—Return by Death.
An Authority that trades one's life to rewind time, granting the right to redo a period already lived through.
Harassed by the intervention of the terrifying
And this was not something that had happened only two or three times.
By his own count alone, Death had visited Natsuki Subaru more than ten times.
Not once had he died easily.
Not once had an ending come without the weight of loss.
Not once had he let go of his life with the thought that this was enough.
Not once had Natsuki Subaru wanted to let go of his life.
And yet, Natsuki Subaru lost his life, and continued to Return by Death.
Absurdity, cruelty, and despair had taken his life. But none of those things were truly unavoidable if one wished to avoid them.
And yet—why couldn't Natsuki Subaru avoid Death?
It was— "—Because I'm kind."
Because he couldn't bear to let a single person go.
Because he couldn't bear to release a single soul.
Because he couldn't bring himself to think that anyone was better off gone.
Because Natsuki Subaru couldn't accept the idea that anyone deserved to die.
And so, Natsuki Subaru lost his life, and continued to Return by Death.
Every obstacle, every malice, every enemy, every magical beast, every Archbishop had stood in the way of that life. They had killed him over and over, given him Death, shattered his soul.
But he knew. —He knew, intimately.
It was true that countless enemies, unimaginable obstacles, and unavoidable calamities had mercilessly taken Natsuki Subaru's life. That was fact. Undeniable.
And yet, he knew. More clearly than anyone, he felt it in his bones.
More than the enemies, more than the calamities, more than the cruelty— More than the formless malice of fate, the thing that had killed Natsuki Subaru— —Was none other than someone who continued to take advantage of his kindness.
△▼△▼△▼△ "Seriously though, I don't think you need to beat yourself up that much."
"...Even if you say that, Subaru, it doesn't make me feel any better."
Petra, gripping the reins on the driver's seat of the speeding dragon carriage, glanced at the "Natsuki Subaru" resting his cheek on his fist beside her, and let out a worried sigh.
The "Subaru" sitting next to her now was not the real Subaru.
In a manner of speaking, it was a phantom conjured by Petra's own mind—Imaginary Subaru. The proof was that he was slightly translucent, and compared to the most recent Subaru in Petra's memory, his features seemed to retain a faint hint of youth.
That was because the Tome of the Dead that Petra had been forced to relive dated back to a timeline roughly a year and a half in the past—the turbulent few days when Petra had first become a maid.
"Both Subaru and I have been through a lot since then..."
Thinking of the time that had passed, it was only natural that they had both grown, for better or worse.
In simple terms, Petra had grown in stature and hair length. As a maid and as a young woman, she was proud of her remarkable progress. Subaru, meanwhile, had grown close to
So it was only natural that the "Subaru" of that time looked somewhat younger by comparison.
—And yet, he was still cool.
Even if he lacked some of the masculinity and sharpness of the present, wasn't it unfair how much charm and warmth he had?
"No, no... Focus, Petra. This isn't the time."
She pressed her hand to her forehead, shaking her head slowly as she chided her own thoughts.
It was fine—she could keep it under control. After all, this wasn't the first time Petra had conjured Subaru in her mind and had him say the things she wanted to hear, or strike the poses she wanted to see.
She was a seasoned veteran of romantic picture stories and love poetry, imagining every scenario and casting herself and Subaru as the leads, her cheeks and heart burning hot.
If all of that was rehearsal, then the Imaginary Subaru before her now simply had more presence, more life, and more realism than any of those fantasies.
"That is... well beyond the scope of imagination. Isn't that past the point where self-control can handle it?"
"It's fine! It's a matter of how I feel about it. And stop peeking into my head!"
"Don't be ridiculous! You're asking me not to peek, but I'm literally inside your head!"
"—!"
Petra held her breath at the retort from the wide-eyed "Subaru," and the "Subaru," seeming to realize he'd gone too far, scratched his cheek with an apologetic look.
That softened gaze he had when considering someone's feelings, that endearingly clumsy reaction so uniquely Subaru—it made Petra realize anew just how precious he was to her.
—Natsuki Subaru's Tome of the Dead had invaded
That was how Petra analyzed what had happened to her.
The avid reader of the Tome of the Dead,
Though, the shock Petra had experienced from Subaru's Tome of the Dead might have been something entirely different from what Ezzo had feared.
"...Return by Death, and the other side of the Great Waterfall..."
What Natsuki Subaru was carrying was far, far beyond anything Petra had imagined.
How Subaru had felt leaving his homeland, meeting Petra and the others all alone, what suffering he had endured while saving them, what resolve he had carried in his heart while fighting for them—everything. No—what Petra had learned was merely the barest fraction of it all.
Because it was impossible to believe that Subaru, who bore such a tragic fate, had not used that single Authority even once since the records Petra had read in the Tome of the Dead.
Surely, from that point on, Subaru had experienced that sensation of having his soul torn away, his heart clawed to shreds, his life trampled—again and again—and had endured it, endured it all, up to this very day.
"—!"
The irreparable wound to the soul that Ezzo had feared had indeed been carved into her.
Petra assessed it with detached clarity: her heart had been severely damaged, her mental equilibrium utterly destroyed, and she was in a precarious state.
She was conversing with an imaginary version of a lover who was both dead and not dead, and she could still feel genuine joy and sorrow at his words even in this situation. She was, without question, completely unwell.
"But that's fine."
Love is blind, fever is love. Petra Leyte had been consumed by her feelings and had lived this long regardless.
She wouldn't indulge in the convenient notion that as long as she knew she was abnormal, she could control it. No matter how sound her judgment might be, driving a car while intoxicated was inexcusable—and this was no different.
Neither Petra nor Subaru had a driver's license, nor did they have any memory of drunk driving, but the principle was the same.
"Car, drunk driving, traffic light... Tra-la-la..."
A sudden association of words tugged at her mind, and like out-of-season clothes spilling from a stuffed closet, knowledge came tumbling out one piece after another.
Every bit of it was both familiar and unfamiliar to Petra—new old acquaintances that drifted across the boundary between understanding and incomprehension.
If she didn't carefully sort through all of it, she would soon find herself slipping her arms into men's clothes and carrying around a Guilty Whip.
"Actually, wait—is my main weapon a whip? That's way too edgy. And apparently I'm all over Beatrice these days? I can't keep up with the generation gap..."
"For the record, the Master was disciplined by everyone, Garfiel reflects on his chuunibyou phase, Otto hasn't been sleeping, and Emilia-sama is doing wonderfully."
"Oh, so Roswaal was the mastermind all along... Wait, why was that guy forgiven?"
"That's something you should discuss with Subaru and Emilia-sama..."
For the record, Petra still had not forgiven Roswaal. While she hadn't been able to fully oppose Subaru and Emilia's decision at the time, she certainly hadn't endorsed it. Of course, there had been numerous occasions—beginning with his actions in the Empire—where Roswaal's presence had been a lifesaver. But that was a separate matter entirely, and Petra intended to never forgive him for as long as she lived.
However—right now, there was someone she found even less forgivable than Roswaal— "—Petra."
No matter how he said it, she couldn't let it sway her.
The gentle, quiet tone. The earnest gaze. It was the combined assault of the "Subaru" who could make Petra forget her own breathing and heartbeat, and the only way to escape it was to avert her eyes like a child.
Ignoring the shameless plea of the heart beating ceaselessly within her chest, Petra turned her awareness forward—to the endless expanse of the sand sea stretching out before them.
—Currently, Petra and the others' dragon carriage had left the
Beyond this sea of sand, there was a back they had to catch up to.
Their opponent had the wings of the Divine Dragon and the Blessing of Wind Resistance—greater mobility than even a land dragon. He had likely already crossed the sand sea in a single bound. Catching up would be no simple task.
And there were other reasons Petra and the others had to hurry.
"—The Witch of Envy."
"Subaru," sharing her consciousness, voiced the reason for their urgency.
Despite throwing all caution to the wind and pushing the dragon carriage to its limits for several hours now—having put considerable distance between them and the Pleiades Watchtower—they still could not shake off the pressure that refused to release their souls.
It was the terrifying "Witch" sealed in the shrine, who continuously reached out to punish Petra for having read the Tome of the Dead and trespassed into forbidden territory. The tidal wave of that black shadow, which threatened to corrupt and perhaps destroy the world, was being held back by a single hero.
—The Sword Saint,
His solitary, desperate struggle had pushed back the Witch of Envy's rampage behind the tower, holding the collapse of the world at bay by a thread, maintaining a fragile equilibrium. But even now, earth-shaking tremors and thunderous booms that threatened to flip heaven and earth upside down, flashes like distant lightning—they continued without cease, day and night, as though the trumpets of the Apocalypse were being blown on and on without end.
How long could this balance last? Neither Petra nor anyone else could say. If there was one thing she could say, it was— "If Reinhard goes down, it's all over."
"Yeah. If Reinhard... disappears, the 'Witch' will catch up to me. Until then, there's no way to predict how much damage will be done."
"She doesn't exactly seem like the type to politely make way for others, either."
At "Subaru's" joke, Petra imagined the Witch of Envy graciously offering her seat on a crowded train to an elderly passenger, but she couldn't bring herself to laugh right now.
In truth, if minimizing damage was the priority, Petra should have stayed at the Pleiades Watchtower regardless of Reinhard's outcome and accepted the Witch's silencing.
But if Petra so much as entertained that thought for a moment— "—Absolutely not. I'd refuse even if it meant death."
"—!"
Being told that straight to her face by "Subaru" left Petra unable to muster a rebuttal.
She had always been aware that Subaru cherished her. Of course, Emilia and Beatrice were there.
But until today, she had never known just how much weight lay behind the words "even if it dies"—spoken so casually, so boldly, by Subaru.
Natsuki Subaru was truly someone who would protect what mattered, "even at the cost of death."
"...Yeah, I understand. I don't want to die either. ...Al-san has something prepared to stop the 'Witch,' right?"
"Yeah. He's no fool. He knows how badly the world could be damaged. He'll have made preparations to settle things before it comes to that."
"Definitely."
"With absolute certainty."
Gripping his fist tightly, "Subaru" declared it with conviction, and Petra nodded in return.
They would catch up to Al, who had left the tower, and extract from him the details of his plan to contain the "Witch." The steps required were dizzying to contemplate, but how reassuring "Subaru's" words were. —But sadly, the same could be said not just from "Subaru's" side, but from Petra's as well.
"Subaru," who shared her consciousness, could see through every one of Petra's thoughts and fears.
And Petra, who shared "Subaru's" consciousness, could see through his just as easily.
"If Al wants to end the world..."
The absolute certainty they had confirmed moments ago would collapse.
In the worst case, Al had no intention of stopping the Witch of Envy at all—he intended to let the world be destroyed, taking his own dying heart along as a companion.
Having lost
And yet, she couldn't help clinging to a sliver of hope.
"Meili, Garfiel, and the others—we're all still alive."
Even Al, who had secured even the Divine Dragon
Would it be too much to believe that this was a sign—a final, fragile trace—of what remained within Al?
"Maybe it's not too much... but it's not like me."
"Whoa there—"
Petra murmured, pressing a finger to her lips. Beside her, "Subaru" deliberately raised his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. She glanced over to see him waving with a forced grin, and Petra narrowed her eyes with a small smile.
She didn't know how much "Subaru" was influencing her current way of thinking.
The idea that the Tome of the Dead's only lingering effect was the bonus feature of letting her see Imaginary Subaru—there was no way that was the case.
"I need to be careful..."
Petra loved Subaru, but she didn't want to become Subaru. And she shouldn't try to become someone like Subaru either, indiscriminately dispensing kindness to everyone she met.
She admired kind people, and she always wanted to become kinder—but people like Subaru and Emilia were enough as they were. Petra simply wanted to be someone who never took the kindness of kind people for granted.
For that reason, she couldn't let herself become too immersed in Natsuki Subaru's feelings.
"—Petra, it's almost time for me to take over!"
Just as she was thinking this, the small window of the dragon carriage opened, and a voice called to the back of her head.
It was Meili, who had been resting in the passenger car. She had offered to take over as driver, but Petra shook her head.
"I'm fine, Meili. You should rest. You carried me while I was sleeping, and you drove off magical beasts too."
"Not as much as Fram did, carrying the young master and the teacher. Besides, with the Sword Saint and the 'Witch' fighting, the magical beasts are probably just as preoccupied."
Meili shrugged, and the deep fatigue etched into her expression made it obvious she hadn't truly rested during her time in the passenger car. In truth, sensing the Witch's presence from afar was a constant state of being a frog frozen by a snake's gaze—anyone who could rest calmly in that state was the one with something wrong with them.
Given Meili's strong sense of responsibility, it must have been even harder for her.
"How's Fram? Still sleeping?"
"Hmm, still unconscious. But I'd like to rely on Fram's Blessing, and it was the right call to do so."
"This girl... The sense of unease at Meili being here is pretty intense..."
Petra and "Subaru's" thoughts overlapped—"Subaru's" comment on the uncanniness of Meili's presence, and Meili's weary reply. Setting aside the latter's reaction, Petra focused on the existence of Fram and her Blessing, which had come up in conversation.
Fram's Blessing of Thought Speech allowed her to convey words to her twin sister once per day. A one-way trip, but the ability to transmit thoughts regardless of distance was, under the current circumstances, worth more than anything—it held an invaluable position.
The condition for the Blessing—"once per day"—seemed to be closely tied to the amount of time she had slept. The more urgent the situation, the more necessary it was for her to sleep.
However, the method Fram had used to fulfill that requirement exceeded even Petra's imagination.
"To think she'd just choke herself unconscious on the spot..."
"Having the Sword Saint around, she couldn't exactly rest normally, could she? But being able to go that far really shows she's connected to that Sword Saint. She's even smaller than me or Petra, but she's anything but normal."
"You're one to talk."
"That's rich, coming from you."
Petra and "Subaru's" retorts overlapped, and Meili pursed her lips in displeasure.
Only Petra's words had reached Meili's ears, but by deliberately maintaining this out-of-place, mundane back-and-forth, they turned their eyes away from the pressure of the "Witch."
And it was that stable heart, maintained through such moments, that had allowed them to sprint forward with unwavering focus.
"—Hyaaah!"
The sudden, piercing whinny came from the one who, more than Petra, more than Meili, more than Fram, more than anyone, had been giving everything they had from the very beginning—
Having shared their sense of urgency since the events at the Pleiades Watchtower, Patrasche's cry announced the arrival of their destination—the end of the sand sea.
The nearest town beyond that sea of sand, Milura, was coming into view.
"Petra!"
"I know!"
Responding to Meili's call, Petra leaned forward, gripping the reins tight.
For a brief instant, Patrasche had glanced back, but she had already refocused ahead, plunging into the final sprint after having run tirelessly all this way.
*I love you, Patrasche.* The bodiless Imaginary Subaru sent words of gratitude and love that could never reach her, as Petra watched an intangible hand stroking the land dragon's neck. Inside her small head, the roadmap she would need after arriving in Milura was already unfolding.
At the end of that roadmap, the ultimate goal was, of course, stopping Al's plan to betray Natsuki Subaru—no, reaching what lay beyond it.
And in order to reach that— "—!"
The dragon carriage burst through the gate at the entrance of the town, arriving in Milura. With that, Petra confirmed they had crossed the Augria Sand Dunes, and she opened her mouth wide.
The one person she and the others absolutely needed to ask for help—the one who had told them he could not enter the Augria Sand Dunes and had seen them off from that very place— Which meant, paradoxically— "—We came back, so lend us a hand! You can hear me, can't you, Lind?!"
Yes—she cried out for the wildcard who could close the distance that had opened between them.
△▼△▼△▼△ The small shadow that flitted across the corner of her vision made
Its shape, coloration, and sheen inspired instinctive revulsion. She had shared her bed with those things in the slums ever since she could remember, yet she could never muster a shred of camaraderie or fondness for them.
Felt had once slept hugging a large rat for warmth, but even she balked at befriending a single zodda bug.
They were a truly abhorrent existence—the very nemesis of humanity.
"Honestly, zodda bugs are freaking everywhere..."
With their abnormal vitality, zodda bugs established their habitat anywhere and everywhere. They were often seen in unsanitary places, but that wasn't an absolute requirement.
In fact, the zodda bug Felt had spotted at this particular moment was inside a building that was reasonably well-maintained and cared for—a mansion in the aristocratic quarter of the royal capital, Lugunica.
Opulent and lavish, filled with paintings and decorations whose value Felt could not begin to appreciate, the place had retained its splendor even after losing its mistress.
"Hey—your thread, it shoots out super far, right? Can't you use that to, like, exterminate some zodda bugs or something?"
"Haah~ Well now, Lady Felt. The Iron Thread technique I use is an exceedingly rare skill that hasn't appeared in a user for over a century, you know? Combined with the specialized Iron Thread ring crafted by Curse Tool Artisan
"You lost me halfway through that super long explanation. So what's the bottom line?"
"I don't want to dirty my beloved threads with something so gross, that's what~"
Yae turned her face away, hiding both ring-adorned hands behind her back, and Felt replied with a listless "Yeah, yeah." She glanced toward where the shadow had been—right, then left—but it seemed to have escaped her sight. That, in its own way, was an unpleasant feeling.
"Just because I can't see them anymore doesn't mean they've disappeared from the world... On the contrary, those things sometimes fly straight at your face."
"I know. At that point, you'd just have to accept death, wouldn't you~"
"Don't wanna die, but thanks for the pep talk."
In terms of her state of mind, "resignation" or "despair" fit better than "readiness"—but that was beside the point.
As it happened, the unexpected glimpse of a zodda bug had sparked a surprising consensus with Yae, and Felt turned her attention once more to the mansion—to the interior of the Barielle residence in the royal capital.
Some Lugunica nobles who lived outside the capital kept a secondary mansion in the capital's aristocratic district. The Astrea residence where Felt had first been kidnapped and held by Reinhard was such a place, and this mansion—built on Priscilla Barielle's orders—had been constructed for the same purpose.
"That princess for you. She made sure the place was maintained even while she wasn't living here, and now there are zodda bugs running around. Or maybe the maids lost all motivation once their mistress died."
"Oho~ I wouldn't say things like that around Al-sama, even if it's just to provoke him, you know~? It makes you sound terribly mean, and I don't particularly enjoy hearing the mistress badmouthed either~?"
"Oh? You worried I'll piss off the helmet guy?"
"Oh no, Al-sama wouldn't get angry, I'm sure. But he would be hurt. And I, for one, can't welcome that."
Yae lowered her tone slightly and tilted her head at the end of the exchange. Instantly, Felt felt a subtle tension at her neck—the invisible presence of thread sensed at a visceral level.
The Iron Thread she had hesitated to use on zodda bugs was now once again wound around Felt's neck.
"Even if you hurt me, the helmet guy won't get crowned, will he?"
"Maybe not. But is it my duty as the all-purpose maid devoted to solving her master's every problem to let you say whatever you want to Lady Felt just because of that~?"
"'Master'—that still sounds weird. Your relationship with the helmet guy isn't master and servant. ...Though I get it's lame to judge from the sidelines."
Felt raised both hands to show she had no intention of resisting. After watching this for a moment, Yae shrugged and withdrew the Iron Thread.
Still, if Felt made any suspicious move, Yae would not hesitate to send the thread flying—severing a finger, or if necessary an arm or leg, as a demonstration of intent. The speed and precision behind it made the provocation worth it.
"Knew it, but... this one's out of my league..."
At present, only Felt and Yae were present at the Barielle residence.
If Felt could either slip past Yae's watch or overpower her single-handedly, she could escape from her captive-princess situation, which was meant to restrict the movements of Felt's faction.
"I admire your fighting spirit—truly worthy of a Royal Selection candidate, and it's almost admirable from a loyal-retainer standpoint—but please don't do anything reckless~? There are plenty of people I wouldn't lose sleep over cutting up with thread—thugs, Heinkel-sama, that sort. But I don't really enjoy doing that to someone cute and feminine."
"Good to know. Then remember this—I don't exactly love being called 'cute' or 'lovely' or 'you look so pretty' either. You remember how many times you've said those things?"
"Ooh, scary~ For the record, what would you do if you counted?"
"Each one gets repaid with a kick to the butt."
For the record, Yae had already accumulated three butt-kicks in Felt's internal ledger. The helmet—Aldebaran, the Divine Dragon, and Heinkel each had their own debts of revenge to settle.
Felt settled all debts, whether kindness or grudges. She drew no distinction.
"Kicking the butt of a dragon—much less the Divine Dragon—that's not something you get to do every day. When you think about it that way, being held hostage is almost funny, isn't it?"
"You're so tough~! Even Yae is intimidated by how strong your mental fortitude is. And it's not just that—I'm afraid of being hit on, so I don't want to let you and Vol close together."
"Even so, making Heinkel the one to babysit the 'Divine Dragon'... if you ask me, that's pretty weird taste."
"Heinkel-sama is practically foaming at the mouth for the 'Dragon's Blood.' I just hope he doesn't get impatient and accidentally try to attack Vol~"
Yae held a finger to her lips and smiled mischievously, but there was nothing cute about the content.
From Yae's perspective, even if the worst-case scenario came to pass—if the reckless Heinkel was killed by the Divine Dragon—she wouldn't see it as a problem. Taken together with her attitude toward Heinkel, who was ostensibly an ally, it was a predictably mean-spirited assessment.
Of course, since the Divine Dragon was too conspicuous to bring near the capital and they didn't want it to be distracted by having Felt close by, the lopsided matchup was somewhat inevitable.
"—? What is it?"
Felt, slouching carelessly on the parlor sofa, noticed Yae studying her and furrowed her brow.
Yae shook her head with a casual "Oh, nothing~"
"I was just surprised. That Lady Felt would want to awaken Heinkel-sama's wife—meaning, the Sword Saint's mother."
"...That guy. When we all ate together, he sat right next to me."
"—?"
The seemingly unrelated remark made Yae look puzzled. Undeterred, Felt continued.
In Felt's faction, when it was time for a meal, Fram and Grassis would come to call, and everyone except Felt—who nominally sat at the head—would take their seats in order of who arrived first. Reinhard typically sat next to Felt at that head seat.
And— "While we were eating, his face was right in my line of sight the whole time. If that face improves even a little, doesn't the food taste better?"
"...I take back 'beautiful young lady.' Lady Felt, you're quite the handsome one~"
"Didn't catch what you said, but I'm adding to the butt-kick count."
"Huh—why~?!"
Yae pouted, and Felt turned away without answering any further.
Being accustomed to captivity was nothing to brag about, but the trick to maintaining mental composure in that state was to avoid saying too much about everything.
Having teased her hook well enough, Felt waited—and then— "Alright, alright, I'm sorry if I annoyed you. Here, go ahead."
Saying this, Yae gently extended a silver tray bearing a grilled sandwich—a light meal of fillings pressed between bread—and Felt's stomach gave a loud growl.
Yae chuckled softly at the sound.
"Are there zodda bugs in there too?"
"They're everywhere, aren't they? Inside my stomach too... Actually, don't put that image in my head. Hurry up and hand it over."
She glared at the teasing Yae and snatched the silver tray from her hands. The grilled sandwich gave off a faint, warm aroma. She bit into it, and the taste was neither too rich nor too bland—just right. It suited Felt's palate, and Yae, meeting her eyes, smiled and gave a thumbs up.
"So? How is it? Grilled sandwiches are the one dish Yae is proud of~"
"It's good...but 'the one dish' kind of changes things, doesn't it? You are a maid, right? Or is the maid thing a cover, and you're actually an assassin or something?"
"Hmm~ Assassination is indeed one of a shinobi's main jobs, but my being a maid is the honest truth~ I'm just better at cleaning up than cooking, that's all. Oh, and saying grilled sandwiches are my only specialty was a lie. I'm also good at layered wraps."
"In the end, it's just stuffing stuff between bread, isn't it?"
For the record, Felt's impression of layered wraps was that they used more vegetables in the filling than grilled sandwiches. In truth, she couldn't tell the fine distinctions between the two.
Either way, she was relieved that even a captive was provided with proper meals. At this rate, she wouldn't have to question every claim Aldebaran made as a lie.
But that raised the next issue—the actions of Aldebaran, who was not present.
Aldebaran, who had split off from Felt and the others—where had he gone?
"—That helmet guy seriously intends to extract the Archbishop, doesn't he?"
If she was speaking in the context of trust, then she would also have to believe the story—that he had gone to free Gluttony, one of the Archbishops imprisoned in the Watchtower of the
Currently, the
"In Priestella, I was face to face with Gluttony's... brother or whatever, and his sister. And I accompanied Reinhard during Wrath's transport. Speaking from that experience—what the helmet guy is planning to do is insane."
"That would be true, wouldn't it~? As they say, great works are not accomplished by sane people. Everything Al-sama has done up to this point has been extraordinary, hasn't it?"
"It's not a matter of degree—he's crossed so many lines that he's in a different dimension entirely. And I can understand using the 'Witch' to hold back Reinhard. But the Archbishop?"
"Naturally, that must also be necessary for Al-sama's purpose~"
"So you don't know the specifics either."
Yae smiled with her hands clasped behind her back and did not answer.
But the answer was as expected. Whatever Yae's true reasons for following Aldebaran, she clearly harbored an ironclad will—an obsession—to never part ways with him, regardless of what revelations came to light.
Therefore, rather than waiting for answers, it was Felt's role to seek them out.
"...That Gluttony bastard—'eats' people's 'names' and 'memories' in the most despicable way."
Like how Crusch had her memories devoured. Like Julius, the knight of Anastasia, whose "name" had been devoured. Like the girl in Emilia's camp whom Subaru had been searching for a way to awaken—though perhaps that last girl wasn't entirely unrelated to the "Sleeping Beauty" Felt and the others knew.
In any case— "—He must want someone fed to it. There's no other reason he'd go through the trouble of dragging out the Gluttony bastard."
Captive and confined, forced into hardship, Felt refused to let her soul be broken.
That was surely the philosophy of life she had learned from the reliable old
"Nom."
Felt filled her stomach heartily with the grilled sandwich, throwing herself into the practice of her philosophy.
As long as she didn't stop thinking, as long as she didn't stop moving, there would always be room to reach further. Ready for that moment, she licked the sauce from the corner of her mouth.
Nearby— "...Ugh, another zodda bug. It's only been a few days since I gave the caretaker time off, and already~..."
Whether it was the same one Felt had spotted earlier or a different one, Yae had apparently found a nemesis of humanity, and she grimaced with disgust.
△▼△▼△▼△ —It was a narrow, dark, suffocating place.
Even calling it a solitary confinement cell was too generous for a space that gave the impression of never having intended to keep its captive alive. And yet, it would be too violent to label the space and its occupant with words like "cruel" or "heartless."
After all, the one imprisoned there was a peerless transgressor who had committed countless atrocities across the world.
And the manner of imprisonment was entirely different from any ordinary cell—it was the "Black Coffin," a seal that severed a being's existence from the world entirely, requiring neither breath nor heartbeat. Thus, there was no need for provisions to sustain life in that space.
Which was precisely what made it the perfect place to curse each other's existence.
"—Sorry about that. I'd been working up a pretty good head of steam, apparently. Couldn't hold back."
Footsteps rang against the cold, hard floor as a man—Aldebaran—leaned his back against the wall of the cramped room. The back of his helmet struck the wall, and the sound of iron hitting stone cut sharply through the frigid air of the chamber.
At Aldebaran's feet, a figure lay collapsed face-down, gasping for breath on the verge of death.
That figure was the transgressor to whom this solitary-cell-like stone chamber had been granted by the Kingdom.
Having just been completely defeated by Aldebaran and reduced to licking the floor—a pathetic loser in every sense—was none other than the Archbishop of Gluttony of the
"—!"
He drew a deep breath and exhaled forcibly.
Having restored his frayed faculties through sheer willpower, Aldebaran surveyed the stone chamber—which had become quite a mess in the span of about a minute of real time—and shrugged.
The walls were cracked, the floor shattered, and the cramped, poorly maintained room had been so thoroughly wrecked that there was barely room to stand. The space was roughly the size of a decent café's restroom, yet somehow a massive brawl had been staged within it.
Of course, it wasn't the kind of brawl anyone had wanted to have.
"...I told you you'd keep your life if you came along quietly. Even if you were going to rebel, most people would wait for a better opportunity."
"—Ha-ha, you're a funny guy, Mr. Helmet."
Aldebaran's exasperated words were met with a thick, slimy snicker from Roy, who still lay sprawled on the ground.
Without changing position, Roy directed his gleaming eyes toward Aldebaran by the wall and licked his lips with a repulsively languid tongue.
"Does that mean we should learn to be patient while constantly starving, starving, starving, starving? That sounds a lot like abuse to me."
"Sorry, but I have no obligation to raise brats like you. In the Showa era, they say neighbors outside the family also participated in discipline, but this is Lugunica, not the Showa era. That said, after beating you this badly, I can't exactly deny the abuse charge."
Aldebaran clicked his helmet's rivets with a clattering sound, and Roy laughed cheerfully.
To have received the discipline of having both arms and legs thoroughly broken and still maintain that attitude—truly a creepy kid. Even in the discipline-happy Showa era, this level of punishment would not have been permitted.
That said, Roy Alphard was a creepy kid before being an Archbishop, so a bit of risk hedge was within acceptable parameters.
"Well, I didn't exactly expect things to go smoothly."
Aldebaran muttered this as he quietly reached the mental count of 6,022.
The number required no further explanation—it was the number of attempts it had taken Aldebaran to fully discipline the rebellious Roy Alphard. If one counted the number of broken bones and teeth, the figure would easily multiply several times over. Disciplining a brat required that much effort.
"To think I'd have to go through something like what Reinhard put me through..."
Roy Alphard, who bore the title of Gluttony—his Authority of Gluttony was the power to replicate the skills and abilities of those he consumed, the ability known as "Erosion." In essence, Roy stored countless warriors within himself, and he would abandon tactics that didn't work without hesitation and immediately deploy new methods—a fighting style reminiscent of Reinhard, who adapted to any situation with the appropriate Blessing.
Fortunately, Aldebaran already had over 130,000 rounds of experience against Reinhard, which allowed him to handle the similarly extraordinary opponent in only the low four digits. A feat, to be sure.
"Still, considering you were captured right after fighting at the tower, and didn't even receive proper treatment afterward—you put up a decent fight."
"Huh~? Being completely shut down in everything we did was a first experience for us too. And now Mr. Helmet, are you comforting us? If so, then the best way to comfort us would be..."
"Binge eating and drinking has consequences the next day. Just hearing about it is enough to make the stomachs of us middle-aged folk clench up when oil and grease are involved."
"Cold."
Roy grinned with his fangs on display, his eyes darting around as he looked at Aldebaran.
The color of his gaze held interest, hunger, curiosity, hunger, sadism, hunger—basically a full-course meal of everything that sent chills down Aldebaran's spine. The pain of his broken limbs, compounded by an even greater hunger—twisted beyond reason.
Aldebaran had no desire to feel sympathy. Like the Witches, the Archbishops chosen by Witch Factors were also abominable outcasts, born with their rails set firmly off the track of normalcy.
"Well then... Would you like me to explain the situation?"
"Oh? You will? What happened—broke my limbs and now you feel sorry for the kid? But that makes sense, right? No normal adult could calmly shatter a child's limbs like that. Well, whether an adult who wears a helmet on his head like that is 'normal' is debatable, but still."
"You talk a lot. ...You're far from the Pleiades Watchtower where you were captured—this is the royal capital of Lugunica. Your other half is—"
"—Ah, dead, you mean?"
"—!"
"We know that much, you know. The bond between family members is stronger and thicker than Mr. Helmet thinks... Sorry, sorry, just kidding. I just couldn't sense Lye's Witch Factor anymore, so I figured. And besides—"
"And besides?"
"From the outside, you might not be able to tell at all, but even those of us sealed up inside can sense a little of the outside world. Being sealed up so tight like that—everyone was trembling. How pathetic."
Roy made a slimy licking sound as he discussed his sibling's death with casual indifference. Aldebaran couldn't help but bristle.
That Roy had so calmly accepted the death of his other half, Lye Batenkaitz, was one thing—but the testimony that he had been able to sense the outside world even while sealed in the "Black Coffin"—the same type of seal as Or Shamac—was what truly surprised Aldebaran.
While Aldebaran was still processing this, Roy said "Here goes" and flipped himself over onto his back, viewing the room upside-down.
"Ugh, can't breathe. This is better... So? Mr. Helmet, our 'memories' tell me you're one of the Royal Selection participants, right? And yet here you are, trying to release us Archbishops—if word of this gets out, the princess's reputation will—"
"You're the type who's absorbed all kinds of thinking styles along with your combat techniques, right? Don't want to be seen as an incompetent who's collected all the tools but can't use them? Think before you ask."
"Ooh, I've hit a nerve. Was that a 'don't poke the snake in the bush'? Fine, fine, absolutely fine, of course, certainly, fine, and fine! I won't dig any deeper. You must have already given up on life since your precious princess died and all—ngh!"
"That's right. You'd be doing me a favor. Thanks for your concern."
The wicked grin on Roy's face twisted violently as Aldebaran slammed his heel down onto the broken shoulder. Aldebaran ground the fractured bone methodically with his heel before stepping off.
The opponent was an Archbishop. It was obvious from the start, but from the standpoint of keeping things on track, Roy was the worst possible partner. He had attacked the instant his seal was released—as expected, but it wasn't the kind of prediction you were happy to see come true.
If Archbishops weren't a necessary factor in the plan, Aldebaran would have happily kept them sealed in their coffin and dumped it into the Great Waterfall.
But— "—Ngh, going this far just because you need us. Tough life, huh, Mr. Helmet?"
"Big talker. Wish your parents had taught you how to shut up."
"Our birth parents? Our adoptive parents? If the former, our mother died giving birth to us and taking our sister with her. If the latter, they probably wouldn't have gotten along with you, Mr. Helmet."
"Either way, it sounds like a pretty terrible deal. —Can't be helped."
Miraculously, the conversation was flowing, but Aldebaran was getting nothing substantive from it. Meaningless verbosity was the hallmark of an Archbishop, and Gluttony was no exception to its title.
All that grew was discomfort and disgust—it didn't just make the environment unpleasant; it made life itself unpleasant.
"—!"
Aldebaran approached the prone Roy, who lay like a carp on a cutting board, and crouched down.
Their eyes met through the helmet's visor as Roy stared up at him from below, his eyes darting with curiosity despite the pain of his broken bones.
"What is it, what is it? What are you going to do next, Mr. Helmet? Torture to discipline the disobedient child? But you know, we're pretty used to that kind of pain."
"Relax. Like you, I don't believe in breaking someone's will through pain. If their resolve outlasts the pain, you won't have truly broken them. That's why—"
"That's why?"
"What binds you isn't pain or emotion. —It's a promise."
Saying this, Aldebaran jammed his thumb into the jaw section of his helmet and bit off the tip of his finger. A drop of blood welled up with a sharp pain, and he held the bloodied finger toward Roy.
Then, pressing that blood-smeared finger onto the bare skin of the fallen transgressor— "Don't bother resisting. I've had you practice this until you could do it with your eyes closed... but this is the first time I'm actually testing the effect."
"Drawing on a child's bare skin with blood—that's a level of depravity that makes us Archbishops blush. What could you possibly want us to do that requires such a twisted method? Destroy a country or something?"
"No intention of that—besides, you could do that on your own if you wanted. What I'm going through all this trouble of releasing you nasty brats for is something only you can do."
"Something only we can do, huh?"
Roy savored the ticklish sensation as the bloodied finger traced his body, baring his fangs in a grin.
Those leering eyes, that tone, that emanating aura—they were drawing out the words Aldebaran had left unsaid.
Though it irked him to comply—giving the opponent what they wanted—Aldebaran answered nonetheless.
The reason Aldebaran had released Roy Alphard was— "—There's someone I want you to devour with your Authority. And I won't take no for an answer."
"Hmm~? Well, yeah. You're releasing us, after all. That's the only logical reason, isn't it?"
Still lying on his back, Roy tilted his head, his cheeks contorted into a smile.
Whether it was meant as agreement or denial, Aldebaran couldn't tell. And it didn't matter either way—Roy's consent was irrelevant.
What mattered was the method inscribed into Roy Alphard's flesh and carved into his soul to force compliance.
"—An Oath Seal. And a disturbingly obsessive one at that. Did you arrive at this yourself, Mr. Helmet? Or is it the handiwork of some deranged curse user?"
"Handiwork. The person is definitely unhinged, but they weren't a curse user. They were a mage. Undoubtedly the greatest mage in the history of this world. Temperament aside."
"And the terms of the oath?"
"If you devour anyone without my permission, you'll burn to death—soul and all."
Stating this concisely, Aldebaran avoided looking at Roy's face as he hoisted the body onto his shoulder.
A transgressor who had gorged himself on the world's offerings at will—yet his body was light. Given that Aldebaran had infiltrated Roy's sealed prison tower, lighter was better.
He had knocked out the guards along the way, but the return trip called for caution.
"After this, I'll rendezvous with Yae and the little Felt..."
For the capital operation, Aldebaran had ordered Yae to watch Felt and keep them on standby at the Barielle residence. That mansion had originally been built by
Everywhere you looked, traces of Priscilla's preferred design elements remained. Even though they needed a base, it wasn't a place Aldebaran wanted to linger.
So he intended to pick up Yae and the others quickly and link up with the "Aldebarans" outside the capital.
"Oh, speaking of which, I mentioned earlier but—"
As Aldebaran considered this, Roy, draped over his shoulder, casually brought it up. Aldebaran glanced sideways to see Roy, limbs hanging limply, gazing at the floor.
Following his gaze, Aldebaran frowned.
There— "Before Mr. Helmet handed us over, while we were still being sealed in that black thing, we could vaguely sense what was happening outside. But this place is completely isolated from the outside, right? In that state, a meeting was out of the question—not even a rat, let alone a single insect, could get in. And yet—"
"—Huh?"
"There was a zodda bug, which was pretty unusual."
Roy's thick, slow words matched the tiny insect that had come into Aldebaran's field of vision.
Creeping across the cold floor, its form repulsive and loathsome—the zodda bug, the insect despised by all in this world. A cockroach-equivalent that could be found anywhere, so its presence in the prison tower shouldn't have been strange.
—At least, that was what Aldebaran would have thought.
"—! Damn it!"
A surge of alarm welled up inside him, and with no time to process it, Aldebaran forgot all consideration for the broken-limbed Roy on his shoulder and burst out of the cell, out of the prison tower.
He had to escape immediately—if he didn't, his infiltration had already been compromised— "—That's far enough."
The instant he stepped outside the prison tower, that voice struck Aldebaran's eardrums.
Simultaneously, a numbing drop in temperature hit his skin, and he heard the outer surface of his helmet creak from the temperature differential between inside and outside the tower. Thin, white snowflakes drifted through the air, and the arrival of this out-of-season cold snap shook Aldebaran's composure more than it would a farmer dreading crop damage.
A voice he knew—a silver-bell voice.
In the vast garden surrounding the prison tower, she walked forward with poise, stepping on the thin layer of snow that had settled over the ground, her long silver hair gleaming against the white landscape.
Her beautiful violet eyes typically held a soft, gentle light. —But not now. Those violet eyes were blazing, unmistakably, with fire.
It was, without question, her fury— "—Give Subaru and Beatrice back."
A quiet, dignified declaration of will—a bearing afforded only to a certain kind of sovereign.
For an instant, she was so radiant, so beautiful, so noble that the illusion was convincing.
"—!"
White breath escaped Aldebaran's lips as he stood frozen. Facing him across the snow, the "Witch of Ice"—Emilia—had her elegant brows drawn tight as she spoke.
"I'm really, really angry right now, so even if you're Al, I won't hold back."