"————"
Garfiel wrinkled his snout and halted, struck by a discordant feeling.
He had been tearing across the earth, his body turned to wind, but now he screeched to a stop. Driving his right foot into the soft soil like a stake, he dropped into a low stance, dust billowing around him as he swung his head about.
The sight of him flaring his nostrils and sifting the air for scents placed him in the forest surrounding the
He had already scoured every place he could think of, his legs moving back and forth more times than he could count, searching for that familiar small frame.
The quickened pounding of his heart stemmed from the restless agitation born of a bad premonition.
He could feel it—a situation tremendously inconvenient to him was unfolding. Outsiders were flexing their muscles inside the Sanctuary, and even Ryuzu had begun acting out of character—making decisions, no less, without so much as consulting him.
"Damn it all… What the hell is going on here?"
He raked his fingers through his short blond hair and traced the white scar on his forehead with his fingertip.
Whenever he was bewildered, whenever he was unsettled, whenever his mind threatened to lose its calm—it was Garfiel's habit to touch that wound, as though it were a trigger that steadied his mind.
By tracing the scar, he could remember the moment he received it. By recalling the time he had been at his most foolish, when he had earned this lifelong mark, he could return to composure.
Many who knew Garfiel as a person tended to write him off as impulsive and rough-hewn. That impression arose from the tangle of his usual words, behavior, bearing, and so on—but in truth, it was wrong.
The reason was simple: Garfiel knew—and keenly felt—that brawn alone would not be enough to see through his own convictions to their end.
What did he need to know, and what did he need to do, to make his wish come true? He was never done turning such questions over, and his unshakable conviction had been forged through precisely that process.
And yet— "But still…! Why does every last one of them keep running around on their own…!?"
Baring his sharp fangs in frustration, Garfiel let out a guttural growl.
Just as his words stated, the situation had kept deviating from his expectations. Because his ironclad convictions demanded conclusions first, Garfiel was spectacularly weak when it came to flexible thinking.
His stance on the Sanctuary always had one answer. The path to that answer could branch into countless processes—he would never yield on the destination itself. That was precisely why he had tried to stay attentive to every conceivable process.
But none of those possibilities accounted for Ryuzu acting on her own initiative, or the dark maneuvering of the outsiders.
It was a sad truth, but Garfiel was not a man who stopped thinking. Neither was he superior in experience nor exceptional in intellect. He was simply desperate. That was all.
"————"
He sniffed sharply through his nose, narrowing the pupils of those golden eyes.
A wave of confirmation surged through him, the fine hairs on his back bracing upright. He bent his knees slightly and launched himself into the air—resuming his pursuit. Using the branches of trees as footholds, leveraging their spring to go higher, faster, he ricocheted back and forth through the green, closing in on the scent he had latched onto.
"Clumped together… What are you playing at, huh!?"
He gnashed his teeth and voiced his irritation in a roar.
It was a sound close to the snarl of a great feline predator, and fury blazed in Garfiel's twin eyes.
What his nose had picked up was the stink of far too many living creatures. Sweat. Grass and soil crushed underfoot. The sharp, acrid scent that anxious humans exude from their bodies—on and on, layer upon layer.
"————!!"
It was, without question, the unmistakable smell of a mass movement of people.
No fewer than ten—approaching fifty—individuals' worth of scent. In the current Sanctuary, there was only one group that could possibly number this many and be moving at this particular time.
—the refugees who had evacuated from the village right beside Roswaal's mansion.
People who had come here to escape danger. And now, forgetting the mercy of having been taken in, they were choosing to act at this juncture. What could that possibly mean?
"That guy… That bastard's got to be screwing with me…!"
What surfaced in Garfiel's mind was the boy with short black hair whom he found inexplicably irksome.
Despite his sharp gaze, he wore that flippant, unserious expression at every turn. And yet, there were moments when he fixed you with a look of piercing clarity, as though seeing right through you.
That gaze—like he was staring at somewhere that wasn't here—reminded Garfiel of yet another man he couldn't stand, and it set his teeth on edge like nothing else.
That man he already detested—there was no doubt he was the one behind this.
The refugees' sudden action was obviously the result of that boy's agitation. For some reason, the refugees placed an extraordinary degree of trust in him.
He had no strength to speak of, no discernible talent, and seemed like nothing more than a silver-tongued smooth talker. To Garfiel, he was the most loathsome creature in this world: weak, foolish, and selfish.
He should have dealt with that guy himself, early on. He couldn't help but think so now.
The opportunity had come up time and again. But the boy was so wide open, so recklessly exposed—and yet, when it came to issues that demanded the resolve to endure pain, he had this inexplicable edge. Garfiel had been paralyzed, unable to act.
The price of that hesitation was his present predicament.
Worst of all, he had lost sight of Ryuzu—the one family member he needed to prioritize above all else—and the Sanctuary's peace was being threatened by these meddlers doing as they pleased. Under no circumstances could he allow the refugees to leave the barrier.
A few days ago, it might have been a different story, but the situation had changed.
"That bastard knows the old lady ain't normal, doesn't he…?"
In the place Garfiel called the testing ground—and Ryuzu called the Founders' Room—there lay a crystal containing the sleeping form of the girl who had been the basis for Ryuzu, the being who was Garfiel's family: Ryuzu Meyer.
In all honesty, Garfiel had little interest in that crystal.
The girl sleeping inside looked exactly like his family, to be sure, but if the contents were different, then it was a wholly separate being. If you counted everything that looked like Ryuzu on the outside but was different within—there were already more than twenty such copies that Garfiel was aware of.
It was impossible for him to feel the same depth of affection and attachment toward each one as he felt for Ryuzu. Nor did he want to.
He held the authority to issue free commands to the clones who wore his grandmother's face. And he did not shy away from exercising that authority. The reason he refrained from using command as much as possible was simply a matter of his own temperament.
He disliked fraternizing with others or bossing people around. He felt an inexpressible irritation toward beings who obeyed his orders docilely, like puppets.
That was the full extent of what Garfiel felt toward the crystal girl.
He had nothing beyond that. Garfiel did not consider himself to be a man of deep reserves or broad reach.
What he had to give was limited from the start. Two arms, two legs, one body.
He could only offer so much, which meant he had to narrow down who he offered it to.
And so, he would share it only with the limited few he deemed worthy.
"That's why… if you thought I was going soft on you, you're dead wrong—naively, catastrophically wrong!"
He kicked hard off a tree trunk, vaulting over the canopy.
Tucking his knees, Garfiel's body spun through the air, then landed with enough force to send dead leaves spiraling upward. The ground caved in beneath the shape of his soles, and the earth dragon's shriek threaded its way through the gaps between trees.
Absorbing the shock of impact into the ground, Garfiel slowly straightened his spine.
He wrinkled his snout—not for the sake of his sense of smell, but out of pure rage. He cracked his neck, clenched his sharp teeth together with an audible clatter, and glared straight ahead, the corners of his eyes drawn tight with fury.
There, directly before Garfiel, two dragon carriages were parked in a line.
The ground dragons pulling them had grown agitated and excited by the murderous aura radiating from Garfiel, and their drivers were desperately soothing them with words.
Those drivers were familiar faces to Garfiel as well, and— "And if it isn't my favorite scrawny pal. Ha! Of course you'd be the ringleader who got roped in by that bastard, huh?"
"That manner of speaking… Well, I'm well aware of how I'm regarded, I assure you."
With his hands stuffed in his trouser pockets, Garfiel regarded the figure on the driver's bench—Otto, his gray hair grown out to an awkward length, his face bearing the lines of a man who had seen hard times. Otto managed a wry smile.
He worked the reins with practiced ease and had succeeded in calming the ground dragon, which was still breathing hard.
"Heh, impressive. If I'd really scared it, a panicking ground dragon boltin' off and causin' a scene wouldn'ta been outta the question."
"I did my very best to talk it down. Besides, I had事先 made sure to tell them you would probably come."
"Hah—?"
A remark Garfiel could not afford to let slip past reached his ear, and it twitched.
Without thinking, he extended his fingertips toward the scar on his forehead and stepped forward, intent on pressing Otto for the true meaning of those words.
"What's that supposed to mean? You lot were planning to piggyback on the commotion and flee this place. I caught you in the act and stopped you like a fool. Right?"
"Yes, that's exactly right. Seizing the largest possible profit from an unexpected trouble is basic merchant logic. They'd promised us a handsome reward, and we fully intended to pull it off cleanly, but alas…"
"…………"
Otto covered his face with his palm in a pantomime of a ruined scheme. But there was something almost relaxed about both his words and his gestures, and it left Garfiel bewildered.
This was not the posture of a man whose trump card had been crushed. On the contrary—his bearing now was precisely that of Roswaal, the way Roswaal looked when he was rolling someone between his palms.
"That face, that attitude… You look exactly like the guy I hate most in this world."
"That's quite the flattering assessment… For reference, might I ask what sort of person he is? I'd like to keep it in mind for building a good relationship with you going forward."
"Ha! You and me, building a relationship? Good one, dolt. —The guy I hate most is probably being waited on hand and foot in the finest room the Sanctuary has to offer right now."
"I see, I see. Having someone you're pining for be so devoted to your rival—that must be agonizing. You have my deepest sympathies."
"Shut that mouth before I shut it for you, Otto."
When Otto's words edged toward mocking his feelings for
In truth, Garfiel could very well force his way through this situation. The refugees' escape attempt had been exposed the moment he discovered it—it was already a failure.
He would not let them outside. But neither did he see the need to resort to violence unless they tried to leave by force.
Right now, what mattered was settling this quickly and returning to the Sanctuary. What Garfiel needed to prioritize was, above all else, the maintenance of the Sanctuary—and this whole affair was nothing but an unnecessary complication.
"In any case, the escape plan is a bust. If that guy's around, bring him out. He needs to apologize for pulling this stupid stunt, and depending on how things go, he might just have to suffer a little."
He needed to vent at least some of the frustration that had built up in his gut.
Beyond that, Garfiel needed to know what
Even if he was going to break, wasn't this far too soon? Put bluntly, he simply lacked backbone.
Once he drilled that into the boy's head— "Well, I'm afraid I can't accommodate that request."
"Hah?"
"Don't you realize? I'm making the same face as the person you hate most in the world, aren't I? So wouldn't you say it's reasonable to assume I'd do the sort of thing that person would do?"
"————"
Indirect. Circumlocutory. The core of Otto's meaning refused to come into focus.
But Garfiel judged it was the sort of remark he could not afford to let slide. Above all, having the same face as Roswaal—the man he hated—could only mean one thing: he was plotting something, trying to manipulate others from behind the scenes.
"What are you scheming, exactly?"
"Hmm. Speaking in terms of a face we both know—something underhanded, perhaps?"
Otto's expression turned as though laced with venom as he said this, then he rubbed his nose with his finger. Garfiel narrowed his eyes at the sight, and only belatedly noticed something off.
Two dragon carriages stood before him, two ground dragons, and Otto. And yet—on the driver's bench of the carriage behind him, the driver who should have been there was nowhere to be seen.
No—it was worse than that.
"Why is it that even though I stirred up those ground dragons and rattled the carriages good, not a single one of those bastards inside bothered to show their faces?"
"Hmm, I wonder why."
Otto shrugged innocently, making no attempt to stop Garfiel as he approached the carriage, his expression changed. Garfiel vaulted lightly onto the carriage body and threw open the passenger door.
Then, taking in the scene within, he ground his high fangs together.
"——Nobody's inside."
"Obviously. I can see that. …What the hell? My nose definitely caught a bunch of people's scent inside this moving carriage…!"
Spitting his words, Garfiel stepped inside, then cut himself off mid-sentence.
At his feet, inside the passenger compartment he had entered, clothing was strewn everywhere. Multiple garments—men's, women's, adult-sized and children's—all jumbled together and tossed aside. Taking in the sight, Garfiel's face twisted at the sheer simplicity of the trick that had deceived his nose.
"A cheap little trick like this…!"
"By now, the other carriages—different from these ones—should have departed from another location and be attempting to escape the Sanctuary. Even your legs won't catch up in time."
"Another location, you say? What are you babbling about? There's no way anyone could just slip through the forest trails without using this road! They'd get lost and wind up in my nose before they knew it. You know perfectly well I can pass through the barrier, don't you?"
"I do. I don't know the full extent of your abilities, of course. But—"
Otto stepped down from the carriage, and the two faced each other in front of it. As Otto paused, Garfiel closed the distance, his chest burning with agitation, and— "You don't know me all that well, either."
"————"
"You're the type who wouldn't bother with someone like me. The type who despises smooth-talkers like me or Natsuki Subaru above all else. That's why you never paid attention to my actions, and you can't see what I've done here either."
"What are you trying to say…?"
"It means I didn't spend these past few days wandering the forest for nothing, or lingering in the stables with the ground dragons until the small hours of the morning. I found an escape route that doesn't depend on this road, and I've thoroughly drilled it into them."
Otto raised both hands, his expression brimming with confidence.
Garfiel's sharp eyes went wide, his jaw hanging open.
Drilled it into them—into whom? The drivers of the other carriages? Even so, the implication of those words didn't add up. In the stables—he meant he had told the ground dragons?
If that was the case— "So you're one of that bastard's cronies after all…"
"Hold on! That's a rather unsatisfying conclusion—I'm the one who should be unsatisfied here!"
When Garfiel turned a look of sympathy toward him, Otto raised a clamorous protest. It was a familiar mannerism; every time they crossed paths in the Sanctuary, Otto carried on like this.
The fact that he was behaving normally was, in this situation, anything but normal.
"In any case, first I'm sending you back inside. The others—I'll track them down and drag them back myself."
"I made sure to scatter them in every direction. Catching them is impossible. But if you're still determined to chase after them, he told me to pass along this message: the refugees know nothing about the truth of the Sanctuary or about Ryuzu-san. So even if you let them go, nothing disadvantageous will come of it. …How about it?"
"That's a pretty well-thought-out little message."
The message was undoubtedly from Subaru.
He had seen right through Garfiel's reason for not wanting to let the people inside leave. The more Garfiel recognized how thoroughly the other side had anticipated his moves, the more his irritation flared—but there was, admittedly, no longer any reason to chase after the refugees at a dead sprint.
"…If that's really true."
"How distrustful. I should mention that none of us—including Natsuki Subaru—want to worsen our relationship with the people of the Sanctuary. Quite the opposite; we'd like to maintain a friendly relationship while choosing liberation. Isn't the one getting in the way of that friendship actually you?"
"…I'm not the one trying to interfere with getting along. Not inside the Sanctuary, anyway."
"You're fixated, aren't you."
"Because that's the one thing I absolutely cannot compromise on."
Otto wore a look of exasperation, and Garfiel released a heavy sigh.
Though he had maintained a skeptical stance, Garfiel judged that the content of the message was likely true. Not only had someone come all this way to warn him, but it made logical sense: if Subaru had picked up on why Garfiel didn't want to let anyone leave the Sanctuary, he would not have given the refugees information that could serve as an obstacle to escape.
"But here's the thing. That still doesn't explain why you went through this whole farce and这些小tricks to get them outside the Sanctuary. If the reason was that they might be harmed inside, then not trusting the people you claim you want to get along with—that's pretty rich, isn't it?"
"If that were the case, it's rather ironic coming from the person whose name would top that list. I had my doubts as well, but Natsuki Subaru says it's a reliable safeguard. And perhaps there's also the element of buying time."
"————"
The phrase "buying time" tightened Garfiel's expression.
He understood what that meant in this context. He moistened his lips with his tongue and— "What are you up to…?"
"Perhaps it's bug repellent—to ensure a certain man and woman are left alone together without interruption."
Otto shook his head with a tired expression, yet one tinged with a hint of satisfaction.
At first Garfiel had been about to retort—what nonsense are you spouting—but watching Otto's face, he changed his mind. That expression did not look like someone telling a lie.
If so, those words were true. And "a certain man and woman"—the only two that could possibly refer to were Natsuki Subaru and
"————"
Instinctively, Garfiel understood that he must not let those two meet.
The beastman blood flowing through his veins sensed it on an animal level.
He jerked his head up and looked back toward the direction of the settlement.
If he left the contact between Subaru and Emilia unchecked, it would bring about the worst possible outcome for Garfiel. The liberation of the Sanctuary—if that was accomplished— "————"
That's impossible, his reason protested.
He had seen it with his own eyes: Emilia, beaten down by the severity of the trials, her spirit broken. And the day before, the girl had lost some unseen pillar of support, sapping even more of her strength.
A girl whose heart had been ground down so thoroughly—who had buckled under the weight of nightmares—could she possibly rise again in just one or two days?
But his instinct still urged him to stop it, driving him forward.
The "past" shown by the trials. Even when you knew intellectually that it was a different past, the scenes they presented forced open the lid on the most abhorrent memories for whoever was being challenged.
Garfiel had been foolish enough to walk into the burial site of his own accord, where he was shown "the past."
When he recalled that moment, the blood drained from his whole body, and he could barely contain the hollow feeling that flooded into his heart.
Since that day, with iron resolve, he had lived his life determined never to betray the promise he had made to himself. That was how deeply and sharply the trials carved into the hearts of those who dared to face them.
"The situation has changed. I'm going back to the Sanctuary right now. I'll find those two and make them reconsider, even if I have to—"
"You think I would simply let that happen?"
"————"
As Garfiel moved to turn toward the settlement, Otto's voice stopped him from behind.
But Garfiel's response was savage.
"——Guh."
"Shut up and stay down. I don't have time to play around with you anymore."
In a single step he closed the distance, and his clenched fist buried itself in Otto's abdomen.
He avoided the bone, driving the punch deep as though scooping through the organs. Otto's body lifted off the ground, drool spilling from his slack mouth as Garfiel flung him aside.
He had held back. He had put more force into it than was needed for a simple knockout, but considering he had been so neatly manipulated, this was perhaps the gentlest possible reply.
Garfiel clicked his tongue at the fallen Otto, then lightly scraped his sole against the ground.
"——Where do you think you're going?"
"——!?"
He had been about to break into a run when his foot froze.
Garfiel turned back, his face a mask of disbelief. There, Otto was standing upright.
One hand pressed to his stomach, coughing and spitting saliva, yet still conscious.
"What the—? I didn't try to kill you, but I sure as hell didn't hold back enough to leave you standing. What gives?"
"Is that so…? Then I suppose my durability exceeded your imagination. Ah… all those boring days of training finally paid off. …A traveling merchant's body is his capital, after all. You can't afford to be anything but sturdy…"
Otto grinned through the pain, and Garfiel felt a prickle of unease. He squared up.
One more blow. This time he would swing without any restraint and aim for the head. The risk of lasting damage went up, but it would guarantee a knockout.
"This one's gonna hurt a lot more. Clench your teeth tight—"
"You're still trying to hold back against me? That careless attitude is your defeat!"
Otto shouted as Garfiel leaned forward, bracing to strike.
His bloodshot eyes locked on Garfiel. He raised the hand that had been dangling limp at his side with everything he had.
The next instant, a whirlwind of rising leaves blanketed Garfiel's field of vision, creating a split-second opening.
"Wh—at—!?"
Caught off guard, Garfiel stiffened and halted.
And then— "Take this—!!"
With Otto's piercing scream, something hurled through the curtain of dancing leaves, erupting in a flash of light—.
A red radiance swallowed Garfiel whole.