to reveal the letter's whereabouts and win the trust owed to someone entrusted with a secret. Though using the deceased Priscilla for this did prick her conscience somewhat— "—But Lady Priscilla, did you really think I wasn't watching?"
Honestly, even Yae herself couldn't give a clear answer to that mystery.
Priscilla had prepared the letter adopting Shult as her heir right before departing for the Empire, and had stored it in the vault around the same time. But Yae, even though she had served her for only a brief while, did not underestimate Priscilla's powers of perception. Could that extraordinary woman, with eyes that seemed to see straight into others' hearts, have truly believed Yae was absent?
"—Use this letter well, and turn it to your own advantage. In the process, save Shult."
The letter had been hidden in a concealed vault in the attic — one that no one would find unless they turned the manor upside down. Perhaps that had been Priscilla's consideration, knowing that only Yae, lurking in the attic, would know its location.
In any case— "I will do as you wished, Lady Priscilla. —I still need to wait for Al."
Deciding to take advantage of Priscilla's generosity, Yae had returned to the manor for that purpose.
As mentioned, Al had failed to send the signal to continue the plan. He had likely made some error at the Watchtower and fallen into a state where the plan's execution was difficult. But Al would not die. He was still alive.
"Because Al is a monster."
Al could not be killed, could not die. He was that kind of creature, which was why Yae followed him.
She followed him to witness the moment he accomplished his purpose, grew satisfied, and finally died — to see the last of the existence she feared. —For that, Shult needed to keep his distance from the Emilia camp.
If something had happened to Al, the Emilia camp members who had accompanied him to the Watchtower would have been involved. She needed to be in a place where she could move at a moment's notice, ready for when he emerged from that.
Therefore— "Shult, let's honor the lady's will. It'll be all right. I'll be coming back to the manor from now on too, to help you, Shult."
"Yae... Yes. Yes, I will...! I will live up to Priscilla's expectations! And I want you, Yae, to help me do that!"
Shult — no, the boy who had become Shult Bariel — making that heartfelt declaration with such earnest determination, Yae exaggeratedly wiped the corners of her eyes, and the other servants seemed moved to tears as well. Even Roswaal's accompanying maid dabbed at tears in the corners of her eyes, her heart stirred by his admirable spirit.
Only the Margrave, whose plans had apparently been foiled, wore an ambiguous expression — but that seemed fitting as proof that even in death, Priscilla had outmaneuvered someone's schemes. It was oddly satisfying.
Yes, Priscilla had been a master worth serving. —That much was the truth.
"I'll do my best! When Al and Lord Heinkel return, I want to show them how splendid I've become!"
But Yae hesitated at how to respond to Shult's blushing, enthusiastic declaration.
Yae too eagerly awaited Al's return.
But as for Heinkel— "...Lord Heinkel might be a bit harder to bring back, I'm afraid~."
△▼△▼▼△▼△ "—Guwah!"
Heinkel let out a low cry as the sensation of floating gave way to the ground rushing up to meet him.
After groaning for a while, he slowly stirred his limbs and freed himself from his restraints. Once his wrists and ankles, bound with thin cord, were released, he savored the long-missed sense of liberation— "Son of a bitch...!"
He spat out the bitter words, cursing the misfortune that had befallen him.
—The one who had bound Heinkel and left him in an isolated cabin deep in a forest where no one would visit was a girl named Yae, who claimed to be Aldebaran's ally.
This woman with an incoherent background — she had originally been a maid serving Priscilla, and was also an assassin sent after her — had lured him in by promising that if he cooperated with Aldebaran, an opportunity would arise to obtain what Heinkel desired: "the Dragon's Blood." She'd lured him in, and then— "The moment Aldebaran's lackey didn't contact us, she just up and said the plan was a failure. The nerve...!"
To top it off, when Heinkel had demanded an explanation and insisted the plan continue, she had delivered merciless knee strikes and elbow blows to his face, left him bleeding from the nose and bound up, and vanished without a trace.
From Heinkel's perspective, there was no justification for such a slap in the face.
"Every last one of them..."
The one he'd relied on, Priscilla, had died. The next one he'd tried to lean on, Emilia, had rejected him. And when he'd grasped at Aldebaran's extended hand, he'd been swatted aside and cast into the abyss.
As a result, Heinkel's situation had regressed to the same dead end he'd been in before the Royal Selection even began.
"But still..."
He couldn't give up. He couldn't resign himself. He had never been able to fully do either.
"—Damn it!"
He staggered to his feet, wiped the now-dry blood from his nose with his sleeve, and began to walk. He had no destination in mind. But even without one, he couldn't stop.
—Because
"Wait for me, Luanna. Reinhardt. I will... I will..."
Dragging his feet along the ground, his hand resting on the hilt of the sword at his hip, Heinkel walked on.
He had no destination. —Only the tattered, rusted prayer he had worn for years.
△▼△▼▼△▼△ "Sorry about all the commotion, Ezreal."
"No, it can't be helped. I'm aware of the change in circumstances. Right now, I can't leave this place until my replacement arrives, but I'm ready to give my testimony whenever it's needed."
"Thank you. ...Truly."
Subaru murmured softly and bowed to the gentlemanly Ezreal.
The location was the fifth floor of the Pleiades Watchtower, in the great hall before the grand gates. There, Subaru — no, Subaru and the others — had reassembled their travel gear and were preparing to depart the tower posthaste.
Their stay had lasted barely half a day. They were leaving at dawn, having waited for the world outside to brighten.
"You guys really are in a perpetual rush, aren't you? Can't you just take it easy and head home from the tower for once?"
"She's got a point. Last time you got flung to the Empire, and this time it's a round trip right back."
"That's not Subaru's fault. It's all Al's fault... Ugh, I don't even know what to say to Shult anymore. ...Stupid Al."
The ones exchanging these subdued remarks were the girls who had returned from the tower.
Naturally, each of them had thoughts about how things had turned out — about even their brief half-day stay, about the need to rush off, and about the cause of it all.
But for Subaru, having the person responsible for it all continue to go unchallenged weighed on him.
"I've loaded the luggage onto the dragon carriage, boss. We can head out whenever you want."
At that, Garfiel returned from outside through the slightly ajar grand gates. Having loaded the carriage ahead of time, he looked at Subaru, who raised a hand, and scrunched up his face.
"You look like a damn sourpuss, boss. I know it eats you up inside — same as 'Lawarge's Deep Scratch' — but..."
"I know you're trying to cheer me up, but it doesn't quite land. Deep Scratch? Lawarge?"
"Anyway! What's done can't be undone. So what matters is what you do from here on, right? I'll help with anything."
Garfiel flashed his fangs in a grin and clapped Subaru's shoulder hard.
The force nearly crushed Subaru's frail shoulder, but the sentiment made him a hundred times happier. And as Garfiel said — what mattered was what came next, from this point forward.
"I'm going to find out. What exactly it is that I've been carrying."
Saying this, Subaru touched the magic stone hanging from his neck, his resolve clear.
—Encased within an identical magic stone, Subaru and
"———"
Inside the magic stone, it was dark. They couldn't move. The presence or absence of consciousness was ambiguous. It was like returning to the womb, floating in amniotic fluid within a mother's belly — a half-dreaming state that persisted.
In there, Subaru's dreamlike haze made nothing certain. Dear little Beatrice had been diligently analyzing the forbidden spell that sealed them and working to unravel its formula, but the most Subaru could do — when he had something resembling awareness — was activate the Authority of Greed, "Cor Leonis," to pick up the presence of nearby allies and their strong emotional shifts.
Even so, thanks to the repeated surges of longing, desperation, and enormous emotional turbulence, he had been able to sense the progression of extraordinary events through his soul.
The most distinctive had been Petra, whose colors of resolve and determination blazed fiercely, and
This was partly because, now that he knew their purpose in visiting the Pleiades Watchtower had been for Al — his excuse — the visit had lost its remaining purpose. But it wasn't only that— "—The Archbishop of Gluttony has a way to make them spit out what they've eaten, right?"
"That's right. And in there are the memories and names of everyone who's been consumed... including Rem's."
Petra's words — spoken in the loop before "Return by Death" had triggered, when she had best leveraged the Authority of Gluttony's abilities — made Subaru nod deeply.
That brief instant, when Rem had struck him with a morning star without a single word exchanged, her eyes understanding everything. —The girl who had wielded the spiked iron ball Subaru polished every day with such elegance had truly recovered herself. That had been, without question, the result of Gluttony's involvement.
With that conviction firmly in hand, and with Gluttony already secured, there was no reason not to press the issue and force them to disgorge everything they had consumed.
Therefore, for that direct confrontation as well— "—Let's go! Back to the royal capital! I'm gonna meet Gluttony and make them cough up everything! And apparently, I can't stay indifferent to the history of the kingdom or this world anymore either!"
Pinching the magic stone between his fingers and thinking of Al sealed within, Subaru admonished himself.
At Subaru's declaration, Beatrice at his side took his hand, Garfiel ran a finger along his own fangs, and Meili shrugged with a small red scorpion perched on her shoulder.
And Petra's gaze — sharp, strong, and smiling — Subaru received head-on.
For Aldebaran, the one who called himself "Subaru's Following Star," who opposed him with the same power he possessed, and whom he had decided he would surely save —
He would learn. To remain ignorant was dishonest, and he had realized he could never forgive himself for it.
Therefore— "—Bring it on, fate!"
Shouldering his resolve and stepping over the curse that stood in his path, Natsuki Subaru made his declaration.
△▼△▼▼△▼△ —At the very same moment Natsuki Subaru made his declaration.
Far, far away, in the very destination Subaru had declared he was setting out for — the royal capital of the Dragon Kingdom Lugunica — an extraordinary event was unfolding.
"———"
In the early hours of dawn, while most of the capital's citizens still slept, letting the arrival of morning pass unseen through their dreams, an unusual atmosphere had settled over Lugunica's royal castle — a place that should, under normal circumstances, be wrapped in silence.
Its source was the heart of the castle: the throne room.
Due to the extinction of the royal family by illness — the very catalyst for the Royal Selection — the castle had been left without a monarch. Save for important ceremonies, the throne room had been kept firmly sealed.
But on this day, this morning, the doors of the throne room stood wide open, and gathered within were the kingdom's heavyweights — members of the "Council of Wise Men," retainers who had earned the late king's deep trust, and even royal soldiers who radiated an unmistakable tension.
"———"
Each of them bore great responsibility in their own right within this kingless kingdom.
Not a single one was late, despite the early hour. No one looked drowsy or showed any lack of composure. Not one such person was present.
And so, regardless of the time of day, the weight of attention focused on this room was nothing less than the weight of the kingdom itself.
—And this woman bore all of it, maintaining an air of serene composure.
"———"
Kneeling on one knee upon the red carpet spread over the marble floor, hands clasped before her chest, head bowed — she wore robes of deep blue. Her posture of prayer was refined, evoking martial grace in the eyes of soldiers and courtly etiquette in the eyes of civil officials alike, drawing involuntary sighs of admiration.
That was how completely this woman, through nothing more than the act of praying alone, had overwhelmed everyone present.
"Well, then — if you would raise your head."
In this scene, only one person had remained unmoved by the woman's prayerful bearing and had spoken.
The voice — gentle, intellectual, naturally creating such an impression in the listener — belonged to the person who had greeted the kneeling woman, one of the castle's key figures — nay, someone who could be called its very representative.
Miccroft McMahon. —In the kingless kingdom of Lugunica, he was the central figure of the "Council of Wise Men," which steered matters of state, and in this hastily convened gathering as well, he was the figure with the greatest authority and the final say.
A sage known for his exceptional wisdom and extraordinary loyalty and service to the kingdom, Miccroft was such a towering figure that the king himself had once jokingly said, "The kingdom may survive the king's death, but it would perish without Miccroft."
His gentle appearance and mild-spoken manner could easily breed misunderstanding, but in truth, within the kingdom of Lugunica, he was considered the most dependable ally and the most fearsome enemy — a truly extraordinary man. —Miccroft had enjoyed that reputation for many years.
"Yes."
Accepting Miccroft's words, the woman slowly raised her lowered head. And when those closed eyelids parted, Miccroft, meeting her gaze, caught his breath ever so slightly.
Miccroft's reaction was not his alone.
She was a woman possessed of a natural magnetism that drew all consciousness toward her simply by being present. But the reaction of everyone this time was not solely due to her bearing. —It was her appearance.
Long, lustrous golden hair, and crimson eyes harboring a strong, resolute will — these carried a meaning beyond mere beauty, piercing through the hearts of the people of — nay, the very soul of the kingdom of Lugunica.
And then— "—First, I must express my gratitude for this sudden visit and for your gracious welcome. Given our respective positions, this must not have been ideal."
Treating the weight of everyone's attention as something entirely natural, the woman, still kneeling, swept her gaze across the assembled wise men and key figures, and spoke these words.
Her opening was neither overly humble nor oblivious to her station, and the people present managed to contain their initial surprise and shock, entrusting the response to their representative, Miccroft.
Receiving their unspoken intent, Miccroft — seated in his chair — stroked his long, long beard with a finger, let out a measured "Hmm," and spoke: "My, my — that's quite a thing to say. But there's no point in pleasantries, I suppose. What you say is, after all, the truth."
"It's a relief to hear you speak so directly. As you can see, I'm still quite young, so I was a little worried my words might fail me before such an assembly."
"Hmm, you say that, yet you carry yourself with perfect composure. You seem quite accustomed to drawing the attention of many. I'd imagine the reasons aren't... entirely unfamiliar to me."
"I suppose not. I won't deny it."
Though the age gap between them was like that of grandfather and granddaughter, the exchange between Miccroft and the woman flowed without a hitch, and there seemed little likelihood of a lopsided probing from either side.
Both seemed to recognize this simultaneously, and they exhaled with a shared, gentle smile.
"I can't very well take up the valuable time of all you busy people this early in the morning. So, if you'll permit me — I'd like to get to the heart of the matter."
"Hmm, that would be appropriate. At my age, early rising is no burden, but important matters being postponed — that never gets easier no matter how old you get. —Especially when it concerns matters brought from the '
"———"
Despite intending to casually steer the conversation forward, Miccroft's words caused the air in the room to tighten for a single, sharp instant. It was quickly relaxed, for it could be taken as a slight against the woman who had visited the castle entirely alone — but the reason behind it was beyond anyone present to remedy.
—The "Divine Dragon Church," which Miccroft had named, was, as the name suggested, a religious organization that worshipped the existence of the Divine Dragon
The
With this awareness, even those who did not officially belong to the Church harbored a sense of reverence toward the Divine Dragon. And among those who were officially members of the Church, how deep their faith ran went without saying.
To prevent this great influence from destabilizing the state, the "Divine Dragon Church" avoided the castle that governed the kingdom, each side contributing to the people's welfare within their own domains. —That was the unspoken agreement.
It was all the more extraordinary, then, that a nun from the "Divine Dragon Church" had come to the castle and intended to speak before the Council of Wise Men and others.
But— "—It has value."
Precisely because she understood how extraordinary this was, she had broken the unspoken rule — and she had a reason worthy of doing so.
That conviction in the woman's declaration served its purpose, giving hope that what she had to say was indeed worth gathering the wise men in the throne room to hear.
And so, complying with the silent prompting of the wise men, the woman declared the reason for her visit.
"The recent troubles plaguing the kingdom — the entire congregation of the 'Divine Dragon Church' grieves them from the heart. We had kept our distance from the matter of the Royal Selection — a matter of state, by unspoken agreement — but once word of the catastrophe in the water gate city reached us, we could no longer sit idle."
"The water gate city... The
"If that were the case, it would contradict both the reason we broke the unspoken agreement to rush here in person and the fact that you said this would be worth hearing. ...That would be contradictory."
The quick retort revealed the woman's youth in its slightly awkward self-correction. Covering her embarrassment with a small cough, she continued: "In any case, I have no quarrel with the Royal Selection candidates. Some among them may have things they wish to address, but that is not the consensus of the 'Divine Dragon Church' — merely individual opinions."
"If it's not the Church's official position, then those are simply the candid views of a fellow citizen of the kingdom. In fact, I think we should be especially open to hearing them... Hmm, but that would take us off topic."
"Yes. I'll note that you're a man worth talking to, Lord Miccroft, but — to the main subject. What we wish to discuss is not the assignment of blame, but the damage itself."
"—Please, go on."
"The people who suffered at the hands of the Witch Cult in the water gate city of Priestella — multiple cases have been confirmed. The 'Divine Dragon Church' can provide a means of salvation for them."
—In that instant, the air in the throne room rippled with a tremor at the meaning those words carried.
But the woman who had been the epicenter of that tremor did not falter, standing tall under the gaze of the wise men, unwavering. Her eyes and bearing showed no uncertainty — the confidence of one who would not speak without conviction.
"Hmm."
A single word — a murmur of acknowledgment — and Miccroft cut through the murmuring air.
Even so, the kingdom's foremost sage could not conceal his surprise at the woman's proposal. The sage, betraying only the slightest fidgeting in the fingers that stroked his beard, spoke: "If that is true, it would be more than welcome. The reason you brought this matter to the castle..."
"I imagine proceeding with this without your input would not go down well. And besides—"
"Not well with us in the castle — but also not with the Witch Cult, I'd imagine."
An obvious truth, and the woman gave a slight nod of her chin in agreement with Miccroft.
Naturally, undoing the damage wrought by the Witch Cult would be an unwelcome development for the Witch Cult itself. And it was precisely for that reason that the "Divine Dragon Church" desired this.
"—The kingdom's firm patronage. That is something which, due to the distance between ourselves — who govern the state — and the "Divine Dragon Church" — which governs faith, has never truly been realized in all these years."
"Yes, exactly. We wish to realize it through this opportunity. That is the consensus of the 'Divine Dragon Church.' —To further that decision, we have a proposal."
"Hmm, a proposal? What might that be?"
"First, we would like to show you — a demonstration of the salvation we can provide."
Placing her hand over her heart as she said this, the woman caused Miccroft to raise his eyebrows.
It was a more than welcome offer. As she said, it was a proposal with no deficiency as a basis for judgment. However, bringing the victims from the water gate city to the capital immediately— "There is one person you should know — someone connected to this matter. The first one should go to that person."
"—Very well. I grant permission to begin discussions. —Commander Marcos."
"Yes, sir!"
At Miccroft's call, the armored giant who responded with a booming voice — Commander Marcos of the Kingdom's Grand Knights — stepped forward and saluted before the Council of Wise Men.
"Could you escort her? This is a matter of great importance to the kingdom. Proceed with caution."
"Understood. —I will accompany her myself."
"Good. You have the... stature for it. Thank you."
The woman bowed her head gracefully, and some softness entered her expression — perhaps because the conversation had taken the shape she'd hoped, and her purpose in visiting from the "Divine Dragon Church" was being fulfilled.
And to her — knowing full well it would catch her off guard — Miccroft asked the question about the thing that drew even more attention than her status as a representative of the "Divine Dragon Church."
That was— "I hope you'll forgive the rudeness, but — could I have your name, good nun?"
△▼△▼▼△▼△ "I am a nun dispatched by the 'Divine Dragon Church.'"
Led personally by Commander Marcos,
Ferris had been staying in the capital alongside Wilhelm in order to petition the castle — to join the investigation team being sent to the now-opened Pleiades Watchtower, and learn from the wisdom of the "Sage," said to be omniscient and omnipotent, a way to save Crusch, who still suffered.
Of course, letters from Emilia and the others, who had already returned from the Pleiades Watchtower, informed him that the "Sage" and his wisdom were not as conveniently useful as hoped. But even so, the chances were far better than the slow, grinding progress of developing healing magic.
"Truly, I'm such an idiot. No matter how much I improve existing healing magic, all it does is stop me from dying. I can't ease even one of Lady Crusch's pains."
The desperate "Blue" research had, in this short period, elevated the kingdom's existing healing magic by not one but three stages — yet to the current Ferris, it was worthless.
The person he most wanted to save, he could not save. That fact drove Ferris to the brink, plunging him into darkness.
And so, he had turned to the Pleiades Watchtower, to the wisdom of the "Sage"— "...Can you save Crusch? The 'Divine Dragon Church'? Are — are you serious?"
"I don't lie about faith, and I have no interest in causing further suffering to those already lost. Even if you can't believe it, your Commander should be able to."
The nun responded to Ferris's trembling voice, gesturing toward Commander Marcos with her hand. When Ferris called out "Commander!" in a high voice, Marcos nodded with a granite-like expression: "I hear the 'Divine Dragon Church' possesses magic and techniques not publicly known. Lord Miccroft and the other members of the Council of Wise Men believe it is worth trusting."
"B-but, what if something happens to Crusch again?"
"—'The stone of Coen does not rise alone.'"
"—!"
Quietly, those words from the nun made Ferris catch his breath.
The torrent of emotions rising within him made his eyes glisten. The nun reached out and gently took his clenched hand, carefully uncurling his fingers one by one.
As Ferris allowed this, he suddenly noticed her beautiful golden hair and her crimson eyes, which held an earnest light. His eyes widened.
This realization only deepened his confusion, and he didn't understand what it meant— "Please. Let us help the person precious to you. The 'Divine Dragon Church' always prays for the happiness of the kingdom's citizens. No matter what convictions one holds, there are no exceptions."
"Wh—who are you? Who are you?"
"———"
At Ferris's question, the woman caught her breath for a moment — but she settled her brief hesitation with a blink, gently held his hand, and answered.
It was— "—Filiore. That is my name."
—The princess of the king's brother, spirited away from the royal castle fifteen years ago and never heard from again. The nun, who bore the royal bloodline's golden hair and crimson eyes, had given the same name as that vanished princess.