——Aldebaran knew what the "Star Reader" truly was.
The one who had once told him about it was a being who knew practically everything there was to know about this world, and yet greedily devoured the unknown all the same.
A being entangled with him in complex ways.
Not someone you could describe with words like "like" or "dislike."
If you asked whether he was grateful or not — yes, he supposed he was. But equally strong was his resentment toward things that could never coexist between them. That was the kind of person they were.
Regardless of whose knowledge it had been that taught him, Aldebaran knew the ins and outs of the "Star Reader."
And that knowledge contributed nothing whatsoever to the success or failure of his grand wish. More important than his interest in the "Star Reader" or their involvement was the fact that *that* had been dragged into it.
When Priscilla first announced she was heading for Vollachia, he had tried every trick he could think of to stop her. But once she had made up her mind, nothing in the world could bend her will.
So he had accompanied her instead, doing whatever he could to serve as insurance — but encountering *that* in this empire was, for Aldebaran, nothing short of fate's cruel prank.
Fate always, always intruded upon his life in the most wretched ways imaginable.
That was why he had never had so much as a sliver of good will toward fate. But this time, he was genuinely grateful.
If *that* was here, then everything changed. If *that* had been drawn in, then the situation transformed dramatically.
If *that* fell into the category of things that could not be abandoned, then all he had to do was expand that category wider and wider — beyond the reach of any hand — and his grand wish would be fulfilled.
Once, Aldebaran had thrown away everything.
He had walked through the darkness, relying on nothing but faint starlight, until he gave up, convinced that nothing he did mattered.
That was precisely why the sun had been so blinding. As though darkness had never existed, his resignation was burned away entirely.
To protect that dazzling sun, he would gladly lick fate's boots. He would endure pain that tore him apart and wouldn't hesitate to look *that* square in the eye.
"
——Please, just don't get in my way.
△▼△▼△▼△ ——Exactly twenty-two times.
That was how many iterations it took for Al to grasp what had happened to him. A whiteout so sudden he couldn't even register that his body had evaporated in the blink of an eye—— "Nngh, the cause wasn't clouds or snow — it was fire, so I guess it's a *red*out. Might as well call it a Crimson Out — sounds pretty cool, actually."
He let out a deep breath and muttered nonsense.
He couldn't definitively say whether his mind was sound, but at least he had managed to convince himself — however flimsy the reasoning — that he probably wasn't insane.
That was good enough for now. The real problem was—— "At this level of a fight, there's no opening for me to intervene!"
As Al roared those words, one of the roles he had to fulfill in the imperial capital was completed before his eyes — one of the five vertices of the star-shaped wall was breached.
The once-incredibly-fortified wall had been obliterated without a trace, so if that didn't count as achieving the objective, what would?
That said, at the second vertex, where the towering wall and surrounding buildings had been swept clean, a far greater obstacle than the vanished wall now stood as the next gatekeeper.
——A lone girl who had dyed the overcast sky red and surrendered herself to the sky through some unknown principle.
With short silver hair, red eyes, and tanned skin bared in generous measure, the girl's appearance was so menacing that her striking beauty couldn't hold anyone's attention — it stirred only the viewer's primal instinct for danger.
Entrusting the thorned one to Groovy and donning the werewolf's pelt, Al and Cecilus made their way to the second vertex without incident — no, they had *tried* to make their way there.
Strictly speaking, the second vertex had been annihilated, and Al had suffered unrecognizable damage multiple times over, caught in the blast of that annihilation. He had only just now grasped a way forward and the lay of the land.
Even so, if someone told him to do it all over again, he didn't want to even think about how many more rounds of extended combat it would take to reach this outcome.
So—— "——Thought experiment restart, field redefined."
Updating his mental matrix every dozen seconds or even every few seconds, Al scanned desperately for an opening to escape.
Just as he'd shouted before, there was no room for him to intervene. And yet, if he kept restarting from the designated point every time he took fatal damage, the world wouldn't progress.
If Cecilus would scoop him up and escape together from the fatal zone, the way he'd done with that sniper — that would be one thing—— "My apologies, Al-san. But my instincts are telling me something. This is my moment to shine, and if I'm busy looking after you, it would compromise my very essence."
With that, Cecilus promptly abandoned Al's protection and charged toward the girl in the sky —
Al had lost count of how many times he'd seen her now. Looking back, he had fought alongside her as a fellow gladiator when she was still young on the gladiator island, then crossed paths as enemies in the fortress city of
But beyond the perspective of an old man who had crossed paths with her multiple times, it was also plain to see that Arakiya was not in a normal state, just as Cecilus had said.
"————"
Arakiya writhed in midair. Her condition was obviously not normal.
He had heard bits and pieces from Priscilla about the "Spirit Eater" and its nature. He had even witnessed her transform into fire and water with his own eyes. But this was clearly inconsistent with those precedents.
Unlike when she had merged her body with water or sent parts of her body flying as flames, Arakiya now looked as though she was being devoured from within by massive white light.
From her slender, tanned body, thin yellowish-transparent crystals seemed to thrust out from inside — or perhaps grow directly from her flesh.
High-purity magic stones were called magic crystal stones, and they now engulfed Arakiya's entire body.
If she had been calm and composed, you might have chalked it up to another facet of her power as a "Spirit Eater." But—— "——!"
Arakiya's red eyes, which the world couldn't properly capture, shed tears from her clouded left eye, and her lips trembled with pained, desperate gasps.
No one would call this normal, or say it was something Arakiya herself had wished for.
If a child threw open their mouth and wailed, tears streaming down in torrents while repeatedly striking you — even if you had closed your eyes, ears, and every inch of skin, you would know they were crying.
That was precisely what Arakiya was doing now.
"You're not gonna tell me to just leave a crying kid alone, are you!?"
Clutching his head, desperately fleeing from oblivion, Al shouted at Cecilus's back — the man who was charging *toward* oblivion with reckless abandon.
Hearing that, Cecilus didn't even turn around. Al could only tell he was laughing from the way his shoulders shook.
"A child's tears and a woman's tears can be the catalyst that moves a story forward. So while it would be perfectly natural for me to be unable to look away — that's not what this is about."
"Then what—!?"
"But — there is a purpose to those tears."
The instant he finished that sentence, using a chunk of melted rubble as a foothold, Cecilus's body launched skyward at lightning speed.
The barricade that had been built to protect the second vertex had all dissolved, turning the area into a hellscape straight out of a magma nightmare. One carelessly planted foot and you wouldn't just take slip damage — the part that plunged in would be instantly carbonized beyond recognition. The source: personal experience.
But into that molten garden, Cecilus dove, using every bit of available footing to aim for Arakiya floating in the sky.
His speed and audacity were beyond words — no, the truly indescribable feat came immediately after, delivered with a hum.
"You've gotta be kidding!?"
In the sky, Arakiya's entire body blazed white. In a flash, a bolt of light scorched the ground where Cecilus had been running.
The spear of light it unleashed plunged into the magma. A heartbeat later, the space for several meters around it was compressed into a sphere, then immediately detonated. The implosion of magma and its destructive force rippled outward, scattering across an area nearly ten times the radius of the compressed space.
Al was speechless. Even knowing he was out of range, he instinctively shielded his head with his arm — and that single shot was terrifying enough, yet the barrage didn't stop.
One, two, three, four — fired in rapid succession, and with each shot, the imperial capital was reshaped.
Streets ceased to be streets. The earth ceased to be earth.
The bombardment chased Cecilus as he ran along the ground, and even the redoubtable Cecilus—— "Tatatatatatatatatatatatata—!!"
Spitting magma — scorching saliva — dodging the death-flash of light as though it were a gaze, Cecilus tore through the white dust and charged headlong through a rain of death.
With no footing left, magma flooding the ground in place of solid earth, Cecilus sprinted through it all in what had to be a zori with absolutely no heat resistance whatsoever.
Watching that scene, what flashed through Al's mind was the ninja's ridiculous water-walking technique — the one where you plant your left foot before your right sinks, and your right before your left.
And that was exactly what Cecilus was doing — only not on water, but on magma.
"That's impossible, right!?"
"For those who think so, I say — *forevermore*!"
Responding to Al's scream with a cheerful shout while embodying the outrage of laughing in physics' face, Cecilus blazed straight ahead, slamming into a building that had somehow survived the carnage. In the next instant, the building collapsed, and a pillar kicked loose from the wreckage shot into the sky like an arrow.
An arrow whose size ratio was off — too thick — flew at Arakiya at a speed that could pierce the torso of a massive beast. But it ignited before reaching her, burning up in midair.
The heat output surrounding the glowing Arakiya was so intense that even the air itself seemed to warp. Not even a direct attack could get close.
Cecilus had to know that. And yet—— "Hah! Hah-hah! Hah-hah-hah-hah!!"
With thunderous crashes, Cecilus demolished building after building, kicking pillars, roofs, and furniture into the air at blinding speed to barrage Arakiya.
Of course, none of it was a question of reaching her — every single projectile vanished in the air without connecting.
And the return gift for those non-connecting attacks was a volley of light arrows that would be fatal even from a graze.
"You idiot, stop it — can't you see!?! Drawing her attention randomly like that..."
"What are you saying, Al-san! Completely, completely, completely — the *exact* opposite! I need to draw every last ounce of her attention onto myself!"
"This glory-hound... no, wait."
Cecilus continued to contribute to the destruction of the imperial capital's landscape — voluntarily demolishing buildings, accidentally destroying the surrounding area, all while Al tried and failed to dismiss his grandstanding words with a wry smile. Then Al realized something.
Cecilus's positioning consistently kept Arakiya on the interior side of the capital while he circled around to the outside, drawing fire toward himself — in other words, he was fighting in a way that directed attacks *away* from the capital's center.
Only when he understood that did Al finally grasp what Cecilus was trying to say.
"That woman right now has no consciousness or reason. All she has are instinctive defensive actions — to keep herself from exploding and to avoid being killed. If left alone, she'll probably drift toward the center of the city. And if she goes on a rampage in the middle?"
"A hole would open up that nobody could live in for the next hundred years..."
"A lot of people would die. If they were enemies, that'd be one thing, but a great many innocent people dying is far from desirable. The world would become a much lonelier place."
Saying that in a quiet tone, Cecilus dodged a death-beam about to graze him and surrendered himself to the lightning speed needed to carry out his own words.
Unexpectedly genuine — Al couldn't hide his surprise at the surprisingly earnest Cecilus. But he hooked a finger under his heated iron helm, adjusted its angle, and held his ground.
——Just as Cecilus said, right now Arakiya had no capacity to direct her awareness outward.
Having absorbed something beyond Al's imagination, Arakiya was desperately holding it back from spilling out, and reflexively counterattacking anything that could become a threat or obstacle.
And Cecilus, in order to prevent the capital's destruction, deliberately placed himself at a perilously close distance, continued to prod at her, and kept Arakiya anchored here.
"————"
Cecilus's aim, and the bizarre situation Arakiya was in.
The option of acknowledging there was nothing he could do and turning his back to run was always flickering at the edge of his mind. But even Cecilus could lose a leg.
If Al's existence could make the difference — then he had value in being here.
"——Alright then."
Al shook his head loosely from side to side and let out a long breath.
He had already drawn the short straw twenty-two times right out of the gate. From here on, he had no idea how many more times he'd draw it — or what his sanity would look like afterward.
But whether sane or not, the sun was unmistakably blinding.
"Then that's good enough for me."
He flicked the metal fitting on his helm with a finger, producing a sharp ring, and took one step forward.
And then—— "————"
A bolt of white light aimed at Cecilus detonated a dozen meters away. The shockwave sent magma projectiles hurtling straight toward Al, who couldn't dodge—— "——Next."
Within the redefined field, he steeled himself to take the stage — an ordinary man's grand stage.
△▼△▼△▼△ ——Once,
In the imperial capital, the killing matches between the "First" and the "Second" were considered commonplace.
On a scorched plain, the defeated Arakiya and the victorious Cecilus had been chatting amicably when Cecilus sliced through the clouds with his sword and called the technique a street performance.
In truth, Cecilus believed there was no use for it beyond impressing people — and Arakiya, who had seen it firsthand, had judged it a sword technique not worth a damn.
It was a divine feat of the formless void that
In other words—— ——Long legs cleaved through the air, and the lagging gale blew dust away.
Rowan ducked in the nick of time to dodge the powerful kick, then drew his blade and swung at the exposed slender waist of his opponent who had overcommitted — and was about to bisect her when——an impact slammed into his chest.
The air was driven from his lungs, and his eyes went wide as he saw, below him, multiple tails sprouting from the backside of the woman who had kicked him.
"——!"
Fox tails covered in soft fur. They struck with unbelievable force, launching his body backward and bouncing it off the ground.
Once, twice — the world flipped before his eyes. At the third time, he bid farewell to the sky, drove his sword into the earth, and used it to arrest his momentum. He cracked the ground under his heel, grit his back teeth, sheathed his sword in one fluid motion, and shifted into a battōjutsu stance—— "Already understood, now wouldn't you say?"
"——!?"
A flash of steel — the initial motion of a sword technique that should have been released the instant the blade left the scabbard was stopped by the hand that the woman placed on the hilt of the sword still sheathed. In that frozen moment, the woman — standing right before his stunned face — tilted the corners of her narrow eyes downward with pity.
"You are not a worthy opponent for me, sir."
"Ooooooh—!!"
As though to bisect that pity, Rowan didn't pull the sword from the scabbard — instead, keeping the hilt fixed, he ripped the scabbard free and spun it a half turn, driving it sideways into the woman's face.
The force, the angle, the snap of the swing — any of it was more than enough to shatter a human skull.
And yet—— "————"
It was the scabbard that shattered into pieces on impact. The woman — the fox-person who had introduced herself as Iris — showed not a flicker of pain on her face.
She merely trembled her pitying lips, then raised the hand that had been holding the hilt.
"I won't kill you, but it will hurt enough to make you wish you were dead."
Her palm struck his forehead. His body whipped backward in a vertical flip and went flying.
This time, any pretense of a defensive posture was obliterated along with his brain — he bounced straight down the long, long avenue in front of the Crystal Palace, catching on nothing, covering dozens of meters.
He bounced, bounced, bounced, tumbled, tumbled, tumbled, and finally skidded to a stop splayed out in the shape of the character for "big."
And then—— "——Ah."
Having been half-killed in the briefest of skirmishes, Rowan Segmunt was dumbstruck.
Far too — *far* too strong.
An unbelievable powerhouse. Of course, he had known full well that his opponent was formidable. And yet, somehow, some way, he had been certain he would be the one to win in the end.
It had always been that way before. This time would be no different, he had believed. He had—— ——Here, let us speak of one misfortune belonging to the man named Rowan Segmunt.
Rowan Segmunt, on the other hand, was a man who had been continuously chosen for things that could only be obtained by being chosen — and had become unfortunate as a result.
Rowan had a grand wish. Something he had always sought. A prayer he had never stopped craving.
To reach the "Heavenly Sword," he had endured every hardship, accomplished every necessity, and no matter what devil or monster he was branded as, he had the hunger to see it through.
There was no lie or falsehood in that desire. It was untouched by compromise or resignation.
He had never once been dishonest about the sword and techniques he sought to master, never once neglected his training.
Rowan Segmunt simply never met *them*.
A worthy rival who could elevate both of them. A fearsome enemy who could drive him to surpass himself. A beloved person who could push him into a realm unreachable alone — he never encountered any of them.
He cut down everyone he met, and by some cruel twist of fate, he only ever clashed with opponents his sword could handle. He missed every opportunity to collide with the transcendents who existed in the world, and when he finally despaired of ever reaching his goal and wished for death, he was granted heavenly destiny and became a "Star Reader."
Had the chance arisen, Rowan Segmunt might have made his swordsmanship echo across the world.
But Rowan had no worthy rival, no fearsome enemy, no beloved person. He remained utterly alone.
It wasn't that he had decided feelings were unnecessary for mastering the way of the sword, nor that he had suffered a painful betrayal from someone he had bonded with.
He simply — couldn't meet the person who could tell him where he stood, or the person who could push him beyond where he stood.
The reason he had dodged Iris's first strike, launched from directly above the Crystal Palace, was that he had no intention of landing a hit on someone who was reluctant to kill.
The reason Barloy Temegrif had fled from "Cloud Cutter" was that he feared Cecilus Segmunt's unexpected counterattack and chose not to pursue.
The reason he had survived unscathed through the "Great Calamity" wrought by the undead army was that only opponents his sword could reach had appeared before him.
The reason Cecilus Segmunt — whom Rowan had once instigated to assassinate the emperor, only for the offer to be refused — hadn't taken Rowan's life was that Cecilus had whimsically thought, "It'd be pretty epic if Dad actually got really strong, came back, and we had a showdown!"
The reason Rowan Segmunt had kept surviving until today was nothing other than the fact that whenever the scales of fortune or misfortune tipped, they had always tilted toward fortune.
And now, in the imperial capital turned city of the dead, the opponent Rowan had encountered was also the only enemy who had no intention of taking his life.
——The world would not grant Rowan's wish, but it would always illuminate the path of his survival.
"————"
"——Will you continue?"
Slowly, Rowan pushed his splayed-out body upright, and Iris furrowed her brows.
From afar, several dozen meters separated them — but perhaps her overwhelming presence was too impossible to ignore, because Iris's words reached Rowan's ears clearly.
——No, or perhaps this was a change brought on by encountering a mighty foe for the first time.
A shell — one that had always existed outside of himself, one that could never be broken — felt as though it had cracked. That might have been why. And through that crack, he understood with perfect clarity.
Iris, standing before him, gazing straight at him — the immense mana circulating through her entire body, its sheer volume, and the undeniable truth of their exchange earlier—— Iris, who had stood as the guardian of the Crystal Palace in
The ultimate existence born for this calamity, surpassing even the "First" of the "Nine Divine Generals," Cecilus himself—— "Hahahaha — what fortune, what fortune! What a glorious day this must be...!"
Feeling that truth in his very bones, Rowan bared his teeth in a grin even as a ringing filled his skull like his son singing at the top of his lungs.
He had believed that to reach the "Heavenly Sword," his only path was to one day slay his son, who had already attained it. But if he could encounter a being who surpassed even Cecilus — then the matter was simple.
Not someday. *Now.* Right now, in this very moment, Rowan Segmunt would reach the pinnacle of the sword and take his seat as the "Heavenly Sword."
For that purpose—— "——Swordsman Rowan Segmunt."
Once more, he sheathed the sword he had managed not to let go of, set his feet wide, and sank into a ready stance with his weight settled in his hips.
Iris stood far at the edge of his vision. The distance between them had widened — not a cruel twist of fate, but the reward of the blood and sweat he had shed over the days he had struggled to reach the top.
All that remained was to claim his due from Iris's slender neck.
"——Cloud Cutter."
With the sound of the scabbard's parting, a flash of steel was released — a streak aimed straight at Iris standing motionless.
It discarded the air in its path, discarded the leaves that interposed themselves, abandoned even sound and wind in its wake. This was the keenest single stroke of Rowan Segmunt's entire life.
And that stroke would behead the beautiful, gowned woman — Iris—— "——That is far enough."
With a mere tilt of her head, Iris dodged Rowan Segmunt's life's finest flash. She exhaled those words like a sigh, then slammed her foot into the ground and advanced.
The ultimate existence of the "Great Calamity" did not grant Rowan the time to unleash a second strike.
△▼△▼△▼△ The impact, hammered down from directly above, buried Rowan helplessly into the street.
"————"
Gazing down at the swordsman who had been driven face-first into the earth, Iris flipped the hem of her blood-spotted dress and turned her back on the man she had fought.
He was an opponent who likely had no strength left to continue. Even turning her back posed no threat.
How sad — even if he did have strength left and launched a surprise attack, it would never reach Iris.
"If you value your life, leave the capital while you still can."
Words one might say to a weakling with a flick of the fingertip, or to a strong foe after the conclusion of a death match.
As a recipient of such a pronouncement, Rowan was an exquisitely troublesome case. — Not weak, but not strong either. If anything, he stood at the absolute apex of ordinary men.
And in the capital as it was now, that reality made his very presence here almost criminal.
" Criminal, is it? And since when did I have any right to say such a thing..."
Gently pressing her hand to her chest, Iris muttered to herself as though cursing her own words.
And yet, she had decided. She had *already* decided. And she had executed it in a way that left no room for excuses — so long as she could repel every single person who tried to stop her.
If she could do that, then the story of Iris and Yulgard—— "——Why do you stand?"
Iris stopped walking but didn't turn around, addressing the presence behind her.
It was the swordsman, Rowan, whom she was certain her earlier blow had knocked unconscious — the sensation of him rising to his feet. She had thought she'd taken his consciousness, and cursed herself for being too lenient. But any more force and she might have cracked his skull. She had no intention of killing him.
Had she been too naive in assuming the power gap had been communicated clearly enough? Perhaps he was someone who couldn't back down even knowing the disparity. Perhaps this was such a case.
"If the other party has no intention of letting you go, then you brace yourself for a last stand. But I——"
"I... have no intention of... that. That's... the problem... here..."
"————"
That faint, rasping reply exceeded Iris's comprehension.
Whether it was a warrior's pride or a man's stubbornness, Iris couldn't tell.
Iris thought to herself: more than those things, there were things she wanted to protect.
And so—— " If you still haven't lost the will to give up — "
She would continue even if it meant hearing the sound of her own heart cracking, until his will was finally broken.
Just as Iris was about to face Rowan's resolve head-on—— "...Eh?"
She turned around and froze, eyes wide with shock.
It wasn't that Rowan had somehow closed the gap in their power in a split second, nor that someone else had entered the scene and turned a weapon on Iris in Rowan's place.
Rowan was the only one there — but it was unmistakably Rowan who had stunned her.
——With the sword in his hand, he had fatally sliced open his own neck.
"What—"
A beat later, blood erupted from his severed arteries with terrifying force.
Before her eyes, the street was stained red in an instant. The wellspring of Rowan Segmunt's life poured out of his body and was devoured by the ground.
"Why...?"
The scene that defied comprehension left Iris gasping, her lips parting to release a ragged breath.
Seeing Iris's reaction, Rowan — his neck spurting blood — widened eyes that held a manic light. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he grinned.
He grinned, and spoke.
"Even in death, I——"
Mid-sentence, Rowan's blue eyes rolled back, showing white, and he collapsed.
Even as Iris sensed that this was not unconsciousness but death, she instinctively rushed forward, reaching for the man's life in a desperate attempt to save him.
But her hand never reached his corpse.
Because—— "I — will reach the Heavenly Sword."
The freshly dead Rowan Segmunt had already risen as undead — and multiple copies of his corpse simultaneously lunged at Iris from every direction as she ran toward him.
△▼△▼△▼△ ——When the dragon's breath came roaring through the streets of the imperial capital, there was almost nothing Heinkel could do.
He merely swung his sword on pure survival instinct and dug a token hole in the ground. That was all he managed — to slide himself into it in the nick of time.
Of course, it was only token at best. The dragon's breath plowed deep into the ground along its trajectory as it bore down, so even that might have been insufficient.
And so the life of Heinkel Astrea — the current head of the "Sword Saint" lineage that had protected the Kingdom of the Divine Dragon for generations — was, with cruel irony, utterly erased by the "Dragon's" breath without a trace—— "Hey, hey — you're not dying on me *that* easy, old man!"
Heinkel was grabbed by the scruff and hauled unceremoniously out of the hole he'd dug. His body was yanked upward with tremendous force, and an instant later he smelled the acrid scent of the dragon's breath scorching the world.
"Whoa — whaaaaat!?"
His vision spun wildly. Blood from his cracked forehead, stomach acid leaking from the corner of his mouth — his body spilled its contents without restraint as he experienced weightlessness, then slammed back into the ground.
Thrown out in a state where he couldn't even take a proper breakfall, he planted his arms to push himself upright and looked around.
"——Ugh."
The involuntary groan escaped because he witnessed the devastation at the spot where he'd been standing just moments before.
It had been swept by the dragon's breath and reduced to nothing — white steam billowing from a complete void. Had he been even a fraction slower, he would have become part of that steam.
"My job was to cause a ruckus down south to draw attention so the captains could slip in easy... Ha! You gotta be kidding me!"
"Huh...?"
"Thought you'd run for it, but you've got guts after all, old man!"
That rough voice carried unmistakable respect. When Heinkel turned toward the sound, the silhouette standing there was the one who had pulled him out.
The backlight hit them just right, rendering their face impossible to make out. The ringing in his ears from the dragon's tail strike didn't help — he couldn't even be sure it was a voice he knew.
But the figure didn't care about any of that. They cracked their knuckles and stepped forward.
With Heinkel on his knees behind them, the figure squared off against the colossal "Cloud Dragon" glaring down at them.
Then, slamming both fists together in front of their chest with tremendous force—— "I'm gonna lend you a hand, old man! 'A stone from Quein can't be lifted alone' — that's the saying, right!!"
——Like a beast roaring its battle cry,