The twin swords, swung in the shape of a cross, carved a decisive wound into the enemy.
Bleeding from shallow but far from trivial wounds scattered across his entire body, Wilhelm's consciousness nevertheless could not conceal its frustration at his own swordplay — at how lacking his technique remained.
"...Weak."
The word spilled from behind clenched teeth — disappointment and anger directed at his own aging, declining self.
As the years accumulated and old age piled on top of old age, the inadequacy of his own body made him want to bury his face in his hands. If he were a poet, if he were an artist, the years would serve as knowledge and skill; the eloquence of his words or the deftness of his brush would reveal heights he could never have reached in his youth.
But for a swordsman, there was no such consolation.
The years he had lived long enough to feel the weight of aging — they were nothing more than an undeniable, inexcusable layer of degradation. Strength, technique, speed: none of it could compare to when he had been at his sharpest.
And that was simply, unbearably frustrating.
He had tasted that same frustration many times before.
When, as commander of the Kingdom's Order of the Royal Guard, he had decided to withdraw from the front lines.
When the
And now — the frustration gnawing at Wilhelm's body and soul was, without exaggeration, the greatest he had ever felt in his life, matching even the moment during the Subjugation War when he had first learned that Teresia had been the Sword Saint, and had been forced to confront how impossibly far he fell short of her.
Weak. Far, far too weak.
And that fact — the fact of being weak — was an unforgivable sin in a world governed by the law of strength.
This world did not accept excuses. There was only strong, and weak. Nothing else.
Talent, laziness, illness, age — once one stepped into the arena where strength was measured, none of it mattered.
Of course. A sword did not choose who wielded it.
Then it was only natural that the one who held the sword was granted no excuses. —No, this world did, in fact, contain swords that chose their wielders.
And those who wielded such swords stood atop a world where excuses would not be accepted.
— That was precisely the kind of opponent that Wilhelm Trias, old and declining, could not afford to lose to by any means other than his own hand.
"......"
Disregarding Wilhelm's self-assessment entirely, the battle in which his swordsmanship had reached its closest approach to his peak in decades came to its conclusion, and the fearsome ninja sank into the depths below.
She was, without question, the most skilled of all the ninjas Wilhelm had faced.
How much training the girl must have undergone to reach such heights was beyond imagination — but in the world of the sword, there were no prizes for effort. That was the cruelest truth the sword held.
Even if one loved the sword more than anything else in the world, whether the sword would answer that love had nothing to do with how deep or how great that love was.
Rather, the deeper and greater that love, the more the heart of one who learned that nothing was returned for all the love poured in would crack, and break beyond all hope of repair.
Tucking that sentimentality into a corner of his mind, Wilhelm did not let his guard down even as the outcome of the battle was decided.
He caught sight of the falling girl, her body snagged on one of the threads that still remained intact, suspending her in midair. Blood flowed down, dripping from her inverted body, but her slender torso had not been cut in two. — And that was precisely why he remained wary.
In a life-or-death struggle, there was no room for either side to hold back.
Wilhelm had shown no mercy whatsoever — not to the girl's youth, not to her gender, not to her circumstances. His blade had cut without discrimination.
He had intended, without question, to kill her with every swing. And yet the girl's body had not been bisected. That proved not only that Wilhelm's swordsmanship was still lacking, but that the girl had, through some means, avoided the fatal wound.
Probably — "...Threads, I see."
Threads that the girl had spread with all ten fingers and all ten toes across the very hole that led to the depths below.
The technique — one that would demand extraordinary talent and blood-sweating training to master — could serve as blades to rend the enemy, as chains to seal their movement, and when wound tightly around one's body, even as armor to deflect sword strikes.
At the final flash, the girl had moved to shield her neck and heart. Wilhelm had put everything into a sweeping strike at the exposed torso — and that, of course, had been her calculated lure in that split second.
A girl who, in a moment's judgment, had preserved even the slimmest thread of a possibility — there was nothing for it but to call that admirable.
His wariness did not fade, but Wilhelm himself hoped the girl survived. Taking the enemy alive, if possible, was the shared consensus among their side.
"...Ngh."
From the slender throat of the suspended girl, a faint moan escaped.
Wilhelm had planted his sword into the wall for leverage and was in the process of moving to retrieve the girl below. Whether she sensed this or not, her trembling eyelids opened, and crimson eyes reflected Wilhelm back.
To that reaction, Wilhelm did not lower his guard. But he was equally certain, from the feedback of his strikes, that a counterattack was impossible.
He had swung a sword for fifty years. In that time, he had fought countless life-or-death battles and taken countless lives.
The weight of that spilled blood and discarded life was genuine, and it told Wilhelm precisely how deep the wounds he had inflicted truly were.
"......"
Therefore, no matter how the girl used her gaze to hint at a hidden trump card in an attempt to pin him down, Wilhelm saw through it as a desperate bluff and did not stop his approach.
"I, too, am not privy to all the details of the circumstances, but I would advise you against any further resistance. Before long, Lord Al's person will be secured as well."
Having seen through the bluff, Wilhelm still moved to discourage any further resistance from the girl.
He had heard that the girl was a conspirator working in concert with
He understood Al's feelings — the feelings of one who had lost someone dear — with a pain that cut to the bone.
His body torn, his heart ripped apart, his soul burned for eternity by an unfathomable sense of powerlessness.
But even so, he could not allow that dark passion to be the reason the world was destroyed. Especially when his own benefactor's name was among the victims of that rampage — that was something he could not overlook.
— He would crush every last piece of Al's scheme.
That meant obstructing all who participated in it, all who aided Al for whatever reason they had. — Regardless of who they might be.
This ninja girl was another cog that needed to be removed from that scheme — "...You're the worst."
Her words rode on the feeble breath that was barely keeping her alive.
The suspended girl, realizing that her bluff had not worked on Wilhelm, let her self-disappointment show without concealment.
And that — "Not only was I no help, I was a burden."
Were she not suspended in midair, she might have wept — that was the remorse that came from the very bottom of her heart.
Had that remorse been directed solely at losing the fight against Wilhelm, Wilhelm might have finally released that last shred of his wariness.
But that was not the case. Immediately after the girl's murmur, a sound came from above — from outside the hole.
A heavy thud, as if something massive had collapsed to the floor. And following it — "Guh — kk!"
The pained cry — he recognized it instantly as coming from
Bouncing off the walls with a triangle jump, Wilhelm burst out of the hole and froze.
"~~~~~!"
Felt was flailing her legs, suspended in midair, desperately clawing at the thread wound around her neck with her fingers.
A thread noose. But the girl who had set the trap should have had no strength left to maintain it — Wilhelm's gaze swept to the corner of the room, where a section of the wall had collapsed, and he understood: that was the source of the sound he had heard, and the mechanism that had hoisted Felt into the air.
A time-delayed trap: a thread was looped around Felt's neck, and a section of wall, previously hollowed out at an angle, toppled on a timer, pulling the thread taut and suspending her. — This way, regardless of how the battle unfolded, and irrespective of whether the girl lived or died, the trap would activate, and Felt would be hanged.
"Right now —"
To save her, Wilhelm grabbed his sword and rushed toward Felt.
The thread was tough, but without someone actively maintaining it, its strength could not withstand a sword strike. Rescuing Felt would be easy. And the girl who had set the trap would have no chance to escape.
From the start, the reason she had set a time-delayed trap was so that if her fight with Wilhelm dragged on, she could draw his attention away from herself, catch him off guard, and either escape or land a decisive blow.
But the battle had ended before the trap activated, and the girl had sustained injuries too severe to flee.
The trap offered her neither an opening to surprise him nor the leeway to escape. In a sense, one could say Felt had merely been caught in the crossfire as an unintended victim — or so Wilhelm reasoned.
At this moment, Wilhelm's chain of thought was perfectly natural, and no one could fault him for it.
After all, at this point in time, the only people who correctly understood the significance of Felt being hanged were the conspirators plotting the kingdom's overthrow — and no one else.
However — *Not only was I no help, I was a burden.* Had he had the time to consider the true meaning behind the suspended girl's words of remorse, perhaps things would have been different. What she regretted was not the defeat itself, but what lay beyond it.
What she had regretted was not losing the fight — it was failing to activate the "insurance" that came after.
"R — run — "
Just before Wilhelm's sword severed the thread, Felt — hanging there with a desperate expression on her face — was straining to force out words through a ragged breath.
They were not "help me." They were "run."
"......"
And it was in the very instant after Wilhelm's eyes caught those words that the Dragon's colossal arm, punching through the wall of the Barielle estate, struck Wilhelm mercilessly from the side.
△▼△▼△▼△ — Infiltrating the royal capital Lugunica and liberating the Great Sin Archbishop of Gluttony imprisoned in the Tower of Prisons.
Heinkel harbored mixed feelings toward Aldebaran, who had announced this outlandish — no, outright insane — policy and then single-handedly charged into the city.
Aldebaran's true objective, right down to its roots, had not been shared with Heinkel.
It seemed Yae, who had accompanied Aldebaran, had been given a similar lack of information. But unlike Heinkel, who was cooperating with Aldebaran in exchange for something in return, Yae's participation in this scheme was apparently driven by a twisted obsession with Aldebaran himself.
"Twisted obsession, huh. ...You've got some nerve, saying that so shamelessly."
The inexplicable emotion Yae harbored toward Aldebaran — neither love nor hatred — and the fact that Heinkel had evaluated it using his own yardstick, left him feeling cold self-mockery.
After all, what right did he have to measure whether something was "straight" or "twisted"?
If he could call Yae's obsession twisted, then what about himself? Heinkel, who had pursued every means imaginable to awaken his sleeping wife, and in the end had become one of the kingdom's traitors — "—!"
A self-questioning infused equally with self-blame and self-mockery pierced his mind, and a splitting headache forced him to press his fingers into his temples, trying to obscure the pain.
Under normal circumstances, the best remedy for this fog-like, unanswerable pain was alcohol. Drink did not heal the pain, but it could temporarily make him forget, could numb him.
He knew it was unhealthy, but Heinkel could only open his eyes to see the world clearly in the haze that drink provided.
Even so, right now, he could not reach for the numbness that would dull the pain. — At last, the moment he had been waiting for might finally be here.
Nearly twenty years of pursuit. A wish so desperate it had cracked his soul. The moment of his longed-for, desperate prayer.
"...Luanna."
Behind his closed eyelids, the name his lips had woven — his beloved woman's name — conjured her image.
Her appearance had not changed from the day they met — young, lovely, and beautiful. She had not aged at all from the year she had fallen asleep. Not because his memories had failed to update, but because her sleeping face truly defied all the years, remaining as it had always been.
He wanted to see her eyelids open again. He wanted her lips to form words, wanted to engrave upon his memory the way she truly was — that lively, vibrant woman whose lively nature was at odds with her delicate appearance, who could not sit still for even a single second.
If that wish came true, Heinkel would never need to ask for anything more from his life — "I..."
*— Aw, Pop, you're being negative again, aren't ya? Getting that kinda vibe from ya.* The voice that drifted up from just below caught Heinkel off guard, and he held his breath. Even as he continued pressing his fingers into his temples, the one who had spoken to him was the Divine Dragon, wings spread wide.
Despite its solemn and overwhelming presence, the Divine Dragon spoke in the most frivolous manner imaginable. It could not possibly see the face of Heinkel riding on its back, yet it was remarkably perceptive when it came to his moods.
Heinkel found himself at a loss for a response to this ambiguous question that might or might not have been concern.
Of course he would be. — For Heinkel, being left alone with the Divine Dragon like this was no different from having a feast dangled right at the tip of his nose.
To awaken Luanna Astrea from her endless sleep, Heinkel had explored every means possible — magic, curses,
If only he had this legendary treasure — said to drive away all illness and bring abundance even to barren land — he could awaken Luanna. And now it pulsed, asserting its existence, close enough that he could reach it if only he drew his sword.
Mind you — "...Leave me alone. Don't worry about me."
*— Oh, come on, don't get all sullen on me. I get that you're in a hurry, Pop, and I know riding on my back ain't exactly comfortable. So I tried to be considerate, y'know? Thoughtful, in my own way.* "Considerate? Don't tell me this is what you mean by that."
*I was gonna say exactly this, actually. But saying it makes it sound bad?* Tilting its head as if without a shred of ill intent, the Divine Dragon's words pointed to their current location — namely, above the clouds, far from the earth below.
Heinkel was riding on the Divine Dragon's back, high in the sky. Whether the Dragon manipulated the wind or not, he was not exposed to turbulence or strong winds, and aside from the hardness of the scales beneath him, the environment was comfortable enough. But the "consideration" the Dragon spoke of was probably not about this comfort.
It was about maintaining the altitude — an altitude from which there would be no saving Heinkel if he drew his sword.
*Even if you did manage to gouge out my heart and get the blood, it'd be pointless if we both fell and died, right? So even with just the two of us, you can't lay a hand on me up here. What do you think? Not a bad idea, huh?* "Don't praise yourself. Besides, that's not something you can call either consideration or calculating. There's still a chance I might draw my sword without thinking of the consequences, if your plan falls through..."
*— Nah, I don't think so. You're a sensible guy, Pop.* "What..."
*A sensible guy can properly weigh how scary something is. I've seen all kinds of nutjobs over the years, but you ain't one of them.* Speaking his mind freely — saying whatever he pleased — the Divine Dragon's proclamation left Heinkel gaping, unable to muster a rebuttal.
Though, as for why his ears turned red first — was it anger or embarrassment?
If it was the former, then his inability to spit out a thoughtless curse proved the Dragon's assessment right. If it was the latter, then the fact that the Dragon's words hit close to home proved it right all over again.
In short, the moment his ears turned red, Heinkel's defeat was sealed.
"You think I'm... sensible...?"
He tightened the fingers gripping his head, his voice grinding as he challenged the Dragon's evaluation.
Sensible — what a bitterly ironic assessment, given where Heinkel currently stood. What was the Dragon thinking? A sensible person would never, in their most self-serving moments, become a traitor to their country.
Heinkel was neither sensible nor decent. He was unworthy of the kind of评价 that described the ordinary goodness that most common people possessed.
"That's why I went along with Aldebaran's offer when Priscilla died."
The tragedy in the Volakian Empire. Priscilla Barielle, cut down in the midst of national crisis.
Heinkel could not say, not even if his mouth were torn open, that he had pledged loyalty to her. His relationship with her had been one of mutual convenience — an alliance of aligned interests. Even that much, he could no longer be certain of, given how much value Priscilla had seen in using him.
Though he had never pledged loyalty to Priscilla, Heinkel had never once doubted that she possessed the qualities of a queen — the ability to ascend the throne and lead Lugunica's people as its new sovereign.
She possessed outstanding ability, a keen foresight, and her beauty was itself a fine qualification for a queen.
Priscilla had the right to become Queen of Lugunica. — And when that came to pass, he had been promised that she would grant him permission to use the Dragon's Blood as his reward.
That hope had scattered in the Empire along with Priscilla's life.
It was a loss that reached the very bottom of his heart. — Not only the failure to obtain the Dragon's Blood, but the Lugunica Kingdom that Priscilla would have ruled, a kingdom that would never be realized.
And when Heinkel was left broken, stripped of all hope, Aldebaran had reached out his hand.
If he cooperated, he would obtain the Dragon's Blood — in exchange for making an enemy of the entire world. — It was, for Heinkel, an offer almost unbearably sweet.
When something you had almost touched, something within your grasp, was torn away — that was painful. — And for Heinkel, this was the second time he had come so close to that light of hope, only to have it extinguished.
The first time, that helplessness born of his own foolish mistake — that was something he could never forget.
And so, Heinkel clung desperately to this last possibility, as wretched as it was.
To call that sensible — the Dragon's assessment was the most off the mark possible.
*Hiding in your shell and sulking again, huh? I know it's weird comin' from me, but nobody's gonna love a middle-aged guy with a permanent scowl, y'know.* "...That's nothing new."
*You're being really stubborn. ...Well, it's a real boomerang, so I'll leave it at that.* Even a simple shrug was too exaggerated for the Divine Dragon's massive form.
At those eerie, eerily human-like gestures, Heinkel detected a definite commonality with Aldebaran, and ignored the headache growing sharper from that inexplicability.
Unloved by anyone. — That was precisely what Heinkel wanted.
He was not so pathetic as to blurt out a self-pitying complaint that he had never been loved once in his life. Heinkel had been born loved, and there had been no small number of people who had loved the kind of man he was.
And yet, far from repaying that love, he had betrayed it and walked off into the rain.
*— ...Oh, right. We don't get many chances to be alone like this, so I wanted to check something with you real quick, Pop.* "Can you not just keep quiet and wait?"
*I'm the type that can't stand silence. Might be 'cause I've always had company.* The Divine Dragon's biology was a complete unknown, but its previous partner had not been much of a talker, and Heinkel had not been eager to ask. In the end, after the deed was done, he would need this being to die so he could take its blood. There was no need to add reasons to feel guilty.
Besides, whatever the Dragon's motive — concern or otherwise — the shift in conversation from what had come before was welcome.
If they were going to talk about something different, maybe it would ease this headache a little.
"So, if I may be so bold, what is it that the great Divine Dragon would like to ask me?"
*Yeah, it ain't nothin' huge or anything, but — you're super tough, Pop. Like, ridiculously durable. I was wondering if you actually know why you're that tough.* "......"
*— Huh? Did I do something wrong?* At the Dragon's feigned innocence, Heinkel gritted his teeth in frustration.
The fact that his headache had intensified was proof that his earlier hope — that the conversation had shifted — had been wrong. It had not shifted at all.
"......"
Heinkel fell silent, staring down at his open palm, and exhaled.
The Divine Dragon's question — it was about Heinkel's body. Of course. His own body. He was aware of its abnormality, and he knew the reason well. — Of all the many sins Heinkel had committed, this was the punishment for the most grievous.
Luanna Astrea's endless sleep. — The beginning of the fracture in the Astrea family, Heinkel included, was undoubtedly that. But the event that had made it truly decisive was something that had happened fifteen years ago.
Theresa van Astrea's deployment in the battle against the White Whale, the transfer of the Sword Saint's protection during that battle, the change of the Sword Saint, and Theresa's death. — And the catalyst for all of it: the kidnapping of Prince Fored Lugunica's beloved daughter.
On the night of that incident, Heinkel had committed an unforgivable betrayal — and had then, through his own worst failure, rendered that betrayal meaningless. — The retribution for that sin was the Heinkel of today.
"There's no reason I need to confess any of this to you..."
*Oh, is that how you wanna play it? Well, what if I threatened to tell my other self that you were being uncooperative, and said I'd renege on our deal?* "You — !"
*Kidding, kidding. I'm sure you got fifty, maybe a hundred things you don't wanna talk about. Both you and me.* "...A hundred is a lot."
Heinkel could not manage more than that weak retort, despite the Dragon's attempt at lighthearted banter.
Fifty, a hundred — the Dragon spoke as though those were trivial numbers, but what Heinkel carried could be counted on one hand. And even that small number was enough to almost crush him, to shatter what little remained.
And yet, piecing together what had cracked, dragging forward what was stretched taut, he had kept going — just a little longer, just a little more — until finally — *......* "Hm? What — wait, what's wrong?"
Sensing a faint shift in the atmosphere, Heinkel looked to the Divine Dragon. For an instant, he hesitated between addressing it formally as
And then — *— Hold on tight, Pop!* "Gah!?"
The next instant, a crushing gale slammed into him from above, driving Heinkel against the Dragon's back as if performing a full prostration. Before he could even catch his breath from the sudden impact, Volcanica plummeted, carrying him plastered to its back, plunging through the capital's sky.
All the hiding they had done above the clouds while Aldebaran attacked the Tower of Prisons was now for nothing. — In other words, the time had come to reveal themselves.
At a speed that would not permit Heinkel to even raise his head, Volcanica reached its destination. The Dragon's massive forearm swung, and with a tremendous crash of destruction, a building's wall was punched through.
The reason for this sudden violence, its target — everything was unclear.
But the building struck by that single, devastating blow was destroyed beyond recognition, and the Dragon's claws crushed everything inside to particles — *— You've got to be kidding me!* That voice — the voice of pure astonishment — came from the mouth of the Divine Dragon itself.
Volcanica narrowed its golden eyes, its gaze piercing through the interior of the building into which it had thrust its arm, and expressed shock at the results of its own merciless destruction.
And well it should. — For the Dragon's claws, sharper and more durable than virtually any blade in the world, had been broken, stripped, reduced to particles.
And the one who had done it was — "...Lord Father."
Within the half-ruined building, standing with twin swords at the ready, having just deflected the Divine Dragon's claws — it was the Sword Devil,
△▼△▼△▼△ "— My thanks."
Wilhelm acknowledged the threat's approach as reported by Felt, even as he remained conscious of the numbness lingering in both arms from barely deflecting the Dragon's claws.
Felt, with a thread noose around her neck, suspended in midair. — Even in a situation that had endangered her own life, she had not asked Wilhelm for help. Instead, she had told him to brace himself.
Thanks to that, he had just barely managed to assume a defensive posture in time.
*— Well, even if you'd had time, you couldn't have stopped it! Not normally, anyway!* In response to Wilhelm's silent reflection, the booming voice came from the colossal form standing outside the mansion — an absolute powerhouse whose terrifying yet mysterious presence alone was enough to bring most to their knees.
Volcanica, the Divine Dragon, was peering into the mansion from outside.
"Cough, cough... I'm with the Dragon on that one. I told you to run. I didn't say 'go ahead and fight'... cough..."
Felt, coughing painfully, had the audacity to agree with Volcanica's assessment.
Amid the chaos of the Dragon's claws, she had been freed from her suspended state — no, Wilhelm's eyes caught the event more precisely than that.
Felt's rescue without Wilhelm's help had not been an accident.
"Don't tell me you came here to save Felt?"
*— Hard to say yes or no without it sounding weird, but if I said yes here, would Felt-chan officially join our team of traitors?* "We ain't a team. But you definitely flew in to save me, that much ain't wrong..."
Still slightly swaying from the residual motion of her suspension, Felt rubbed her neck as she answered. Volcanica offered no denial. It seemed the Dragon had sensed Felt's predicament through some means and flown here to rescue her.
In other words, the ninja girl had deliberately placed the thread around Felt's neck, anticipating this very outcome.
Be that as it may — "Judging by her expression, she was in anguish. After all, the fact that she came to me meant..."
*— I couldn't very well help you from over there.* "Indeed. — By the way, the way you speak has changed quite considerably. When you glanced at me some forty years ago, you seemed like an entirely different person — no, an entirely different dragon."
*There's a saying — 'Three days apart changes a man.' Forty years is an incomprehensible amount of time. Summer does magic on girls, old man.* "I see."
He accepted the explanation in words, but he could not truly reconcile the reason for Volcanica's change of attitude. Still, he did not have the luxury of pursuing that question here.
There was something more urgent. — Volcanica had not come alone. The Dragon appeared to be carrying another passenger on its back. The fact that this passenger had not spoken a word and was trying to conceal their presence was not in order to catch Wilhelm off guard, but rather — "Will you not even show your face before me, Heinkel?"
"— !"
Wilhelm could feel, from the very air, that the person in question flinched at his address.
He already knew that Heinkel — the very person who had inspired Wilhelm to take up the sword in the first place — was among those who had sided with Al in his bid to destroy the kingdom.
Al's actions constituted a crisis sufficient to threaten the kingdom's very existence.
For Wilhelm, who had once been commander of the Royal Guard, standing idle in such a crisis was unthinkable. But even setting those circumstances aside, the reason Wilhelm had resolved to take up his sword above all others was precisely because of Heinkel's presence.
"I imagine he offered you the Dragon's Blood in exchange for your cooperation. And with it, you intend to awaken your wife — Luanna. If so, that is a terrible miscalculation."
The Dragon's Blood stored in the royal castle truly harbored a power of immense magnitude.
With a treasure of that caliber, it might indeed be possible to awaken Luanna Astrea from her unexplained sleep.
However — "Lord Al... no — will you trust the word of the traitor Al? That man betrayed the legacy of his sworn liege, Priscilla Barielle. He deceived even those who cared for him, and now seeks to set his plan in motion. Why on earth would he grant only your wish?"
*— Well, I get why you'd be skeptical. But that's a pretty one-sided argum—* "Noble Dragon of Lugunica, I am not speaking with you."
With words and bearing that offered no foothold for negotiation, Wilhelm shut down the conversation. The Dragon fell silent with a grunt. Through that silence, to the figure hidden on its back, Wilhelm pressed on.
"What's the matter? Nothing to say? Did I strike a nerve — or had you simply never considered it? Yes, of course. You have always been the same — turning your face away from anything unpleasant, stuffing your ears shut, and running. Even now, you refuse to see anything beyond what is convenient —"
"Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!"
"......"
"You can say whatever... you can say whatever the hell you want...! What I do for Luanna — you've got no right to judge me, old man!!"
With that blood-curdling shout, the figure atop Volcanica's back rose to his feet.
That familiar face, that voice that Wilhelm knew all too well, the trembling finger pointed at him in a display of childish fury — Wilhelm let out a long, deep breath. It held exasperation and disappointment, but also the faintest trace of relief.
There were many reasons for the relief. If the man had been that rattled by the scolding, it at least proved he still had the fighting spirit to lift his face and resist. The alternative — cowering in submission while siding with traitors — was the act of a coward.
But what it all boiled down to was this — "...So you've finally shown your face."
"Gu..."
"And? You've got nothing to say beyond throwing a tantrum? Was your reason for siding with that man the same as I surmised? If so, how could you possibly believe that he would grant your wish alone? Has your constant wishing worn you down until you can no longer think clearly?"
"I... was..."
When Wilhelm pressed the questions one after another, the figure on the Dragon's back — Heinkel — hung his head.
The force of his earlier outburst was gone, replaced by an unmistakable dejection. And Heinkel cowering before Wilhelm was nothing new.
It had been that way for a long, long time. — Ever since before he had sworn to become a knight, before Wilhelm had entrusted his beloved sword Astrea to him. For longer than Heinkel could remember.
"Pop's aim is the Dragon's Blood, and the reason is to wake up his sleeping wife. That much ain't wrong."
The one who answered Wilhelm's question, speaking on behalf of the silent, head-hanging Heinkel, was Felt. She had lowered the hand from her neck and straightened her spine. Despite being the most powerless person present, her expression carried not a shred of that awareness.
"Pop told me himself. I didn't ask him to spell out every detail, but — "
"...— No, I appreciate you answering in my worthless son's stead. And I apologize for dragging you into this matter."
"Don't bother with the apology. I told Pop the same thing — it's just that we go about things differently. Ain't a question of right or wrong."
Despite being caught in the crossfire and suffering harm herself, there was no anger in Felt's response. In that dignified way of seeing things, Wilhelm glimpsed an undeniable quality of a sovereign.
Without question, Felt — like Crusch — was one of the five chosen by the Dragon Insignia. — And yet here stood the Divine Dragon itself, obstructing their path.
"The destruction you have wrought, descending upon the earth and striking without mercy, has already been witnessed by many. The foundation of the Holy Dragon Kingdom is trembling. Are you aware of that?"
*— Yeah, I know it's bad. Deep down, I do. But listen — even if the Holy Dragon Kingdom goes back to being the Lion Kingdom, it's still way better than the world getting wrecked.* "I believe your rebellion is serious enough to constitute a world-breaking crisis in its own right."
At the very least, it was certain that a massive tremor would soon rock the Lugunica Kingdom.
That tremor might shatter the kingdom's already fragile foundation, and the resulting rift might swallow many things whole. Even if Volcanica and its allies were acting in opposition to something far worse — "Whether supernatural dragons are involved or not, this is not a decision for a handful of people to make. And if one of those few is a fool who cannot see past his own feet — that is truly beyond redemption."
*— A solemn proclamation, from the noble Dragon itself. How inspiring.* "Then, as you have done before, I ask that you save the many suffering people who are gasping in pain at this very moment. And then, save the world together with as many people as you can. If you cannot do that — "
*— And if I can't?* "— Then I can only conclude that you, like my witless son, have been manipulated by sweet words."
With that, Wilhelm adjusted his grip on his twin swords and faced the Divine Dragon, Volcanica.
The numbness from the first exchange had faded from his hands. But if a single clash had been enough to cause that, three more would wrench the swords from his grip. He would need to dodge completely, or deflect with far greater precision.
*— Felt-chan, don't move. I ain't confident I can hold back.* "Maybe I ain't in the mood to listen. Ever since
"Then I must ask for your patience for a little while longer."
"Don't be all nice to me and ignore him! That ain't fair!"
Shouting indignantly, Felt glared back and forth between Wilhelm and Volcanica, sticking out her tongue.
Keeping his attention on Felt to an absolute minimum, Wilhelm focused on every movement of Volcanica. The Dragon, too, had come here to rescue the ninja girl. Its presence had already been witnessed, and if time passed, the commotion would only spread, making it harder to act. — Here, too, it had to be a short battle.
*— I mean, I'm still a legendary dragon, even if I've rusted a bit. You sure you don't want to look for an option that doesn't involve fighting?* "As it happens, I was just thinking that I needed to surpass a legend. I hate to put you to the trouble, but I will have to ask for your accompaniment."
"— !"
At Wilhelm's response to Volcanica's warning, Heinkel — who had been silent for so long — was seen clenching his jaw, his cheeks rigid.
His eyelids trembled. He stared at Wilhelm with stunned, blue eyes.
"Old man, you can't mean —"
"......"
Sensing something in Heinkel's expression, Wilhelm closed both eyes, just once.
Standing before Volcanica in this manner was recklessly unguarded. But there was a trust — one born and shared between warriors who had tested each other's will to fight — that the Dragon would not exploit the opening.
Abandoning himself to that trust, Wilhelm called to mind, behind his closed eyelids, the regret that haunted him.
An overcast sky. An empty gravestone bearing no inscription. A great many mourners drowning in grief. The words of the King, honoring a life given in service to duty.
A son who was not present where he should have been, and his own weakness — lacking even the energy to drag the boy away.
And — *— Don't worry, Grandfather. When she died, Grandmother was not the Sword Saint. That means the Sword Saint was not defeated.* *Because the Sword Saint must never be defeated. That's what Father told me.* *So, without the need for mourning, the Astrea household remains secure, Grandfather.* "...Just the words of a small child."
The words of a small boy — just a child — who had only recently inherited the right to draw the Dragon Sword, along with its blessing. Words spoken without a trace of malice.
Recalling the regret of that day in every detail, Wilhelm opened his eyes and looked upon the Dragon. — The Dragon of legend, as it had declared itself — the one whose name was etched in legend, the one who had once saved the Kingdom.
He knew full well how unseemly this was, in a time of existential crisis for the kingdom, when so many hearts were wavering.
But just as the Kingdom and the world needed saving, Wilhelm had an important role to fulfill with his sword. — A role that could only be fulfilled with a sword.
Because Wilhelm alone knew — the method to return the Sword Saint to a person.
Therefore, he demanded of this blade the same power it had once held — no, power greater than it had ever wielded — and he challenged even the Dragon. To win the legend that awaited beyond, a legend that would rewrite all that came before.
"...— The Sword Devil, Wilhelm Trias."
"...— The Divine Dragon, Volcanica."
With their words spoken in unison, both moved. — Sword light and Dragon claw left sound itself behind.