——The instant that presence descended upon the street, all breathing stopped.
Not anyone's. What stopped was the world's breathing.
Once, when he had the chance to speak with him, the strongest warrior of the
That philosophy was quite outside the bounds of common sense, and honestly it was rather difficult to wrap one's head around.
But at this very moment alone, he felt he could grasp at least a sliver of the reasoning that the "Blue Lightning" had spoken so loudly about — the idea that the world watches people as though enjoying a theatrical performance.
Which was precisely why he could now so vividly perceive that the world had held its breath.
"————"
Behind them — Garfiel and the others, with the tall barrier wall separating the noble quarter from the common quarter at their backs — and stretching out along the road before them, blocking their path, was a man with flame-red hair and twin blue eyes.
Not standing. Blocking the way. —Yes, the man was planted firmly in their path.
"Reinhard-san, is it...? Of all the pursuers I can think of, this is truly the worst-case scenario."
"I think so too, Otto. I'm sorry things turned out this way."
The first among them to recover his wits from the shock of astonishment was, as expected, Otto — who possessed the boldest nerves in the camp. Even so, the murmur he could not entirely suppress was answered by the man — the "Sword Saint,"
With his hand resting on the hilt of the "Divine Dragon Sword" at his waist, he narrowed his eyes ever so slightly.
"A warrant for your arrest has been issued by the royal palace. I ask that you surrender."
"And if we refuse? By force?"
"That's how it would go. It's not my preference... No. My feelings are irrelevant."
"Indeed. What is being judged is not the state of one's heart, but the results of one's actions."
As he spoke, Otto gradually heightened the tension throughout his entire body. Reinhard, on the other hand, showed not the slightest change in the aura he had been wrapped in from the very moment he appeared.
He had already decided exactly how he would act. And once Reinhard decided on something, he would see that will through — and he had the ability to make it happen. That was what it meant to be the "Sword Saint."
"You were Reinhard-san, yes? You mentioned receiving orders from the royal palace, but do you happen to know what has become of my sister and
It was
Standing in front were Garfiel and Otto, and behind them Rem — who, with Petra and Meili huddled against her shoulders and shielded by her arms, stared down at Reinhard with steady composure.
It was an answer Garfiel wanted to know as well. —He thought that Otto, who had made the swift decision to leave the royal estate, must have anticipated this situation.
"Unfortunately, I did not encounter the two of them inside the palace. However, I am aware of the circumstances that led to them being summoned. It is likely that they are being detained."
"If they are being treated harshly —"
"They are not. At least, I can state with certainty that the Kingdom's soldiers have not engaged in any such conduct. Neither Emilia-sama nor
"——I see. Thank you for answering."
Even at the very end, after delivering information that was, to Garfiel and the others, a relief — however small the sting — Reinhard closed one eye at Rem's parting barb.
But the truth lay in what Otto had said. What mattered was not sentiment, but action.
"Reinhard-san, this situation has clearly been orchestrated. The suspicions against Natsuki-san and Crusch-sama, the containment of our camp under Emilia-sama... Even
"I am the Sword Saint."
"————"
"As a sword of the Kingdom, I bear that duty and must fulfill the role assigned to me. I will warn you once more. Please surrender. You will not be treated poorly even if you are brought to the royal palace. I will do everything in my power to —"
"How much credibility do the words of the man standing before us right now carry?"
With his expression and tone perfectly composed, Otto's resolute reply pierced through Reinhard's call for surrender.
It was not Otto's alone — it was the unanimous will of all five, Garfiel included.
No matter how Reinhard might manipulate his words, he was standing here to block their path.
"——It seems I won't be able to become friends with you after all."
"No, I had a feeling it would come to that."
That was the conclusion of the negotiation — such as it was — between Otto and Reinhard, neither willing to bend the other's resolve.
Anything further would be meaningless, and as if by perfect默契, both reached the same conclusion at the same moment.
In truth, Otto's judgment was spot-on.
Since Reinhard had caught up, the royal palace side already knew that Garfiel and the others were here. If more pursuers arrived, their escape routes would vanish, and if someone like Marcus were mobilized, those options would narrow even further.
"The other soldiers will not come. I have ordered a perimeter, but only I am here."
"...May I ask why?"
"I don't want to create unnecessary casualties. I don't mean to underestimate my soldiers' skills, nor do I intend to underestimate you. That is also the reason I took on this task myself."
"So you are protecting your soldiers from being hurt by us?"
"And to prevent you from being hurt as well. I am the one who can accomplish that."
Rem took over the exchange from Otto, who had shut down that line of negotiation. The instant that answer was delivered, a tingling sensation — as though the world itself was bristling — raced through the royal capital.
Reinhard's will, his conviction, came through so vividly it almost hurt.
But, however, and absolutely — that was not acceptable.
"——Shaddup, already! I was listening to Otto-nii and Rem's talk in peace, but there's something I just can't agree with in what you're saying, y'know!"
"You can't agree?"
Cracking the bones in his fists, Garfiel equipped silver gauntlets on both arms. The "Sword Saint" narrowed his eyes at Garfiel's posture, and Garfiel bit down with a sharp click of his fangs.
He understood the intent behind Reinhard coming alone to hold them in place.
He agreed with the sentiment of not wanting unnecessary injuries.
But he still didn't like it.
Because — no matter what — "You said you don't underestimate us, but aren't you missing one thought here?! —That right HERE, right NOW, you could get absolutely CRUSHED by me?!"
The instant the words left him, Garfiel roared, surged across the street, and lunged at Reinhard.
Watching Garfiel charge, what flickered through Reinhard's eyes was not surprise or wariness.
"————"
What flickered was the anguish of accepting Garfiel's decision. The look of someone who has watched a boy who broke a vase bury the shards in the dirt rather than apologize to his parents — a gaze of pure, aching pity.
And Garfiel drove his fist into the face of the man whose eyes held that anguished color.
It was the same form as the very first time Garfiel had encountered Reinhard back in
Reinhard raised his right arm to meet Garfiel's descending blow. The wide-spread fingers caught the iron fist, and it should have been effortlessly deflected — but — "——!?!"
It wasn't.
"OOOOOOOOH——!!"
Roaring, Garfiel threw his entire body into the strike, forcibly refusing to let the force dissipate. The impact erupted through Reinhard's receiving arm, and the sleeve of the "Sword Saint's" white outfit ripped apart. The energy that could not be deflected cracked the ground beneath his feet in a spiderweb pattern.
And as Reinhard stared in disbelief at a blow that exceeded even his imagination, Garfiel flashed a savage grin, baring his teeth.
"Don't you go thinking everyone else is gonna be standing around with their mouths open forever!!"
His straightened legs drove a dropkick squarely into Reinhard's crossed arms. The resulting shockwave tore through a corner of the royal capital with savage fury.
——And in that moment, he could have sworn he heard the world applauding with glee.
△▼△▼△▼△ Petra clenched her small fists and watched the battle that had begun.
Garfiel's raging onslaught — a tidal wave of fury — was nothing less than the raw savagery of a beast, with every limb, every claw, every fang employed as a weapon to tear at the opponent's throat.
Yet Reinhard, facing this onslaught that was almost impossible to follow with the naked eye, deflected the brunt of it with raised arms, with his very body. —But he was only deflecting the majority. The residual shock that he could not deflect entirely reached beyond that perimeter.
"Garf-san, he's amazing... he's actually fighting...!"
The words that escaped Petra's lips were an involuntary praise for Garfiel's desperate struggle.
Petra was also a citizen of the Kingdom, and the extraordinary prowess of the "Sword Saint" Reinhard had reached her ears even back when she was nothing more than a village girl. In the Kingdom, there was a saying — even if you didn't know the name of the king, everyone knew the name of the "Sword Saint" Reinhard. Such was his renown.
Back when the "Sword Saint" was younger even than the current Petra, during the incident when three of the four great nations outside Lugunica simultaneously attempted to infiltrate the Kingdom, the feat of crushing that ambition single-handedly had filled the hearts of many citizens with hope and hammered into the common folk just how formidable the current "Sword Saint" was.
In Petra's home village of Arlam, that same "Sword Saint" was the idol of every young boy, and Petra, too, as one of the girls who dreamed of such things, had once imagined a romantic Cinderella story. —Though, for Petra, her "prince" was a boy who was simply the most wonderful person in the world, entirely unlike the "Sword Saint" who was draped in flowery rumors.
In any case, for Petra — who had become connected to this living legend through the Royal Selection's opposing camps — his otherworldly strength far exceeded even what she had imagined. The rumors, placed before the real thing, were nothing more than a child's clumsy fantasy. —On the return trip from the
So the fact that Garfiel had forced this into a head-on confrontation with such an extraordinary existence — Petra felt an out-of-place swell of admiration, and even a sense of pride.
"Dammit, nobody's listening to me...!"
Gritting his teeth — Otto was the one doing that, scattering his awareness in every direction around him.
Splitting his attention between Garfiel and Reinhard's battle, Otto desperately tried to find a way to break through the situation using his "Blessing of Word Spirits."
But his muttered words revealed the absence of any creature he could rely on. For someone who, in virtually every locale, never failed to cultivate useful — if unofficial — allies, this was an admission that his groundwork had come up empty.
And being caught by Reinhard here in the first place was, according to Otto, because he had been "tricked by bugs." But it was unlikely that bugs had maliciously deceived Otto and lured him into a trap.
Rather, it meant that there existed — on the opposing side — a method to command the bugs with equal or greater coercive force than Otto's own.
Something like — "——Meili-chan's blessing, isn't it?"
Catching sight of Meili pressed so close their shoulders touched, Petra guessed the method of the one who had outmaneuvered Otto.
Otto's "Blessing of Word Spirits" had proven itself in a wide variety of situations, but that was less due to the blessing's capabilities and more due to Otto's own skill in wielding it.
The "Blessing of Word Spirits" only allowed one to speak with any living creature — whether cooperation was secured depended entirely on Otto's own negotiating and mediating abilities.
Up until now, they had been entirely dependent on Otto's personal abilities in that regard.
If the opposing side possessed someone who could — like Meili commanding magical beasts — force creatures to obey without question, their advantage would be easily lost.
"Petra-chan, if it comes to that —"
"——Absolutely not."
The words Meili whispered from right beside her were cut off sharply by Petra.
What Meili had been about to suggest was, given the current situation where Otto's blessing could not be relied upon, a measure that could shift things in their favor — in short, relying on Meili's own blessing. It was indeed a move that could change the situation, but it was also an extraordinarily double-edged sword.
"If Meili-chan calls on the magical beasts, there's no going back. The
"But still, the 'Sword Saint' big brother is here too, you know! The people at the palace already —"
"No, that's not it. The ones we can't afford to have think that way aren't the palace people — they're the people of the royal capital... the people of the Kingdom."
"————"
"The people Subaru and Emilia-nee-sama saved — they should feel the same way we do about trusting Subaru. They should look at this and think something's wrong. We have to make sure we keep that possibility alive."
It was true that this moment was a crisis, but if they prioritized only surviving this immediate situation and chose means without restraint, they would only be handing more cards to their opponents.
That was precisely why they hadn't relied on brute force to break out of the royal estate — why they hadn't put their faith in Garfiel or Rem's raw strength.
The more they demonstrated the danger that Petra and the others — no, that Emilia's camp — posed, the worse Subaru's position would be, and the worse Emilia's position inside the palace would become.
That had to be avoided.
"...This is so frustrating."
Chewing on the meaning of Petra's words, Meili bit her lip in vexation. Above Meili's head, the Small Red Scorpion clicked its pincers in agitation, seemingly in sympathy with her feelings.
Having the power to change things but being forced to hold it back — that was a different kind of helplessness from what Petra felt, and the bitter taste of frustration must have been different as well.
"I have to watch."
She didn't share the anguish of those like Meili and Otto — the torment that came with being the one who held the power to act. That was precisely why she could delete every extraneous option that tried to surface and focus on a single answer.
She didn't know what she could do yet. But when that "something" presented itself, she wanted to be the kind of person who wouldn't look away from it — and so she focused her consciousness entirely on that.
That was
△▼△▼△▼△ Her field of vision was narrow, sounds were distant, smells were sharp, pain was loud, the taste of blood was hazy, and the singular life that was Garfiel burned white-hot in a frenzy.
The collision had begun with an explosive start that exceeded the opponent's expectations — an almost perfect opening dash.
Garfiel's mighty arms, his fierce legs, his beastly claws rampaged in every direction, successfully pinning down the Reinhard who stood before him — forcing him purely onto the defensive, holding him in place.
It was a result utterly incomparable to his defeat in Priestella, where he hadn't been able to lay a finger on the man and was treated like a helpless infant.
"Back then, I couldn't even move on the gravel in the courtyard..."
"——!"
"But THIS time? That ain't the case!!"
Both arms, drawn back behind him, thrust forward simultaneously. A full-force blow surged toward Reinhard's chest. Reinhard drew the "Divine Dragon Sword" at his waist and caught it with its sturdy scabbard. But he couldn't fully disperse the impact — his feet lifted off the ground, and he took a single large step back.
He had forced Reinhard to move through sheer pummeling. —For Garfiel, who had been made to realize the difference in their power on that day, that was the greatest badge of honor imaginable.
Reinhard seemed to feel it too. The "Sword Saint," whose cheeks had stiffened ever so slightly, raised his head.
"You've improved your —"
"Don't you DARE say 'arm'!"
"That's actually exactly what I was about to say."
But praise would not be won with words — Garfiel lunged to claim it through victory itself.
The fact that his opponent had retreated from a single blow meant that Garfiel's offensive power had become more than a gentle breeze to Reinhard. —Of course, Garfiel harbored no delusion that this favorable exchange proved he had surpassed Reinhard in raw ability.
"——It really chafes my ass, though!"
Reinhard had appeared as their pursuer, yet it was obvious that he took no pleasure in opposing Garfiel and the others — and by extension, Subaru and Emilia.
Reinhard was acting as the "Sword Saint," following the orders of the royal palace. On top of that, he had brought no other soldiers, going so far as to seal away his own devastating combat power to avoid casualties — and yet he still stood as Garfiel's opponent.
Put another way, Garfiel was at his peak in both fighting spirit and physical condition, while Reinhard was at his weakest — with low motivation, and restrained by his concern for surrounding collateral damage.
That was precisely why this clash had produced such a miraculous balance of forces.
"——It really, truly chafes my ass!"
He wanted to win. Garfiel wanted to win.
He wanted to win — to crush the opponent who had given him absolutely no room for excuses, the opponent who had been so overwhelmingly strong that he couldn't do a thing back then — after carving out an absurd growth trajectory and surging forward.
He wanted Subaru to say, "As expected of Garfiel! I knew you'd pull through!" He wanted Otto to say with admiration, "You were tremendous this time, Garfiel." He wanted Frederica to say, "My my, you've become quite the adult, haven't you, Garf?" He wanted Mimi to cheer, "Whoaaa! Garf's amaaazing! Soooo strong!!" — that would be delightful. He wanted Ram to say, "Hmph, not bad, Garfiel." He wanted to make them all smile.
——Crushing that greedy heart that burned for victory within him, he set his soul ablaze for this one, completely unfair revenge match against the "Sword Saint."
"——GRAAAAAAAAH!!"
Up, down, right, left, forward, backward, front, back, sky, earth — the soaring Garfiel bounced and ricocheted from every direction, hammering relentless blows at Reinhard from sixteen angles, thirty-two angles, leaving not even a rat's gap to squeeze through.
The thunderous impact of his blows — faster, heavier, and louder than any drum being pounded — never ceased, seeking to smash, tear apart, and obliterate the peace of the royal capital.
But that was only natural. It was inevitable. It was fated.
The peace of the royal capital that existed here was a lie. A falsehood. A paper facade.
Beneath it, Subaru was being threatened. Behind it, Emilia was being threatened. And in the shadows, they themselves were being threatened.
And as the tangible, unjust threat standing before them — Reinhard — "CRUUUUUSH, DAMMIT!!"
The instant his full-force right fist met Reinhard's raised scabbard, Garfiel swung his lightly raised left knee around and stomped — hard — into the ground.
In that instant, the power of the earth that Garfiel had not drawn upon even once throughout this entire onslaught — the energy accumulated through the effects of his "Blessing of Earth Spirits" — erupted all at once.
——Up to this point, despite his relentless barrage of full-power attacks, Garfiel had never once converted his blessing's effect into an offensive strike to destabilize Reinhard's footing.
Instead, he had used the blessing solely to bolster his own body — holding his trump card in reserve.
For this very moment alone. The moment to send Reinhard off his feet.
Even for someone like Reinhard, if his body was launched into the air, all that would be left was to let gravity take its course. If he was suspended in the sky where he could plant no footing, Garfiel could either deal further damage with a follow-up attack, or possibly escape entirely.
Therefore — "Right HERE —"
"——You really have improved your arm."
The surging energy from directly below was crushed flat by Reinhard from directly above.
"————"
In that instant, the force on the verge of eruption lost its way and spread outward in every direction from beneath Reinhard's boots. The street cracked and curled upward, tearing through a corner of the royal capital as the energy escaped, and the buildings surrounding the battlefield each took the brunt of the explosive force and collapsed.
At that sight, Garfiel's emerald eyes flew wide open — "The residents of the area have already been evacuated. —There's no need to worry."
A flash — a streak of light and shock that blazed from one end of his vision to the other — tore diagonally through Garfiel's body and hammered him headfirst into the ground.
"Agh —" A strangled groan escaped as new, even larger cracks spread through the street, following the fissure from the moment he had stomped the rising earth. A semicircular crater was gouged into the ground.
Back in the Empire, Garfiel had gone head-to-head against even the "Cloud Dragon's" strike. Naturally, he hadn't walked away unscathed, but he had endured. —That toughness was not enough.
"——Ah"
He could feel every bone in his body creaking, every muscle screaming, and his organs choosing silence.
The sheer force had thrown his body into panic — his vision was reporting taste, his hearing was reporting pain, his sense of smell was reporting color, his taste was reporting sound, his sense of touch was trying to convey smell, and none of it connected to anything he could understand.
Was it pain? Bitterness? The taste of rust? Noise? What was happening? He didn't know.
He had taken a single blow so devastating that all understanding had been obliterated. Taken it. Taken it, taken it, taken it, taken, taken, taken, taken, taken, taken — — "——!"
His consciousness was being churned, torn apart, scattered. And yet, even in that maelstrom, he could feel someone right beside him hold their breath.
The one who held their breath and widened their eyes was the red-haired man. The blue-eyed man. The one who needed to be stopped. —And Garfiel wrapped both arms around the right arm that had launched the hand-strike, refusing to let go.
This one thing — he had decided to do it. He had done it. He had to do it.
"OaaOOOOOOH...!!"
"Garfiel, you —"
The air was being squeezed from his heart — heart? Stomach? Which was the air container? It didn't matter. Even if the air sac was empty, he could roar. Roaring gave him strength. Strength meant he wouldn't have to let go of this arm.
If he didn't let go — then — "UAAAAAAH!!"
— he wouldn't miss it. The green "something" that he trusted would move exactly when it needed to.
"————"
With his arm still clutched in place, the red-haired man sensed the change and turned forward. The green "something" was barreling straight at him with no regard for form or technique, and wariness flooded the red man's eyes.
He couldn't read what it would do. He couldn't tell what was coming. He couldn't fathom the intention. And even as those thoughts ran through his mind, the distance between green and red closed — closer, closer, closer — and then, without anything happening at all, the distance between green and red became zero.
"No way — there's nothing?"
"That's precisely what makes you drop your guard the most, wouldn't you say...?"
With one arm sealed, the other arm swung — and it grazed the tip of Garfiel's green jaw.
Having charged in with absolutely nothing, Garfiel took the blow head-on and had no recourse but to lose all capacity to act, toppling to the ground. As he fell, he whispered.
"Now"
His lips — or so it seemed, or so it was imagined — formed a soundless sound.
Understanding every phenomenon flowing past him from right to left as pure data, Garfiel — yes, Garfiel; the brain that identified itself as Garfiel received the information and processed it.
There was the red one. The green one had fallen. And Garfiel was there.
And then — "Hit them together!"
"Little Red Scorpion-chan!"
Two streaks of white light shot through the sky, passing through the line of sight opened by the fallen green one, and drove straight for the red one.
Without any audible sound, the two streaks of light — faster than arrows — closed in on the red one, whose right arm was sealed and whose left arm had just completed a swing.
"Impressed."
But the red one used the left elbow that had just struck down the green one to spin the white-sheathed sword at his waist a half-turn, sweeping it sideways to deflect both beams of light.
The light shattered with the sound of water splashing. The attack that should have reached Reinhard — the combined strike of Petra and Meili — had been blocked.
Garfiel's self-sacrifice, Otto's courageous gambit, Petra and Meili's surprise attack — none of it reached Reinhard — "————"
— and a barbed iron mace, spinning with savage momentum, drove itself dead-center into Reinhard's torso.
△▼△▼△▼△ To kill her breathing and pour her entire being into a single instant, Rem had forbidden herself any wasted motion.
Fluctuations of emotion that could sap her strength. Over-eagerness that could throw off her aim. She cut away every thought that could interfere, devoting literally everything to this one throw.
Garfiel had challenged. Otto had schemed. Petra and Meili had exploited the opening.
Even so, against the overwhelming wall that was Reinhard — a wall that none of them could breach — she had to weaponize even the humiliation of being treated as a non-combatant.
Swallowing all of those psychological elements whole, Rem poured everything into that single throw.
"HAAAAAH——!"
Straight, its chain singing a clear note as it punched through the air and raced across the sky — the barbed iron mace, the morning star, bore down on Reinhard's torso.
It went without saying that a weapon of this weight and hardness, striking directly, would not leave the human body intact. Yet Rem abandoned every last shred of hesitation — born of her trust in the opponent's otherworldly nature.
The reverence and trust for an opponent on an entirely different level — the conviction that even if this had struck the back of Reinhard's head when he was in perfect condition, it would not have taken his life.
That trust was infused into the black iron sphere, which was sucked toward the center of Reinhard's chest — "——!?!"
The instant she thought it had hit, a shock nearly dislocating her right shoulder slammed into Rem.
"What —"
She widened her eyes, desperate to understand what had happened. Reinhard — who should have taken the direct hit — had, in place, raised one long leg high into the air. —No, that was wrong. He had kicked.
Tracing the tip of that skyward leg revealed that the morning star Rem had launched had been kicked away, sent flying into the sky at a speed the eye could not follow. The shock of the chain reaching full extension had traveled all the way to Rem's body and nearly destroyed her shoulder.
"——Ah"
Before the pain could tear through her body, the truth tore through her mind.
She had failed. Garfiel had given everything he had. Otto had deliberately feigned helplessness. Petra and Meili had served as the distraction, clearing the path for the real attack — Rem's.
All five people here, united as one, for a single chance — and that chance had — "Didn't make i—"
"——No. I will make it reach."
— In that instant, cutting through her lament was a man's voice that Rem did not recognize.
"————"
Everyone present gasped, turning toward the source of the voice that had arrived like a surprise attack. —The man who owned that voice was a white-haired man in a butler's suit, holding twin swords that gleamed with silver light.
Overflowing with a torrent of sword pressure from every fiber of his being, the man spoke.
"For the purpose of saving my master, I, Wilhelm Trias — the Sword Devil — shall lend my aid."
△▼△▼△▼△ In the instant after those words, the ensuing exchange of blows lasted only a heartbeat — and it was everything.
"——Grandfather."
The moment that startled, anguished whisper escaped, within Reinhard's wavering eyes, the "Sword Devil" — Wilhelm — who had leaned forward, launched forward like a bullet.
Kicking through the shattered, upturned street, Wilhelm closed the distance between himself and Reinhard in the blink of an eye, settling into a guard with both swords poised at his waist.
He seized the narrowest of gaps — before the silver flash could be released, before it could reach its target.
"Where do you think you're looking?!"
Eyes bloodshot, Garfiel — still clinging to the right arm with everything he had — swelled the ground they were pressed against, and the upheaving street surged toward Reinhard.
It was an imprecise, badly aimed attack, with no refinement and no aim to speak of — just a wild spray of earth thrown out in overwhelming volume and range, as if willing it to hit through sheer numbers. But Reinhard swept his freed left arm in a wide semicircle, and a shockwave was born, scattering the debris.
Into that gap, Wilhelm's slashing blade descended — "AaaAAAARGH——!!"
But faster than that, Rem — who had let out a higher, sharper cry — swung her right arm downward with every ounce of strength she possessed. —From her forehead, she had sprouted the faintly luminous horn of an oni, enabling her body to operate beyond its limits. The demon girl had caught the morning star that had once been kicked away and struck it downward a second time from directly above.
With attention stolen by the rising earth, with the "Sword Devil" closing in from nearby — for Reinhard, who had been momentarily free of that overhead assault, this was the ultimate surprise attack.
And yet — "So you can do even this much?"
Reinhard murmured those words as he caught the falling iron mace with the scabbard of his "Divine Dragon Sword."
The sword that had detached from his waist when he blocked Petra's group's attack — he had kicked it into his left hand, using it to block Garfiel's earth upheaval, and positioned it to intercept the mace.
Against the barrage of attacks up to this point, his superhuman reflexes had deflected everything — an abnormal combat capability.
But even so, finally — "YRRRRRRRAAAAH!!"
With a war cry that could split stone, the "Sword Devil's" twin swords blazed with silver light.
This was a realm reached only by those who had devoted themselves entirely to the blade — incomparable to the surprise attacks that had preceded it. And that blade now bore down upon the "Sword Saint."
His left arm held the "Divine Dragon Sword," which was catching the mace. His right arm was sealed by Garfiel. —This time, it seemed, there was no way to block the flash of steel.
Unless — slowly, his right arm was raised, Garfiel's entire body included in the motion.
"——Ah"
With Garfiel still clinging to his arm, Reinhard intended to sweep through Wilhelm. Garfiel had no means to stop it — and even if Reinhard released his arm now, the freed hand-strike would meet Wilhelm head-on. Having Garfiel as a blunt instrument was still more constraining for Reinhard than the alternative.
But if Garfiel collided with Wilhelm as a weapon, the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity afforded by the arrival of a powerful ally would be squandered — "————"
In that instant, the eyes of Garfiel and Wilhelm met, and instinct conveyed understanding.
And Wilhelm's decision was accepted by Garfiel with wholehearted approval.
The "Sword Devil's" resolute determination — his answer was — "No way —"
The answer was given in unmistakable physical form, and Reinhard's eyes were filled with astonishment.
"It's... your bad habit. Underestimating the depth of another's resolve."
Wilhelm's blue eyes, calm as a lake, fixed on that astonishment and declared it.
The released arc of blade light traced a half-moon as it cut — slicing across Garfiel's raised flank, and with the blade that passed through, carving deep into Reinhard's leg.
"Finally... reached you...!"
It was the epitome of cutting flesh to break bone — the experience of fighting back-to-back in Priestella had, at this very moment, served as the foundation for Garfiel and Wilhelm's wordless coordination.
In Reinhard's perception, if Garfiel had thrown himself into the sword's path, Wilhelm would have halted his attack. But the "Sword Devil" did not halt — instead, he grasped the objective that Garfiel and the others had to accomplish.
And so, trusting in Garfiel's regenerative abilities, he had cut through Garfiel to reach Reinhard.
"——!"
With a deep wound in his leg and his breath caught, Reinhard's grip loosened and Garfiel slipped free.
Pressing his hand to the gash in his side, Garfiel — on the verge of consciousness fading — activated healing magic. Though the activation came with a subtle stiffness, he poured everything into the emergency treatment.
"Well done."
Before the freed Garfiel hit the ground, Wilhelm's outstretched hand caught his body. A glance revealed that Wilhelm had already sheathed both swords, was supporting Garfiel with one arm, and with the other was holding the collapsed Otto.
Still carrying both of them, Wilhelm looked at Reinhard.
"Even for you, that wound would not heal in an instant."
"Grandfather, wait! They are — Crusch-sama is —"
"I cannot entrust my sword to the current Kingdom."
"——!"
With that reply to the voice trying to hold him back, Wilhelm leaped a great distance backward.
Left behind, Reinhard stared — but as Wilhelm had pointed out, the gash in his leg was deep, and even he could not move immediately.
"My lady Rem! Please take them!"
"Yes! Strange old man!"
In that time, responding to Wilhelm's call, Rem had swiftly turned and raced to Petra and Meili, scooping up their startled bodies.
Watching from the sideline, Otto — slung over Wilhelm's opposite shoulder — stirred slightly.
"Follow the wall, and head west... please..."
"Otto-san! You're alive —"
"I'm alive...! To the west, there are no sounds or presence from any insects. —There's no way to be tricked again."
"——Understood."
Taking the fact that his "Blessing of Word Spirits" had been turned against him as the premise, Otto made a deliberate move — fleeing in the direction where no living creatures could be heard, thereby avoiding any further ambush.
Following that instruction, Wilhelm exchanged a nod with Rem, and the group burst into motion, leaving Reinhard alone on the battlefield as they made their escape.
"————"
Jostled roughly in the "Sword Devil's" arms, Garfiel managed to turn his head and watched the corner of the royal capital — already vanished beyond sight — where Reinhard had been left standing.
He had his thoughts. It wasn't that he hated Reinhard.
Even so, the relief and sense of accomplishment at having somehow weathered the obstruction that Reinhard had become in their path — "——Even so, I am the sword of the Kingdom."
At that moment, Garfiel felt the world hold its breath.
Not cease breathing — hold its breath. —Along with a quiet tremor through the atmosphere, the legendary blade of the "Divine Dragon Sword" Reid had been unsheathed, radiating a cold, bluish-white glow.
△▼△▼△▼△ ——The "Divine Dragon Sword" Reid.
One of only ten demonic or holy swords in the entire world, a legendary blade granted only to the "Sword Saint" of the Dragon Kingdom Lugunica and passed down through generations. It was whispered to contain immense hidden power, yet because of its peculiar nature — the sword itself choosing the moment it should be drawn — its actual deeds were almost never known. It was a blade wrapped in enigma.
Especially since it had come into the hands of the current "Sword Saint," Reinhard van Astrea, the occasions on which the "Divine Dragon Sword" had been wielded had plummeted. Stories of it being definitively drawn could be counted on one hand.
This was no coincidence — it was a direct result of Reinhard's transcendent ability, which rendered any opponent unworthy of the "Divine Dragon Sword" being drawn at all.
In truth, across the many occasions on which Reinhard had been called upon to serve as the "Sword Saint," the colossal power of the "Divine Dragon Sword" Reid had rarely been necessary.
It was for precisely this reason that
But — "————"
The mere act of that legendary blade being exposed to the world was enough for the world to recognize it as a matter of the highest gravity.
The conditions under which the "Divine Dragon Sword" Reid could be drawn — those were a mystery even to those who knew the long history of Lugunica, and even to the "Sword Saint" bloodline that inherited it generation after generation. Whether it was the strength of the enemy, the weight of what one carried, or the severity of the crisis faced — none of those was the answer.
If anything could be said with certainty, it was this: whenever the "Divine Dragon Sword" Reid was drawn, its purpose was never left unfulfilled.
"————"
As though a wave of cold had washed over his entire body, Garfiel's mind and soul — struck by the sword pressure — trembled violently.
No. No. No. No. No.
That must absolutely never be swung.
"——!"
With a sharp, grating sound, Garfiel's teeth clenched as he was held in the old swordsman's arms. Even he — looking where he shouldn't have — caught sight of the drawn "Divine Dragon Sword" and felt every hair on his body stand on end.
Rem and the old swordsman, who had no luxury to look back, surely felt it through their backs — or perhaps their very souls — the dense, vivid color of the sword pressure being unleashed.
And yet, even so, they pressed on desperately, refusing to shrink in fear, doing what had to be done.
He honestly thought that was incredible. Admirable, even.
He could never do that himself. Without any example to follow, how were they able to do it?
So he would follow their example. Do what needed to be done. —He would probably be scolded for it, though.
He wanted to stand alongside those who lived every moment at full strength, who were his role models — "——Come out, Sandworm-chan!!"
The next instant, without a shred of exaggeration, the very earth trembled with violent force, shaking the royal capital.
"Meili-chan!?"
In Rem's arms, Petra — who had been searching for something to counter the "Divine Dragon Sword" — went wide-eyed, looking at Meili in disbelief at the girl's broken promise.
Meeting Petra's gaze, Meili stuck out her tongue and said, "Sorry..."
"I know that if I do this, it'll cause trouble for Subaru-nii-san and Emilia-onee-san, but... we can't end things here, right?"
"You — idiot! You're such an idiot! After all, we were finally forgiven..."
"Oh, that's what Petra-chan was..."
At Petra's tearful repetition of "idiot," Meili finally understood.
The fear that Meili, the "Beast Master," summoning magical beasts would further expose the dangers of Emilia's camp — that was only half the reason. What Petra had truly wanted to prevent was the Kingdom once again viewing Meili — the dangerous assassin whom Petra had vouched for as their guide to the Pleiades Watchtower — with suspicion.
"It's okay. ...For just a little while, I got to dream."
Perhaps — perhaps she had been forgiven for her sins, and could walk a proper path.
In truth, she had even imagined walking that future together with the people who were kind to her.
And that was enough. Her heart had warmed just like it did when she was with that troublesome sister of hers.
——Because she had been allowed to see that dream.
"Mr. Sword Saint — can you chase after us? I sent four Sandworm-chan to the east, west, south, and north gates of the royal capital, so right now it's total chaos out there~"
The sandworms of the
Rather than ordering them to follow quietly, Meili deliberately had them stir up maximum terror through her "Blessing of Beast Manipulation."
If Reinhard didn't go, there might be casualties. —Meili, of course, wouldn't feel a thing about that.
As long as the people here — Subaru,
Anyone besides the people she cherished, the people she wanted to protect — she didn't care who died.
"——Meili."
From far away, she could see Reinhard's lips move, forming that single word.
Meili had also traveled to the Pleiades Watchtower alongside Reinhard and Felt. They had spent time together. She remembered being looked after.
And yet — it was nothing compared to Subaru and the rest.
"I'm a bad girl, you know~"
With a mocking smile, Meili gave Reinhard a small wave.
She didn't notice the hot droplets spilling from the corners of her eyes and tracing down her cheeks. The only ones who noticed were the "Sword Saint" — whose eyes could capture details with perfect clarity despite the growing distance — and Petra, who was being carried in Rem's desperate arms and weeping for her friend's decision.
"Meili-chan, you dummy...! I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
The tearful girl's apology fell hollow against the backdrop of her friend's great, resolute choice.
And at the end of that great, momentous decision — "————"
——It was the first time since the "Divine Dragon Sword" Reid had been placed in the hands of the "Sword Saint" Reinhard van Astrea that the blade was returned to its sheath without fulfilling the purpose for which it had been drawn.