It took courage for him to declare himself "the Finest Knight."
There was certainly pride in being called that by others, in being praised and lauded.
But he had never once called himself "the most" or "the finest" of his own volition.
He could take pride in having spared no effort, in having spent his days in tireless refinement.
However, as someone still lacking and immature, whenever he looked upward he was surrounded by those of surpassing skill, admirable comrades, and astonishing juniors without end.
He felt both frustration and happiness about that.
Being recognized by someone should be the reward that comes at the end of diligent effort and painstaking devotion.
And if one sought to be recognized by everyone, then that effort and devotion would have to be beyond all reckoning—so staggering that it would make anyone bow in respect.
—Had he truly put in that much effort?
He could take pride in having spared no effort, in having spent his days in tireless refinement.
But had he exceeded his limits? Had he honed himself to the breaking point on a daily basis? Had he been inspired by the efforts of others to swear even greater dedication to his ideals?
He would answer his own self-interrogation.
He had exceeded his limits, honed himself to the breaking point, and sworn greater effort modeled after the striving of others.
—And so, standing before the pinnacle of the sword, he could hold his head high with dignity.
"I am Julius Juukulius—the Finest Knight. The Kingdom's sword, here to cut you down."
"—"
Reid, the Sword Saint, fell silent before Julius, who had seized the hem of his mantle and bowed.
With his one uncovered eye—his eye not covered by the eyepatch—closed, Reid did not look at Julius. He simply stood with his thick, powerful arms crossed, deep in thought.
But that contemplation didn't last long. Even from their brief acquaintance, it was easy enough to tell that he was temperamentally unsuited to brooding.
And so— "Ah, ah, ahhhhh, ahhhhh—no, no, noooo!!"
Reid the Sword Saint scratched furiously at his own head, then stomped his foot hard against the ground.
The impact made the entire second floor shudder as if the white floor were about to crack.
Seeing that, Reid clicked his tongue.
"Vanity, vanity, vanity… Ah, it's all vanity, isn't it? Just like always, you're spouting that sidekick crap. Seriously, I can't stand you, pal."
"I'm afraid I don't quite follow, but I can sympathize with being called your sidekick nonetheless."
"Huh? Who said the sidekick was a guy? Besides, dragging some guy around wouldn't be any fun. The sidekick I'm talking about is a woman. Good-looking, but too much of a talker."
"A woman… then what exactly do I have in common with her?"
"Huh? Don't make me repeat myself."
Wrinkling his snout, Reid bared a grin as fierce as a shark's.
Then, uncrossing his arms, he slapped his own cheeks a couple of times.
"The talking too much, and the good looks."
"—"
"Tch, you're not even pissed? No fire in you at all. …Well, whatever, that works."
Snorting at Julius's restrained reaction, Reid cracked his neck with a tremendous snap. Then he turned those blue eyes to scrutinize Julius—no, not Julius himself, but his surroundings.
The faint lights that swirled around Julius—its radiance had grown stronger than before.
More importantly, this was the first time Reid had seen them revealed before him.
"Have you something to say about my buds—no, my lovely maidens?"
"Hah, nothing. A good woman doesn't care about species. Not that I'm interested in women I can't bed. —Did you get stronger by cracking that shell of yours?"
"If you say so, then perhaps there was such a path."
Advice to a junior—that kind of capriciousness was out of character for Reid. What prompted it was likely Reid's own whimsical nature, combined with how he found it a waste to see Julius clinging to nothing but his sword so desperately.
If you're going to cling to the sword, then show it with total disregard for appearances. —That was the attitude and resolve Reid had wanted from Julius, and it was indeed one possible path.
However— "I have decided to walk this path. Or perhaps, as you say, I may grow stronger by cracking my shell and baring what my true self really is."
Julius himself was keenly aware—if he didn't keep it firmly in mind, his true face would naturally surface.
In a reflexive moment, in a razor-thin exchange where a single slip of skin meant the difference between life and death—that was when the real Julius would emerge.
But that was only if he didn't keep it firmly in mind. —No more. His resolve was unshakable.
"I will say it clearly. I will push myself as a knight to the absolute limit. And beyond that, I will surpass the path you tried to guide me toward in every conceivable way."
"Huh, and how exactly do you plan to do that?"
"It's simple. —The knight I believe in is an embodiment of ideals. He is pure, righteous, and above all, strong. If that is so, then I, who bear the name of knight, must be no less."
"—Ha."
What a ridiculous line of reasoning. Unjustified arrogance, empty bravado—by all rights, he should have been laughed at.
But upon hearing it, Reid showed neither anger nor contempt. He simply bared his sharp teeth in a grin.
And then— "I'll make you cry."
Saying that, Reid tossed aside the chopsticks he'd been holding, then vaulted backward a great distance in front of the stunned Julius. Slowly, he extended one hand to the side.
What those massive fingers seized was the selection sword, driven into the white floor—
For reasons beyond reckoning, he had torn away the tower's mechanisms through sheer force of ego, and had even achieved a pseudo-resurrection by overwriting the body of the Archbishop of Gluttony,
Now that he had reached this state—a state where he no longer needed to obey the tower's "trials"—only then did Reid finally draw the selection sword, fulfilling its original purpose.
In other words— "O fool who has reached the Divine Sword, receive the permission of this one."
"That line was mine. …Well, I forgot it since it slipped out so easily."
"I figured as much, so I said it on your behalf. —Now then, grant me the honor."
"Not a chance, you idiot. I'll make you squeal."
With his knight's sword leveled forward, Julius faced Reid, who was now pointing the drawn sword at him carelessly.
There was not a single opening. An ultimate swordsman in his natural, perfected state— The pinnacle of all who grip the sword: Reid Astrea, the Sword Saint.
"Come—"
"Whenever."
"—and fight!!"
Believing in the chivalry that defined him, Julius Juukulius launched himself at the Sword Saint with everything he had.
△▼△▼△▼△ His body and his spirit were light.
Not as a metaphor—this was the tangible force of the elation that enveloped Julius's entire body as he wielded his knight's sword.
That mental stability was a decisive factor in combat, needless to say.
Come to think of it, ever since coming to the
Of course, Julius had done his utmost to restrain himself, to maintain control, and to keep it all hidden. The kind of self-restraint that, if anyone had heard, they might have called ironclad reason—but it was nothing to be praised for.
The result of hiding his own dysfunction, deceiving both his companions and himself, was the chain of defeats since arriving at the tower—that pathetic loss above all.
Julius should have trusted others first.
He had been shaken by the shock of being forgotten, wallowing in self-pity over having fallen from the world of those around him, and in doing so, he had overlooked the most important thing.
Were the people Julius believed in, the people he pledged loyalty to, the people he entrusted his back to—the kind of people who would disregard Julius Juukulius simply because he had fallen from the world's memory?
—He could say with absolute certainty: they were not.
Then there was only one thing Julius should have done.
He should have appealed earnestly and shown his love from his own initiative. —Just as he had been able to do with the buds.
"The bonds that were severed could have been refastened. Someone who was nothing could become someone of consequence—I myself was living proof of that!"
A commoner's son, a nobody, could become the most magnificent knight in the world.
Julius, who had been reduced to nothing, could become anything at all.
And— "No matter how many chances I am given, on that day I will always look upon that blazing boy with admiration, see ideals in the back he turned to the world as he declared himself a knight, and challenge you—the pinnacle of the sword—once more!"
"You keep blabbering and it's pissing me off!!"
Reid roared, matching sword strike for sword strike against the blow Julius had poured his resolve into.
Feeling the sword pressure and wind batter his entire body, Julius narrowed his golden eyes in admiration.
This was the fourth time he'd fought Reid, if you counted the resets.
The first challenge, and the immediate defeat. Then the stalling when the entire watchtower was in danger, and now this—the fourth time, after having re-Contracted with the buds.
In all that time, this was the first occasion Reid had wielded anything besides chopsticks—whether calling chopsticks a weapon was even up for debate, but regardless, this was the first time he'd held anything else.
And now that the Sword Saint, the pinnacle of the sword, had deigned to grip a proper blade, Julius thought: "There's no change in his sword power from when he used chopsticks…!"
"That's what I tried telling you. I'm not strong because I can swing a sword. I'm strong because I'm strong—that's the only reason."
Taking a casual overhead slash on his sword guard, his knees buckling from the force, Julius barely managed to parry the follow-up strike from directly below. The impact sent him flying backward.
Reid closed the distance—not with a lunge, but merely by taking large strides.
It was tempting to question some special footwork, but there was nothing of the sort.
It was simply that when pursuing a retreating opponent, Reid could achieve in a single step what any school of swordsmanship would spend generations developing. That was just who Reid was.
As he himself had said—he was nothing more than an irregular "existence."
"Starting to feel like crying?"
"—Not at all. My heart soars with the thrill of challenging a legend!"
Not bravado—Julius answered while driven by genuine excitement.
Yes, that was exactly it. Before him stood Reid Astrea. How many times had Julius's heart raced and his eyes sparkled at the legends of this man? How long had he dreamed of him?
Meeting the real thing in the flesh, he had been surprised by the man's personality—but his power was everything Julius had ever idealized.
Which made him wonder, just how wasted had all his opportunities been?
To have exchanged words, crossed swords, had the chance to trade thoughts and convictions with— "Ha."
While trading blows with the "real thing," that stray thought flickered through Julius's mind, and he let out a breath.
The idea was absurdly out of place, yet it made his heart flutter with anticipation. What a delightful thought.
"What're you grinning at?"
"I was merely thinking—once I've fulfilled my purpose here and returned, I'd like to challenge my friend Reinhard."
At Reid's question, Julius spoke the thought aloud.
Never once had Julius crossed swords with Reinhard to compare skill. Beyond that—until they ended up on opposing sides in the Royal Selection—they hadn't even competed at anything.
—He regretted never having tried to stand side by side.
That, too, was one of the reasons Julius had chosen to serve Anastasia and enter the Royal Selection.
But even without that feeling, Julius would have been drawn to Anastasia's grand vision, would have wanted to share her dream, would have stood in the same place.
If so, all those flimsy excuses and roundabout pretexts had been unnecessary from the start.
All he'd needed to do from the beginning was bring two wooden swords and go to Reinhard.
Once, in the past, Reinhard had crossed swords with the strongest swordsman of the
On that day in the training ground, when everyone was in a frenzy over the clash of their sword pressure, Julius's heart had burned as well.
That was the answer— "Huh, never heard that name. Who's this guy? Some horse-bone nobody?"
"He is your descendant. And the current Sword Saint—my friend."
"Bwahaha! Some brat's brat's brat, he's practically a stranger by now. You wouldn't even recognize him on the street."
Reid interspersed kicks among his sword strikes as he lectured irresponsibly, snorting all the while.
Julius was about to open his mouth to offer a small rebuttal while matching swords— "I'm getting tired of hearing about other people. You want to chat with me or fight me?"
"—I won't deny it, but I'll deny it anyway."
"—"
"If the timing were right, I would gladly spend two or three nights exchanging words with you. But right now, I cannot afford the time. I'm being urged to hurry, and to look forward. Therefore—"
At a distance, Reid looked at Julius and raised his cheek into a grin. In Reid's blue eyes, Julius could see his own reflection—surrounded by ever-intensifying radiance.
The swirling six-colored lights blended together, and soon began tracing a gentle aurora, a rainbow.
And then— "—Al Clauseria!!"
—The radiance of the unleashed rainbow surged toward Reid, engulfing the white world.
△▼△▼△▼△ The power and scope of the unleashed aurora made even Julius's own eyes widen.
It had become a grand-scale elemental magic of the highest order—something he could no longer treat as the same level as before, to do so would be an insult— '———' The buds—no, calling them "buds" was no longer fitting now that they had literally bloomed from their latent potential.
Beautiful, graceful, valiant, dignified, radiant—even divine—their transformation had been so complete that they were no longer buds, but maidens in full flower.
To claim six beings, each radiating her own unique charm, for oneself alone—that perhaps made him a sinner greater than an Archbishop of Sin.
But— "Even if you all have forgotten me, I love you."
Julius stepped forward, racing to catch up with the unleashed aurora.
The rainbow light, imbued with all six attributes, pierced through any defense to shatter its target. Thus, before the rainbow radiance, an opponent had only two options: face it head-on or dodge.
"—Ha."
And given his temperament, Reid Astrea would never dodge the rainbow light.
Facing the rainbow radiance bearing down on him head-on, Reid raised his powerful arm and, with the selection sword in his grip, swept away the light's leading edge.
A technique reliant not on special magic or divine blessings, but on nothing more than pure violence—a "sword style" in its most literal form—and with a single sweep, it erased Julius's ultimate spell of the highest order.
But Julius, pressing forward, had accounted for that.
Emerging from behind the vanishing aurora, Julius called upon the power of his maidens.
"Ia! Aro!"
Instantly, the red and green spirits answered his call and amplified each other's power. Wind engulfed in blazing flame spiraled together, and a searing vortex was born at Reid's feet.
Feeling the wall of heat at his back, Reid launched himself upward, escaping before he could be incinerated.
But this—this was where the Spirit Knight, the "Finest Knight," truly came into his own.
"Qua! Ik!"
The yellow spirit raised a ridge from the white floor, propelling Julius's body upward. Simultaneously, the blue spirit's radiance froze the moisture in the air, halting Reid's ascent.
Clicking his tongue, Reid performed an inhuman feat—kicking off thin air to reverse his position, then planting his feet upside-down against the ceiling of ice that had formed overhead, glowering down at Julius.
Reid's knees tensed, and the interception came hurtling toward the ascending Julius— "In! Nes!"
At the instant the Sword Saint's counterattack bore down, the white and black spirits intervened in the world with their respective powers.
The white light granted strength to Julius's entire body, while the black light shaved away at the power of his enemy—even if only by a fraction. That infinitesimal difference born in that single moment would be the decisive factor.
"—"
The ice ceiling that served as footing shattered into fragments, and Reid's launched figure blurred with sheer speed.
The selection sword's casual stance represented an ultimate form—a posture so perfected it defied reading of any thrust, horizontal or vertical—and rather than feeling threatened, Julius braced himself to face it head-on.
Matching sword strike to sword strike only to be repelled by greater force—that was only natural.
And so Julius opened his eyes. —The eyes that had always, always looked upward, always looked ahead.
"—"
Erasing all concepts of sound and light, Reid's single flash split space itself.
He would say it with certainty: whether it was the selection sword or a pair of chopsticks, everything in the path of that flash was cut down without exception.
Because that flash was the very embodiment of the concept called "the sword."
The sword was created to cut things.
And swordsmanship was the collective term for the techniques used to cut things with a sword.
If so, then a flash that could cut anything in this world was the pinnacle and ultimate purpose of both "the sword" and "swordsmanship."
Whatever was cut by it would never forget the fact of having been cut for all eternity.
That was why the scar beneath Julius Juukulius's left eye would never fade.
It was the price of dodging the Sword Saint's flash at a hair's-breadth distance.
"—"
Abandoning all thought of defense, he had read his opponent's blade in an instant of attack and counter.
The slashed eyeblood burst—but his eye did not close. Fixing his gaze on his opponent, he swung his arm.
Pouring everything into a single offensive flash, abandoning defense entirely— "—Al Clarista."
Julius Juukulius's greatest sword strike of his life traced a rainbow.
It caught Reid Astrea's shark-like, savage grin— —And the eyepatch covering the Sword Saint's left eye was pierced by the knight's blow, sent soaring through the air.
△▼△▼▼△▼△ "—"
When his toes touched down on the white floor, the sound of his boots seemed unreasonably loud.
The moment he became conscious of it, the heart deep in his chest—which had forgotten to beat—began racing in a panic. Pushed along by the surge of blood, Julius exhaled deeply.
Then he turned to look behind him, at the broad back that faced him.
"—"
Red hair swayed. The figure stood motionless.
The great man held the selection sword in his right hand, while his left hand was pressed to his own face. Where his left hand searched, there should have been an eyepatch—but it was no longer there.
The eyepatch that had covered the Sword Saint's left eye now lay at Julius's feet.
"…It reached, did it."
Staring down at the eyepatch on the white floor and the knight's sword in his own hand, his voice trembled.
He murmured to confirm what had just happened, but it felt too unreal. Like an ephemeral dream, it seemed to slip through his fingers and vanish without a trace.
But— '———' There was no concept of words, yet six lights celebrated the great feat Julius had achieved.
Warm flowers of affection bloomed in the blank space within Julius's heart, working to fill it.
And together with the praise from those radiant maidens— "—Julius."
He heard a faint voice, and his gaze turned toward it.
Standing apart from the broad back of the great man, from the maidens offering their praise—from a different vantage point overlooking the battle, the one who called his name was a woman with pale violet hair.
She wore the same face as his precious lord, to whom he had sworn to devote this sword—the same face, and yet they had been in a relationship where they inadvertently hurt each other, an artificial spirit who had lived for ages—.
Whether her concern for Julius stemmed from her care for Anastasia, or from the effect of the "Spirit Affinity Gate," he did not try to uncover.
He was simply grateful—grateful that someone existed who had witnessed Julius Juukulius's resolve, that someone had been there to lighten his heart so, and he raised his knight's sword.
"—"
Without a word, he raised the knight's sword toward the sky.
The lingering traces of the aurora glinted along its path, tracing a literal rainbow in its arc.
As though it were a blessing upon the knight known as Julius Juukulius— "—If this is the damn 'trial,' then I'd say you won."
Speaking slowly, the great man pressed his foot firmly against the floor in his zōri.
The face Reid turned to show bore no wounds. The tip of Julius's sword had reached only his eyepatch, and nothing more. But Reid wasn't shameless enough to bluster about it not reaching.
More importantly, what he had said was no boast—it was the truth.
If this was still the continuation of the trial on the second floor, "Electra," of the Pleiades Watchtower, then the moment that strike landed, Julius would have passed and earned the right to challenge the upper floors.
But the fight between Julius and Reid was no longer a matter of the tower's "trial."
It was a duel between a knight and a swordsman—a man and a man—to settle things once and for all.
"—"
Having lost his eyepatch, both of Reid's eyes were now open. He gripped the selection sword with both hands.
His forward hand clasped the hilt, and he brought the sword to a proper chūdan-no-kamae. —Yes, the Sword Saint had assumed his stance.
Not a casual swing of a stick, but a proper, deadly guard with the sword held to kill.
"Don't come crying to me if you disappear."
"Even if I wanted to complain, I'd have no mouth left to do so."
"Ha! You're no fun. What was your name again?"
When asked for his name by a legend, Julius raised his eyebrow.
He must have stated his name before this man countless times by now, yet it hadn't registered. But whether it had or hadn't registered was beside the point.
He understood now—with this question, Reid had truly acknowledged Julius.
"Julius Juukulius. It's an easy name to forget, so I'd appreciate it if you remembered it."
Speaking a quip he couldn't have managed a short while ago, Julius pointed the tip of his knight's sword at Reid.
And once again, he called upon the six spirits who had fought alongside him just moments before.
With his current self and them together, they could reach even greater heights of the aurora.
Al Clauseria and Al Clarista.
Borrowing the power of six spirits, binding the power of six attributes into a rainbow aurora—the ultimate spell that unleashed it, and the one that housed it within his knight's sword.
Beyond that lay a secret technique he had never once succeeded in performing due to his own immaturity— "—I advance."
"—Come."
In an instant, the aurora filled the white space to bursting, and the band of rainbow light charged at the crimson giant.
The rainbow elemental术 that Julius Juukulius had uniquely developed—the secret of secrets.
Not releasing the rainbow light that bound the six attributes, not housing it in his sword, but draping it over his own body and becoming the aurora itself to strike down his opponent—a finishing blow— "—Al Clauvel."
And that ultimate strike of the Spirit Knight was met head-on by a flash of pure white.
△▼△▼▼△▼△ From start to finish, the exchange was at a level far too high for an amateur to follow.
The clash of swords was one thing, but even the dizzying changes in position and footwork—who held the advantage, who was at a disadvantage—even that was beyond what his pale blue eyes could fully grasp.
That had nothing to do with whether this body was truly his own.
It was simply that beings existed who fought life-and-death battles at that level of existence, and by comparison, the world in which he lived was hopelessly low-dimensional.
If the measure of a living creature's worth was strength, then he was worth nothing at all.
And that was proof that he had squandered hundreds of years, turning his back on the path of self-improvement.
Ever since the first moment he became aware of his own consciousness, he had felt a premonition.
That his purpose—his reason for existing as this unnatural being—had been fulfilled the moment he was born.
If forced to put it into words, being born itself was the purpose, and the purpose had been achieved at that moment. And so he was left alone, wandering aimlessly through the world, forced into an emptiness that lasted centuries.
He wouldn't have minded dying. But there was no reason to die.
And so he had simply dragged out his final curtain call, long and long, wallowing in idleness.
In that protracted existence, he had met a girl.
Captivated by the intensity with which she lived, his frigid existence had gained warmth.
She, this impossibly small person who spoke impossible words—what would she become, or would she become nothing at all? He had burned with the desire to see it through.
And before he knew it, that interest had come to matter less and less— "—I don't want to lose you, or any of the precious children you hold dear."
He knew that the passage of time could be both gentle and cruel.
Time healed wounds, but it also aged one's feelings.
Having lived for so long, so very long, he thought it for the first time. —He did not want this to become the past.
"Though that's probably an impossible wish, isn't it?"
He could plead for time to stop, but it would not cease its relentless flow.
Mortal lives—small and fragile as they were—underwent all manner of change within that flow.
Just as the nameless knight, stripped of his "name" and forgotten by everyone, now proved that he was one human being named Julius Juukulius.
—The knight draped in rainbow light charged straight into the white brilliance.
Against Julius, who had unveiled his secret technique, Reid Astrea's response was brutally simple.
He raised his sword overhead and brought it down—the most repeated action in the history of swords—and it became a light that cleaved the world diagonally in two, annihilating everything in its path.
It was no special magic, no special technique.
He merely swung his sword, and the world burned alongside light. There was no understanding it.
Was Reid Astrea simply an anomaly, or was this what every Sword Saint was like?
What was certain was— "—Julius."
He wanted to give his all—so that the aurora would not be overwhelmed by that unreasonable white light.
That was his honest desire. But to interfere directly in this battle would be an act of suicide at best, and at worst, his soul could be shattered and no one would have grounds to complain about such an inelegant transgression.
And she—Echidna—already understood that she could do nothing.
She could do nothing.
If there was anything she could do here for Julius Juukulius, who had become the aurora itself— "—"
She pressed a hand to her thin chest, sensing the existence sleeping within.
She had come to this tower in the sea of sand seeking the reason why the original owner of this body would not awaken from her deep slumber. —But that, too, had been a deception.
Echidna already knew the reason.
The girl who declared herself greedy, who boasted of wanting to seize everything in existence.
Once she took something into her embrace, she would not let it go under any circumstances. Losing things, making others lose things—there was nothing she hated more. So there could be only one explanation.
"You gave your body to me and retreated temporarily into your own Od. In that state, you are insulated from outside interference. —Because the Od is, in a sense, a world unto itself."
And she had sealed herself away there of her own volition.
The reason was obvious. —Because if she stepped outside the Od, she would be affected. By the horrifying authority of the Archbishop of Gluttony. She would be influenced.
Forced to forget things she didn't want to forget, forced to let go of things she didn't want to release.
And so she—But— "It seems everyone who came to this tower is a born-and-bred stubborn mule. —None of them are cute enough to just let themselves be lost."
Over these past two months, she had tried to emulate her methods as best she could, but it was nearly time to step down.
Besides, she had watched from the sidelines as he, the nameless knight, rushed about—both his strengths and his weaknesses. So even if she did forget him, she could tell her.
"Ah, so that's it."
An artificial spirit created without any purpose, whose role was finished the moment she came into being.
That was the role she'd been given—but it turned out that wasn't all there was to it.
The bridge between a precious girl and a precious knight—the one who connects the two.
What a tremendously important duty that was.
It was so important she could almost laugh and say she was born for it— "—It would be terribly wasteful for you not to see the most dashing moment of your knight. That would be far too stingy, even for you."
△▼△▼▼△▼△ —The white light surged forward, seeking to drown out the aurora.
Even borrowing the full power of his soul and the six spirits he had re-Contracted with, he was still being pushed back.
He had unveiled the secret of secrets, while his opponent had simply—earnestly, seriously—swung his sword. Truly, it was enough to make one collapse in exasperation at that impossible irregularity.
And yet, at the same time, the thought that "this is how it should be" swelled in his chest, and he couldn't even save himself from it.
Swing a sword and the world splits apart.
It was the same绝技 that the Sword Saint had displayed when Reinhard swung a sword.
Suddenly, in the midst of this life-and-death clash, Julius wondered.
If Reid and Reinhard were to fight, which of them would be stronger?
Two legends, two Sword Saints—an unrealized battle—where would the victory fall?
Alas, the opportunity to settle that would never come.
"Then I suppose I have no choice but to verify it with my own hands."
The only people who had a chance to cross swords with both Reinhard Van Astrea and Reid Astrea were those who had reached this tower.
Of those, only Julius and
So all that remained was to win.
To push back this white light and defeat Reid Astrea with the rainbow radiance.
For that, he needed to pour his entire soul, that last step, that final measure of sword power— If only a shred of pride and strength could dwell at the tip of the Finest Knight's sword— "—Julius."
It was a call that should never have reached him.
Amid impacts so violent that the passage of time became meaningless—yet the time it took for sword and sword to meet was less than a second. This was a battle in that instantaneous world.
There, in the heart of a fight to the death, no voice could possibly reach.
"—"
But the voice struck Julius nonetheless.
Perhaps it did not reach his eardrums, but somewhere deeper—in the very depths of his heart.
If he had decided in his heart to keep wearing the shell of a knight, then there was nothing he could fail to live up to.
And so, hearing a voice that should not have been audible, Julius turned toward a presence he should not have been able to see, and his pale blue eyes met the gaze of another.
The light shining in those large, round eyes was clearly different from before— "—Go, our knight."
That single phrase carried with it the final push of sword power he needed.
"Ia! Qua! Aro! Ik! In! Nes!"
He called out to the spirits, now one with the aurora, seeking that final push itself.
There, beyond the light, stood the enemy he must defeat—and to surpass him— To reach the tip of his sword beyond that wall of brilliance— "Oo—Ooooooh—!!"
Opening his mouth wider than ever before, screaming until blood came, his face twisted in desperation—he discarded every trace of elegance, and instead offered up with all his might the conviction that served as the very backbone of his being, careful not to let it crack, and Julius charged.
"—"
And as the blinding aurora blazed brighter, the white light rushing to meet it surged with equal ferocity.
Stronger, ever stronger, the two collided— "—Ah."
What seemed as though it might last for eternity ended in an abrupt curtain fall.
△▼△▼▼△▼△ "—Ah."
Julius listened in mute astonishment to the thin sound that escaped his own throat.
Their full-power clash—the sudden end. But the momentum did not stop. The aurora-bearing sword plunged straight through, piercing its target's vital point.
"Why…?"
"Tch. Ah, damn—what a lame ending."
Julius, the one who had pierced through, was shaken. Reid, the one who had been pierced, remained perfectly composed.
Despite having his chest impaled by a single thrust, he didn't so much as wince in pain.
Was that the work of his indomitable spirit? If not, then it was perhaps because the change had occurred in the great man's body itself.
Across the massive chest of Reid Astrea, a wound—no, a crack—had appeared that was distinct from where Julius's sword had pierced.
And it wasn't limited to his chest. The cracks spread across his arms, legs, neck, cheeks—across his entire body, like glass shattering.
Julius understood instinctively what this was.
A distortion that should never have existed was being corrected. This was the phenomenon of that process.
"In the end, it's that. I'm the kind of person who just doesn't fit inside anyone else's vessel."
Reid muttered this while looking at his own cracking palm, his gaze clear and correct.
Reid Astrea had obtained physical form by being absorbed through the Archbishop of Gluttony's authority and seizing control of that body. —But the body was still, ultimately, that of Roy Alphard, the original Archbishop of Gluttony. That fact hadn't changed.
In other words, the vessel of Roy Alphard simply could not contain the workings of the anomalous soul that was Reid Astrea.
And so it had finally broken down in the final stage of his fight with Julius.
"Then let me—!"
"Well, if I hadn't let this guy eat me, I might've seen it through to the end properly. In that case, you dropping my eyepatch would've been the finish, huh? But still—"
"Kuh…"
"Ha ha ha. Things just don't go your way, do they, weakling? Starting to cry?"
Reid tossed aside the selection sword and bared his teeth in a malicious grin.
How could he smile like that? His disappearance was now a certainty.
Or had he been able to restart his life, which had ended once before, if only he had defeated Julius? Even that possibility was slipping away.
"Are you stupid? Who'd go through the trouble of living a second time? Besides, what if I ran into myself somewhere? That'd be a nightmare."
"…Unfortunately, you died of old age several hundred years ago. Even if your current self were to walk around, the original you would—"
"Hah! So you're saying I should look at some brat's face that looks like mine? Give me a break."
He treated his own descendant as a stranger. That earlier remark had been completely sincere.
Seemingly with zero interest in a second life, Reid cracked his neck.
"So what would I even do if I came back to life, huh? Go hang out with that gorgeous chick you just summoned? Or that one over there would work too. And after that, a girl in a skimpy outfit…"
"D-Do you really have no regrets…?"
"None. What I want to do, I do when I feel like it. That's my style. You should've done the same—it would've been a lot easier on you."
"…I appreciate the advice. But for me, that path would be far thornier."
He had chosen, of his own free will, to wear the shell.
To disguise himself, or you could say to perform a version of himself that differed from his fundamental nature.
Because he now knew that choosing that path allowed him to be more himself, more freely, than any alternative—even if Julius found Reid's freedom dazzling, he could not choose it.
Hearing Julius's answer, Reid snorted irritably.
Then he pointed to the wound on his own chest—the crack born from exceeding his limits, distinct from the sole other wound—and said: "Don't get the wrong idea. Your sword reaching me was a fluke. If this were really my body, you wouldn't even be able to scratch me, pal."
"I wouldn't presume to do anything of the sort from the start…"
"Hah! Boring!"
Spitting that out, Reid smacked Julius on the shoulder with the hand that had been pointing at his own chest.
Bracing himself against the impact, Julius let out a long breath.
He hadn't come to terms with everything, hadn't fully processed it all.
But being flustered, being shaken, missing this moment—that was far harder to bear.
The cracks were spreading. The end was already visible.
And so Julius raised the knight's sword he had drawn before his face and said: "I respect that sword power—from the bottom of my heart."
"I don't need some guy's admiration. —I'm leaving a winner, Julius."
"—"
At that final word—his name—Julius was struck with surprise.
But true to his resolution not to waver, he hid that shock behind a smile and bowed.
As befitting the finest knight who had boldly declared himself before this legendary being.
May the ideals of Julius Juukulius prove worthy of that admiration.
"Yes, to the very end. —You win, Reid Astrea."
"Hah, what a face on a loser."
With those final words, the cracks across Reid Astrea's body widened— △▼△▼▼△▼△ "—"
Contrary to appearances, the spreading cracks produced no sound.
Without any sound of shattering glass, the red-haired giant dissipated like light unraveling—and in his place, lying on the white floor, was a pale, scrawny boy with white eyes rolled back.
The one who devoured others' "memories" and "names," twisting them to his will—the "Eater" and the blasphemer.
The Archbishop of Gluttony, Roy Alphard, had fallen with a thunderous crash.
"—"
Whether alive or dead, the Archbishop of Gluttony lay utterly motionless.
There was only a deep wound on his left chest—the same side as Reid's—undoubtedly fatal.
Confirming only that much, Julius lowered the knight's sword he had raised in tribute, returned it to its sheath, and turned around.
The aurora had dissipated, and around Julius, the six spirits glowed brighter.
Without the power of those who had bloomed from buds into maidens, it would be he—not his opponent—lying on the white floor.
He needed to convey his gratitude and appreciation.
However, he had to disappoint them—he would put off that expression of thanks for now.
Slowly, Julius moved forward.
There, looking straight at him, was a petite, delicate woman with pale blue eyes. Her long violet hair rippled as it flowed, and she wore a white outfit that seemed at odds with the sand dunes.
At her feet sat a white fox, its black, doe-like eyes wavering with anxiety.
The form she had always maintained—disguised as a neck scarf—was there before him.
Reconsciously aware of that meaning, Julius closed his eyes.
And then— "—It is a pleasure to meet you."
He repeated the words he had delivered earlier as a challenger to the Sword Saint.
But the feeling deep in his chest this time was different from the exhilaration of battle.
Some things, however, remained the same.
The adventurous spirit of a boy who looked up to knights—the thrill of opening a new page in a saga.
"I am—"
The other party responded to the word Julius had offered while kneeling.
Remaining in that lowly posture, Julius waited for whatever would follow. He felt he could wait as long as it took.
That he believed—he truly believed—that if he waited, he would hear the other's words. How fortunate that was.
"—I am Anastasia Hoshin."
"—"
"I want everything this world has to offer. …And, you're a very handsome young man—what's your name?"
He could tell, as if seeing it before his eyes, how she smiled and tilted her head.
Still kneeling with his gaze lowered, Julius answered with a single breath— "I am Julius Juukulius. —Your first knight."
"—"
"You may have forgotten. But I am one who pledged my sword to you. I will exhaust every ounce of my strength for your sake, and support your ambitions."
Placing his knight's sword on the floor in the deepest bow, Julius finally raised his head.
Whatever gaze his lord regarded him with, he would not harbor regret.
To flinch, to waver, to look away—that was not what a knight did.
The one who was most concerned with appearances, who continued to carry himself with dignity no matter what—that was Julius's ideal.
And looking down at him, she narrowed her round eyes and said: "Is that right? I don't rightly remember… but"
"—"
"The moment I laid eyes on you, I thought—this young man, I've just got to make him mine."
Right there, close at hand, was the gaze he had sought all along—the eyes of the lord he'd devoted his sword to, blazing with refusal to let go of anything.
He offered his sword once again to the "greed" that desired to possess everything— Just like the king and knight of old—what a sacred tableau— The renewal of the bond between "lord and retainer" that had been stolen was fulfilled on the second floor, "Electra."
It was the achievement of one of the five obstacles that
The Great Library Pleiades—The second "trial"—concluded.