Re: Zero Shadow's Legacy

by TheLostOrion

Summary:

The sun blazed defiantly overhead, casting long shadows over the Royal Castle of Lugunica. At its highest spire stood a lone figure clad in a billowing dark coat, his silhouette stark against the azure sky.

Below, nobles, knights, and commoners alike gathered in a trembling mass, their fear palpable, a suffocating weight in the air.

The figure's piercing gaze swept over the crowd, a predatory smirk curling his lips. His voice rang out, sharp and unyielding, cutting through the silence like a blade.

"I am the Sin Archbishop in the Witch's Cult," he declared, his words dripping with venom. "The one who represents Pride."

He raised a gloved hand, a sinister shadow spreading across the castle and the trembling masses.

"Shadow."

Notes:

This story is still in its early stages, and depending on how it progresses, I may consider sharing it on other platforms in the future.

Thank you for your interest!

Chapter 1: Lost in Shadow, Found in a Garden

Night had long since fallen, draping the world in darkness. Inside a grand, dimly lit chamber, a lone figure sat upon a majestic black throne. His long hood cast a shadow that obscured the upper half of his face, leaving only the faint glimmer of his crimson eyes visible beneath the veil of darkness.

In his gloved hand, he held a glass of deep red wine, its surface rippling as he slowly twirled it between his fingers.

A moment later, the air shifted.

From the depths of the chamber, seven figures emerged and knelt in a perfect circle before him. Their movements were precise, their reverence absolute. Heads bowed, voices silent—until the leader among them, Alpha, lifted her gaze.

“We have each completed our assigned missions successfully, Lord Shadow,” she declared, her voice steady and filled with unshakable faith.

Shadow remained still for a moment, the wine in his glass catching the flickering light of the candelabras. Then, he responded in a low, measured tone.

“I see.”

Gamma, her analytical mind always sharp, spoke next. “The Cult of Diablos is in shambles right now. Their forces are scattered, their influence crumbling.”

Beta, ever the scribe of his legend, placed a hand to her chest and spoke with admiration. “And all of this is thanks to your masterful plan and wisdom, Lord Shadow.”

At this, Shadow’s lips curled slightly in amusement as a thought surfaced in his mind.

Ahh, yes. This is the part when I leave them speechless with a deep and dark quote. I love this part.

Alpha, sensing the moment, straightened and awaited his command. “What is the next step of the operation, dear Lord?”

Shadow took a slow sip from his wine, savoring the rich taste before setting the glass gently on the armrest of his throne.

Then, in a single, fluid motion, he rose to his feet. A grin tugged at his lips as he looked down upon them—his Seven Shades, his most devoted followers.

And then, in a voice both deep and unwavering, he spoke:

"The moon weeps for the fallen, yet the abyss remains indifferent. We do not fight for the light nor for the darkness… we are the unseen storm that reshapes the world in silence."

A hush fell over the chamber.

The Seven Shades, mesmerized, felt a shiver of inspiration run through them. Their Lord had spoken, and his words carried the weight of destiny itself.

They bowed their heads even lower, their resolve strengthened beyond measure.

“Glory to Shadow Garden!” Alpha declared, her voice unwavering.

“Glory to Shadow Garden!” the others echoed in unison.

Then...

Suddenly an portal rippled like liquid silver, its swirling energy casting an eerie glow across the grand chamber. Delta’s ears twitched as she tilted her head in confusion.

"Lord Shadow… did you create that?" she asked, her tail swishing with curiosity.

The other Shades tensed, hands subtly shifting to their weapons, ready for anything. But Shadow simply gazed at the portal, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Holy shit. Is this one of those cool scenes where the mysterious guy walks into a portal and says something cryptic?

His lips curled into a smirk. Perfect. He couldn’t waste this opportunity.

Stepping toward the portal with slow, deliberate strides, he paused at its edge. The swirling energy reflected in his crimson eyes as he turned his head slightly toward his followers.

"The threads of fate weave in silence, unseen by those who dwell in light and shadow alike… but destiny whispers only to those who listen."

The Seven Shades stood frozen, their breaths stolen by his words.

How could someone be so clueless and yet so powerful?

And with that, Shadow stepped forward—vanishing into the unknown.

 

A cold breeze greeted him as he emerged on the other side. The scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass filled the air. He stood in the middle of a vast garden, surrounded by elegant hedges and ornate fountains under the moonlit sky.

He blinked.

Then he looked up at the unfamiliar constellations.

Then back at the garden.

Then back at the sky.

"Good grief… now I got lost."

Before he could process his situation further, a sharp voice rang out.

"An intruder!!!"

A dozen guards stormed in, their armor gleaming under the moonlight. Their swords pointed directly at him.

Shadow sighed and, with practiced ease, shifted into his everyday persona—Cid Kageno, the utterly unremarkable background character. Slouching slightly, he raised his hands in a non-threatening manner.

"Whoa, whoa, I was just lost," he said, his voice lazy and unimposing.

The guards sneered.

"A likely story! No one just appears in the Royal Palace of the Kingdom of Lugunica in the middle of the night!"

Cid blinked.

Wait… did I hear that right?

"Sorry, what’s this place called again?"

The guards stiffened, their irritation growing. One stepped forward, raising his sword.

"Enough of this nonsense. Die, intruder!"

But before the blade could descend, a calm, commanding voice cut through the tension.

"Enough."

The guards froze and quickly stepped aside, making way for the owner of the voice.

Cid turned, and his eyes landed on a young man with shining golden hair and crimson red eyes, dressed in royal attire.

The guards immediately bowed as the golden-haired young man strode forward, his crimson eyes fixed on Cid with an amused glint. The moonlight cast a regal glow over him, emphasizing his royal bearing.

"Coming at such a time and getting caught like this… I can't tell if you're a newbie trying his hand at mercenary work or just incredibly unlucky," he mused, tilting his head.

Cid let out an awkward chuckle, scratching the back of his head. "Haha… yeah, you see, I was just—uh—out for a walk and, uh… took a wrong turn?"

The guy studied him intently, his smirk widening. Then, as if struck by a thought, he asked, "Then, do you recognize who I am?"

A tense silence fell over the garden. The guards exchanged surprised glances before turning their attention to Cid, who was now sweating internally.

Wait. This guy is obviously important. Crap, crap, crap—who is he?!

Just as the pressure was about to become unbearable, the guy with golden hair suddenly burst out laughing.

"Hahaha! I haven't had this much fun since I tried sneaking out of the palace with Ferris!" he said, his voice filled with nostalgia.

Then, with a bright smile, he turned to the guards. "This guy is no threat. He's coming with me."

"But Your Highness!" one of the guards protested. "We can't just let him go! You know well what happened with your uncle's child—"

The prince’s expression darkened momentarily before he waved off the concern. "I know that very well. But my intuition says that this guy is to be trusted too."

Cid, sensing an opportunity, grinned. "Thanks, man—"

"Who could be as dumb as to break in here and not recognize me?" the prince cut in with a teasing smirk.

Before Cid could respond, one of the guards stepped forward and pushed him down into a forced bow.

"Beware, you bastard!" the guard snapped. "The one who just saved your life tonight is none other than the Fourth Prince of Lugunica, His Highness Fourier Lugunica!"

Cid blinked, looking up at the prince, who was now smiling down at him, his yaeba (fang-like tooth) visible as he grinned.

Well… shit.

Chapter 2: The Eminence in a New World

Notes:

Hey everyone!

Wow, I’m honestly surprised by how well the first chapter was received—at least by my own standards lol.

That said, this is one of my first stories I've ever written, so I’m totally open to your thoughts and constructive feedback. I want to make something you all enjoy!

Hope you have fun reading!

The early morning breeze carried the scent of the Royal Capital as Cid Kageno stood on the balcony, gazing down at the city below. The sky was painted in soft hues of orange and pink, the streets slowly coming to life as merchants set up their stalls and knights patrolled the cobblestone roads.

“Yup, this place is definitely not the one I was operating in a day ago,” Cid muttered to himself, his expression unreadable.

He lifted his hand, channelling his magic. A faint, flickering glow surrounded his palm before dimming almost instantly. A small frown formed on his lips.

“I can feel it… even my magic feels out of place here.” He flexed his fingers, noting the unusual strain. “It gets drained more easily in here.”

He let out a long yawn, stretching his arms above his head. “The only plausible theory is that I got sent into the next important event of the story… without getting a notification. How annoying.”

Before he could dwell on it further, a voice came from behind the door.

"His Highness, Prince Fourier, is entering."

The door swung open, revealing a young man with refined features and a warm smile.

“Good morning,” Fourier greeted.

Cid studied the young man before him, his gaze sharp yet unreadable.

So guy is supposed to be a prince? He radiates a warm and lively energy…

His eyes narrowed slightly.

This guy… he’s definitely the protagonist.

Suppressing a sigh, Cid put on his usual neutral expression and greeted, “Good morning.”

Fourier’s smile brightened. “I was hoping to take a walk around the palace. Would you care to accompany me?”

Pushing his agenda onto others?

Cid thought to himself.

Yep, he's definitely the protagonist. If I want to maintain my perfect background character persona, I need to get away from him immediately.

Feigning disinterest, Cid started, “Ah, I appreciate the offer, but I really should—”

“Let’s go.” Fourier cut him off with a firm yet cheerful tone, already turning toward the door.

Cid blinked.

The protagonist's energy is overwhelming…

He sighed inwardly.

This is going to be a hassle.

Later on...
As Cid and Fourier strolled through the grand hallway, sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the polished marble floor.

Fourier, walking with an easy grace, glanced at Cid with curiosity. "So, Cid Kageno, where are you from?"

Cid, hands tucked into his pockets, furrowed his brow.

Kingdom names, kingdom names…

His past world's geography wasn't exactly something he memorized, but one name came to mind. With a casual shrug, he answered, "I think it was called Kingdom of M-Midgar."

Fourier abruptly stopped. His wide-eyed expression was followed by a sudden, hearty laugh. His sharp yaeba gleamed as he grinned. "You have such a unique sense of humour!"

Cid blinked. Huh?

"But I wasn’t lying," he stated, tilting his head slightly in confusion.

Still chuckling, Fourier gestured toward a massive mural on the castle wall. It depicted a grand map of the continent, with detailed illustrations of mountains, rivers, and grand cities. He traced a finger along a large kingdom in the centre.

"This is the Kingdom of Lugunica," Fourier explained. "And these are its neighbouring lands—Kararagi, Gusteko, and Vollachia." He turned back to Cid, his expression amused. "But Midgar? I've never heard of it."

Cid's gaze locked onto the map, his expression still unreadable, but inwardly, his mind was racing.

Oi oi oi… this is an entirely different continent from the one before.

His fingers twitched slightly as he traced the borders of the various kingdoms—Lugunica, Kararagi, Gusteko, and Vollachia. None of these names matched the ones from his previous world.

Fourier, still smiling, observed his reaction with mild curiosity. "Assuming it will be easier for you with this map, you can just point to where you're from."

Cid quickly masked his surprise, slipping into his perfected background character mode.

Since I have no idea what this place is, my best bet is to lay low, blend in with the surroundings, and gather enough information. When the time is right, I’ll make my move as The Eminence in Shadow.

His eyes swept over the map, searching for a plausible location.

A place where poor and uncivilized people could live… A desert could be good.

His gaze first landed on Kararagi, but he immediately reconsidered.

Wait. That would be the first option anyone would pick. If I want to outsmart them, I should choose somewhere else.

Shifting his attention to the far end of the map, his finger landed on an uncharted area. "There. I was born there."

Fourier's expression froze. A beat of silence passed before he let out a small chuckle, albeit a slightly strained one. "Surely your parents must have been travellers, right?"

Cid nodded with practised ease. "Yes, travellers. My parents were poor and travelled a lot."

Fourier let out a breath of relief, placing a hand over his chest. "Thanks Volcanica… Because there’s no way anyone could live anywhere near the Pleiades Watchtower."

Later on...
Fourier and Cid walked through the bustling capital, the streets filled with merchants calling out their wares and commoners going about their daily lives.

Cid, hands in his pockets, glanced at Fourier. “I appreciate the fact that you're showing me around the city, but… why so many guards?”

Fourier, who had been cheerfully waving to a group of children, turned his head toward the knights following closely behind him. With a wry smile, he said, “Please, pay them no attention.” Then, with a slight sigh, he added, “Although I told them there was no need to guard me, they still insisted. It was my father’s order.”

He turned back toward Cid—only to find empty space where he had been standing.

“Huh?” Fourier blinked, his expression shifting to mild confusion. “Cid?”

The knights, noticing the prince’s confusion, also looked around. When Fourier turned to them with a questioning glance, they silently gestured that they had no idea where Cid had gone either.

Meanwhile, in a shadowed alleyway, Cid leaned against the wall, letting out a breath.

“Walking around with that guy could completely destroy my background character persona,” he muttered to himself.

Crossing his arms, he narrowed his eyes slightly. “Seriously, doesn’t he have some kind of princess to chase after instead of me?”

Before he could contemplate his next move, a calm voice spoke from behind him.

“Are you, perhaps, talking about His Highness?”

Cid stiffened slightly and turned around.

Standing, there was a young man with golden eyes and light purple hair arranged neatly—except for a single strand that hung stylishly over his face. His uniform was pristine, and his aura refined.

Cid stared at him, taking in his appearance.

What the hell is this place? Now I’ve run into an Otome Game character.

Cid blinked rapidly, schooling his expression into one of exaggerated surprise. “M-Me? I said nothing!” he stammered, waving his hands in front of him in mock panic.

The young man before him merely raised an eyebrow, his golden eyes unreadable.

Not wanting to push his luck, Cid quickly attempted to sidestep the situation. He straightened his posture and gave a small, awkward chuckle. “I was just passing by,” he added nonchalantly before making a move to walk past the stranger.

But just as he took his first step, he felt it.

A subtle shift in the air.

The faint scrape of metal leaves its sheath.

His instincts kicked in immediately, stretching time in his perception. The movement of the sword was slow—painfully slow, like watching a raindrop slide down a windowpane.

Oh?

A grin threatened to tug at the corners of his lips.

His fingers twitched, itching to respond. The urge to parry, to counter, to completely outmanoeuvre this guy in an instant burned within him. But instead—

Cid stumbled backwards, eyes wide in apparent terror, his arms flailing dramatically as he let out a small gasp. “W-Wait! What’s going on here?!”

The young man’s gaze remained cold, his sword now hovering just inches from Cid’s face.

“You were with His Highness earlier,” he stated, his tone steady. “And now, you’re avoiding him.”

Cid swallowed hard, keeping up his act.

The young man pressed forward, the tip of his blade glinting in the dim light. “What are your intentions?”

Cid's entire body trembled as he stared at the gleaming blade, his eyes darting between the weapon and the cold, golden gaze of the young man before him. His mind raced.

Alright, alright. I have two options here. I can either scream like a helpless commoner or… I could go all out and just pee myself.

His lips twitched as he weighed his choices. A scream would be dramatic, but wetting himself? That would guarantee total background character status!

Before he could commit to his act, a firm yet calm voice rang out from the alley entrance.

"Leave him alone."

The tension in the air shifted instantly. Cid barely resisted the urge to let out a relieved sigh. Instead, he widened his eyes further as if barely holding himself together.

From the corner of his vision, he saw Fourier stepping into the alley, his usual warm expression tinged with a slight frown.

"I can’t decide if this guy just saved me twice… or completely sabotaged my background character moments," Cid muttered under his breath.

The moment their gazes met, the young man smoothly sheathed his sword in one fluid motion, his demeanour shifting from one of suspicion to unwavering respect. Without hesitation, he bowed deeply.

"Your Highness," he greeted, his voice steady.

Fourier sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Julius, I understand that you're only doing your duty, but Cid is my friend."

Julius hesitated for a brief moment before nodding. "I merely wished to clear my suspicions, Your Highness. I apologize for my behaviour."

Fourier offered him a forgiving smile. "Apology accepted. Now, please, stand."

Julius obeyed, rising smoothly. Then, he turned to Cid and, in an almost theatrical fashion, placed one hand over his chest and bowed slightly.

"I am Julius Juukulius, knight of the Royal Guard. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Cid stared at him. His perfectly styled hair, his refined posture, the way he oozed charm and nobility…

Yup. Definitely an Otome character.

As Cid was still processing that thought, Julius cast another glance at Fourier.
"Though I still have my doubts about this fellow, I am more than certain that he poses no threat," he admitted. Then, with a small, knowing smirk, he added, "After all, even Your Highness could put him down with ease."

Cid's eye twitched.

Somehow, Julius' words stung more than it should.

"Y-Yeah, I'm totally harmless! Just a regular guy, you know? Definitely not someone who could... uh... do anything remotely interesting," Cid stammered, scratching the back of his head nervously. He even added a small, awkward laugh for good measure.

Julius raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Your Highness, are you certain this is the company you wish to keep? He seems... rather inept."

Fourier chuckled, patting Cid on the shoulder. "Oh, don't be so harsh, Julius. Cid here is just... unique. Isn't that right, Cid?"

Cid nodded vigorously, his eyes wide with feigned innocence. "Unique! Yes, that's me! You probably won't even remember me tomorrow!"

Julius sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Your Highness, I must insist—"

Before Julius could finish, Cid suddenly dropped to the ground, clutching his stomach dramatically. "Oh no! I think I ate something bad! The street food! It's attacking me from the inside!" He rolled around on the cobblestones, groaning loudly.

Fourier blinked, taken aback. "Cid? Are you alright?"

Julius, however, was not amused. He crossed his arms and stared down at Cid with a deadpan expression. "This is the most pathetic display I've ever witnessed."

Cid, undeterred, continued his performance. "It's so painful! I think I'm dying! Someone call a healer! Or a priest! Or a chef who knows how to cook properly!"

A small crowd began to gather, murmuring amongst themselves. Fourier, ever the gracious prince, knelt beside Cid. "Cid, perhaps we should get you to a healer—"

"No!" Cid shouted, springing to his feet with surprising agility. "I mean, no, Your Highness, I wouldn't want to trouble you. I'll just... walk it off. Yes, that's it. A nice, quiet walk. Alone. In the shadows. Where no one can see me."

Julius's eye twitched. "Your Highness, I must reiterate—"

But Cid was already backing away, waving his hands frantically. "No need to worry about me! I'll just... disappear now. Poof!"

With that, Cid turned and bolted down the alley, his footsteps echoing loudly. Fourier watched him go, a bemused smile on his face. "He's certainly... something."

Julius sighed deeply. "Your Highness, I fear for your safety if you continue to associate with such... individuals."

Fourier chuckled, clapping Julius on the shoulder. "Oh, lighten up, Julius. Life would be dreadfully boring without a little chaos, don't you think?"

Fourier watched as Cid disappeared into the shadows of the alleyway, his expression softening as he let out a small, contemplative sigh. He glanced down at the ground, his thoughts drifting.

"That guy... he makes me feel different, you know," Fourier murmured, his voice tinged with a rare vulnerability.

Julius, standing beside him, raised an eyebrow. "How so, Your Highness?"

Fourier smiled faintly, his gaze still fixed on the spot where Cid had vanished. "My life is quite... prescribed. Every interaction, every conversation, every moment is calculated. It’s rare for me to have genuine interactions with others outside of my two close friends. But with him... Cid treats me like an ordinary person. No titles, no formalities, no expectations. It’s... refreshing."

Julius’s expression remained neutral, though a flicker of concern passed through his eyes. "Your Highness, while I understand the appeal of such interactions, I must caution you. Not everyone has pure intentions, especially those who seem... unconventional."

Fourier chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "You worry too much, Julius. Sometimes, it’s nice to step out of the role of 'prince' and just be... Fourier."

Julius opened his mouth to respond but hesitated, ultimately choosing to remain silent. He gave a small nod, though his gaze lingered on the alleyway, his thoughts clearly still troubled.

 

Meanwhile, in a secluded alleyway, Cid strolled casually, stretching his arms behind his head. “Thank god, now I’m free,” he muttered with a satisfied grin.

He took a few steps forward before pausing, rubbing his chin. “Now then… what should my next step be?”

With a casual leap, he jumped onto a high rooftop, landing smoothly as he took in the view of the sprawling capital. His gaze lingered on the distant Royal Palace, a smirk creeping onto his lips. “This place definitely needs some fixing.”

Before he could entertain that thought further, a sharp, annoyed voice rang out behind him.

“What the heck are you doing here? Have you lost your mind or something?”

Cid turned his head, raising an eyebrow at the unexpected interruption. Standing there was a small girl, probably nine or ten years old, with medium-length golden hair tied with a black bow. She stood with her arms crossed, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Cid blinked, taking in her expression and size before muttering, “What’s with this sassy… lost child?”

The girl, Felt, scoffed, planting her hands on her hips. “Lost? You’re the one messing around on rooftops like some weirdo. You ain’t from around here, are ya?”

Cid’s smirk widened slightly. “Now that’s an interesting question.”

Felt narrowed her eyes, gripping her newfound prize—the thick stack of cash she had just swiped—before waving it teasingly in front of Cid. “You were saying, weirdo?”

Cid blinked, then patted his pockets. Empty. His smirk faltered.

“Huh?” He tilted his head, staring at the money in her hands.

Felt grinned smugly, flicking through the bills with one hand like a seasoned pro. “You’re pretty slow, huh? Didn’t even notice me taking it.”

Cid furrowed his brows, still trying to process what had just happened. “That’s impossible. You weren’t even that quick.”

Felt wagged a finger at him, her grin widening. “Pffft. It ain’t about speed, dummy. It’s about technique.”

Cid folded his arms, staring at her intently. “Technique, huh?”

Then, as if casually adjusting his stance, he lifted his hand—and suddenly, he was holding a small leather bag full of coins.

Felt’s smugness froze on her face. Her eyes darted to her belt. Her pouch, which had been secured tightly just moments ago… was gone.

“What the—?!” She patted her waist frantically, then pointed at Cid. “Oi! That’s mine!”

Cid smirked, bouncing the bag of money in his palm. “Oh? It’s not about speed, right? It’s about technique.”

Felt’s eye twitched. “You—!”

Cid untied the pouch and peeked inside. “Not bad. This could probably get me a week’s worth of food… or a ridiculous amount of meat skewers.” He nodded approvingly.

Felt stomped her foot. “Gimme that back!”

Cid held up a finger, feigning deep thought. “Hmm… but see, I don’t think you actually need it. I mean, you clearly have enough skill to get more, right?”

Felt lunged forward, trying to snatch it back, but Cid casually sidestepped, twirling the pouch in his fingers.

“Come on, brat, quit messing around!”

Cid chuckled. “Brat? That’s rich coming from you, sassy lost child.”

Felt clenched her fists. “I ain’t lost, ya damn weirdo! This is my turf!”

Cid hummed, tossing the pouch up and catching it again. “That so?”

Felt gritted her teeth, then took a deep breath. She relaxed her stance, smirked, and crossed her arms.

Cid raised an eyebrow. “Giving up already?”

“Nah.” Felt flicked her nose. “Just thinkin’ how funny it’ll be when Rom hears you stole from me.”

Cid froze. “...Who?”

As if on cue, a deep, rumbling voice echoed behind him.

“You stole from my girl?”

Cid turned his head slowly. Looming behind him was a massive old man with a bald head, a thick beard, and a club the size of a tree trunk resting on his shoulder. His expression was neutral, but the sheer presence he had was suffocating.

Cid blinked. “Oh.”

Felt’s grin turned downright evil. “Yeah. Oh.”

Cid weighed his options. He could:

• Try to talk his way out.
• Engage in high-speed tactical retreat.
• Accept his fate.

He quickly decided on Option 2.

“Welp, would you look at the time?” Cid tossed the pouch back at Felt and immediately turned on his heel. “Gotta go, super urgent, bye!”

He took off, leaping across rooftops with impressive agility.

Felt caught the pouch, shaking her head. “Dumbass.”

Rom sighed, lowering his club. “Brat, you gotta stop antagonizing people.”

Felt shrugged. “Eh. He started it.”

Rom scratched his beard, watching Cid disappear into the distance. “That kid… he’s weird.”

Felt snorted. “Tell me about it.”

Later that evening...
Cid Kagenou stood at the edge of a tall building. The sprawling capital stretched beneath him, a chaotic dance of merchants, knights, and commoners exchanging goods, services, and gossip. He slowly lifted his hand, studying his open palm with narrowed eyes.

“My magic is definitely not working right around here…” he muttered.

His gaze flickered downward to the bustling marketplace. Coins clinked, hands exchanged currency, deals were made and broken in the blink of an eye. Money. A foreign object in one’s hands was worthless—until it was recognized by the world around it.

His fingers dipped into his pocket, retrieving a handful of his own currency. He turned the coins over in his palm, scrutinizing them. Then, a thought struck him.

“Wait… my magic works just like this cash.” His lips curled into a smirk. “It’s foreign. It can’t be used here. But if it’s converted… if it’s accepted by this world’s system—then I can wield it.”

He snapped his fingers, a sharp sound lost in the city’s din.

“I’m brilliant. Beta should’ve taken note of this if she were here.”

His eyes gleamed as he surveyed the city once more. This place—this system—had rules. And at the heart of it all, something made the magic here flow, pulse, breathe.

Now, he just had to find it.

Closing his eyes, Cid exhaled slowly and let himself sink into his heightened perception—his world of accelerated thought, where time slowed to a near halt. The cityscape stilled. People frozen mid-stride, coins hanging in the air, banners caught in an unmoving breeze.

And then, he searched.

He didn’t need long.

Deep beneath the land, a warmth called out—a rhythmic, steady beat. It wasn’t just magic. It was a heartbeat.

Od Lagna.

A warm, ancient force, both welcoming and cautious, like a great guardian watching over the land.

Cid channelled his magic toward it, pouring his energy into the swirling depths. His goal? To have his power recognized—to be acknowledged by this world as its own.

But the more he gave, the slower Od Lagna accepted it.

Cid frowned. “So, dumping everything at once overwhelms it…”

He smirked, making a childish comparison in his mind—like trying to feed a kid too much at once and watching them pout in defiance.

Pulling back, he adjusted. Half. A measured flow.

This time, Od Lagna accepted at least half of his magic.

Cid opened his eyes, exhaling as his perception returned to normal. He stretched his arms above his head, rolling his shoulders.

“At least for now, I can use half my power freely.”

The city below began to move again. The wind picked up. Time resumed.

Then—

A shadow.

Something streaked down from the sky, descending at an impossible speed.

Cid’s eyes widened slightly. He stepped back, raising an eyebrow as the figure crashed into the rooftop before him, landing with the force of a meteor.

The impact sent a gust of wind through the air. Dust and debris swirled around the kneeling figure, but as it cleared, Cid got a good look at him.

Scarlet hair. Blue eyes like polished steel. A white and gold knight’s uniform, pristine even after the fall.

The man rose slowly from his hero’s landing, back straight, gaze sharp. His presence alone seemed to make the world around him stand still, his aura one of absolute, unshakable might.

And then, he spoke.

“Never—since I pledged myself to be the sword of the Kingdom of Lugunica and to uphold the good of this world—have I felt Od Lagna in such turmoil.” His eyes locked onto Cid, unwavering, unrelenting. “A disturbance greater than any before… a force unknown.”

He took a step forward.

“And it originates from where you stand.”

The air around them tensed, charged with unseen power.

Cid’s smirk grew as he crossed his arms, scrutinizing the man before him.

From all the characters I’ve encountered here today…

This guy screams Built Different.

The air crackled between them.

The Eminence in Shadow.

The Sword Saint.

Chapter 3: The Architect Of Anarchy

The night was a velvet canvas, the capital of Lugunica bathed in the soft glow of lanterns and the cold light of the moon.

Cid Kageno stood atop one roof, his silhouette cutting a sharp figure against the sky.

 

His eyes glimmered with a mix of curiosity and amusement as he gazed at the figure who had just arrived.

Reinhard van Astrea, the Sword Saint, stood before him, his presence as commanding as the moonlight itself. His azure eyes scanned the area, sharp and calculating, before they locked onto Cid’s silhouette.

So, this is the hero of this world, huh?

Cid thought, his gaze sweeping over the man from head to toe.

Strong aura, impeccable stance, and that sword on his back… yeah, he’s definitely skilled. No doubt about it.

Cid leaned back slightly, his arms crossed as he continued his silent appraisal. The man—Reinhard, though Cid didn’t know his name yet—exuded an air of nobility and power.

It was the kind of presence that made people either want to follow him or flee from him. Cid, of course, did neither. He simply watched, his mind already racing with possibilities.

But here’s the thing,

Cid mused, his smirk widening.

He’s looking for someone. Me, probably. He’s got that “I’m investigating something big” vibe. And judging by the way he’s scanning the area, he’s suspecting me of messing with that Od Lagna thing. Hah. If only he knew.

Cid’s eyes flicked to the sword strapped to Reinhard’s back. It was a magnificent weapon, no doubt, but what intrigued Cid more was the man himself.

Reinhard didn’t seem like the type to draw his sword first and ask questions later. No, he looked like the kind of guy who’d try to talk things out, maybe even throw around a few titles to intimidate his opponent.

Point given,

Cid thought with a chuckle.

He’s got style, I’ll give him that.

Reinhard’s azure eyes narrowed slightly as they locked onto Cid’s figure, standing so casually atop the roof.

This man… he’s standing precisely at the point Od Lagna directed me to. There’s no way he’s not involved in this.

His gaze swept over Cid’s form. Cid looked like nothing more than an ordinary man—perhaps a curious bystander or a wandering soul enjoying the night. But Reinhard was no ordinary observer.

So many openings… he seems like just a normal guy, but…

Reinhard’s sharp senses picked up on something else—something far more unsettling. A faint, almost imperceptible aura of magic lingered around Cid, like a shadow clinging to the edges of his presence.

That magic… it’s faint, but I can tell it’s more than deadly. Who is this man?

Stepping forward, Reinhard’s voice cut through the night, calm yet commanding. “Would you please elaborate why you are exactly in this place at this time of the night?”

Cid didn’t answer immediately, letting the silence stretch between them like a taut wire. Reinhard, ever the paragon of patience, waited, though his mind was already working to unravel the mystery before him.

Deciding to probe further, Reinhard quietly attempted to invoke a Divine Blessing—one that would allow him to peer deeper into Cid’s essence. But as he reached for the blessing, something unexpected happened.

A sharp, almost imperceptible resistance pushed back, rejecting his attempt. Reinhard’s eyes widened slightly, a rare flicker of surprise crossing his features.

What’s this?

His Divine Protections, granted from Od Lagna, had always been unwavering, infallible. Yet here, now, they were being denied.

Is this happening because Od Lagna was disturbed? It has never happened before…

Cid’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he quickly formulated his plan. In an instant, his demeanour shifted from calm and collected to that of a terrified, trembling civilian. With a dramatic gasp, he suddenly rushed toward Reinhard, his movements exaggerated and frantic.

“Thank god you’re finally here, dear Hero!” Cid cried out, his voice trembling with feigned fear. He threw himself at Reinhard, wrapping his arms around the Sword Saint in a tight, desperate hug. “I was so scared! I thought I was going to die!”

Reinhard stiffened, his eyes widening in surprise. He had expected many things—a confrontation, a battle, or even a cryptic exchange—but not this. The man clinging to him was shaking like a leaf, his voice choked with what sounded like genuine terror.

“What happened? Why are you so scared?” Reinhard asked, his sharp gaze scanning Cid’s face for any signs of deception.

Cid, still clinging to Reinhard, sniffled dramatically and pointed back toward the place where he had been standing moments ago. “A—a guy dressed in dark clothes came there just a few moments ago! He said something really dark and scary to me! I didn’t know what to do! I was so scared!” His voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking as if he were on the verge of tears.

Internally, Cid was grinning.

Behold, my masterful plan! Using the hero’s kindness toward average citizens, blended perfectly with my background character persona. This is flawless.

Reinhard’s expression softened slightly, though his sharp instincts still buzzed with suspicion. He glanced toward the rooftop Cid had pointed to, his mind racing.

A man in dark clothes?

Could that be the one who disturbed Od Lagna?

But why would he approach this seemingly ordinary man?

Cid, noticing Reinhard’s lingering doubt, quickly added more fuel to his act. “He—he said something about… about the ‘Eminence in Shadow’! I don’t even know what that means, but it sounded so terrifying!”

He looked up at Reinhard with wide, pleading eyes. “Please, you have to protect me! I’m just a normal guy! I don’t want to get involved in anything dangerous!”

 

Perfect,

Cid thought, barely suppressing a smirk.

If he suspects me, I’ll just redirect his attention to the Eminence in Shadow. Let him chase shadows while I remain in the background, unnoticed.

Reinhard’s eyes narrowed slightly as he processed Cid’s words. The mention of the “Eminence in Shadow” sent a ripple of unease through him. It was a name he had never heard before, yet it carried an ominous weight.

“Did this man say anything else?” Reinhard asked, his voice calm but probing. His gaze remained fixed on Cid, searching for any hint of deception.

Cid sniffled dramatically, wiping away an imaginary tear. “Y-yes… he said something about… ‘something big being bound to happen soon.’ He said it in this really creepy, cool way, like he was trying to sound important or something. I didn’t understand what he meant, but it scared me even more!”

He clutched at Reinhard’s sleeve, his hands shaking. “Please, you have to do something! I don’t want to get caught up in whatever this is!”

Reinhard’s expression softened further, though his mind was still racing.

Something big is bound to happen soon…

The words echoed in his thoughts, stirring a sense of urgency. He glanced back at the rooftop where Cid had pointed, his sharp instincts telling him that this was no mere coincidence.

Perhaps this man—this ‘Eminence in Shadow’—used this guy to get my attention,

Reinhard thought, his gaze flickering back to the trembling figure before him.

This poor guy might have been nothing more than a messenger, an unwitting pawn in whatever game this Shadow is playing. That would explain the faint but potent magic I sensed around him earlier. It wasn’t his own; it was residue from the one who sent him.

A pang of guilt tugged at Reinhard’s heart as he looked at Cid. The man seemed so ordinary, so vulnerable. To think that someone like him had been dragged into something so dangerous…

Reinhard’s sense of duty and compassion flared. He couldn’t let an innocent suffer because of forces beyond his understanding.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Reinhard said gently, placing a reassuring hand on Cid’s shoulder. “I’m sorry you were caught up in this. But you’re safe now. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

Cid’s eyes widened with feigned gratitude, and he clasped his hands together as if in prayer. “Thank you, thank you so much! You’re a true hero! I knew I could count on you!”

Reinhard shook his head modestly, a faint smile touching his lips. “I’m no hero. I’m just someone who tries to do what’s right. Protecting people like you is part of that duty.”

Internally, Cid was revelling in his success.

Perfect. He’s completely bought it. Now he’ll be too busy chasing shadows to notice me. And if he does suspect anything, he’ll just think I’m some poor guy who got caught up in the mess. Flawless execution.

As Cid turned to leave, his face still a mask of fear and gratitude, Reinhard watched him go, his mind already shifting to the next steps.

The Eminence in Shadow… something big is coming…

He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, his resolve hardening. Whatever this threat was, he would face it head-on.

The next day...
Cid strolled through the bustling streets of the capital, his hands tucked into his coat pockets as he took in the sights.

The seeds had been planted. The hero had completely swallowed the bait, and now all I needed was the perfect place and the perfect moment to unleash my presence as Shadow.

His mind was already crafting the next phase of his grand plan when—

“Your Highness, I think I found the guy you mentioned.”

Cid’s body stiffened slightly before he turned his head. Standing nearby was a peculiar figure—flax-colored hair, bright yellow eyes, feline ears twitching slightly, and a tail swaying behind him. His attire was elegant yet unique, with a blue collar adorned with a ribbon, a white dress with a light blue chest marked with thin white stripes, and a similarly light blue hem.

Before Cid could process it fully, another voice—one all too familiar—broke through the crowd.

“Thank Volcanica, you’re safe!”

Cid’s eye twitched as he recognized the voice. It was Fourier.

Wait, is this… is this what those characters in stories feel like when they wish to be alone, but the protagonist keeps chasing them? Because I have no idea why this guy is so fixated on me.

Quickly shifting his expression, Cid widened his eyes in faux surprise. “Wha—Your Highness?! How did you find me?”

Fourier grinned, crossing his arms confidently. “Simple! My intuition told me that a guy like you would definitely be around taverns. You must’ve been hungry, right?”

He gestured toward the cat-eared individual beside him. “And my friend Ferris here helped me track you down.”

Cid subtly glanced around. Sure enough, he was in an area surrounded by taverns.

Shit.

Ferris, meanwhile, smiled playfully, stepping closer. “Nyaa~ you sure had us worried, mister! You should’ve seen His Highness—he was so desperate to find you! Good thing Ferris-chan was here to help~”

Ferris winked. “The name’s Ferris, by the way. Hope we get along, nya!”

Cid sighed inwardly.

This was not part of his plan.

“Uh… Your Highness,” Cid began, scratching the back of his head awkwardly, “I’m just a regular guy. You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble to find me. I’m fine, really!”

Fourier waved a hand dismissively, his grin never faltering. “Nonsense! A regular guy? You’re far from regular, my friend! You’ve got this… this aura about you. Like you’re hiding something fascinating. And I, Fourier Lugunica, am determined to uncover it!”

Cid’s eye twitched.

This guy is way too perceptive for his own good.

He forced a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Aura? Me? Ha! You must be imagining things, Your Highness. I’m just a humble, ordinary citizen. Nothing special about me at all.”

Ferris stepped closer, his bright yellow eyes narrowing with playful suspicion. “Nyaa~ really? Because Ferris-chan here thinks you’re being awfully modest. You’ve got this… mysterious vibe, like you’re hiding a big secret. Are you sure you’re not some kind of spy or something~?”

Cid kept his expression perfectly calm. “A spy? Me? Ha! That’s ridiculous. I’m just a guy who likes to keep to himself. No secrets here, I promise.”

Ferris leaned in even closer, his feline ears twitching as if trying to catch every nuance of Cid’s voice. “Hmm~ if you say so. But Ferris-chan has a sixth sense for these things, and it’s telling me you’re not being entirely honest. Nyaa~ what do you think, Your Highness?”

Fourier crossed his arms, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I think you’re onto something, Ferris. This guy’s definitely hiding something. Maybe he’s a master thief! Or a secret noble in disguise! Or—wait, I know! He’s a legendary adventurer who’s retired and living a quiet life!”

Cid sighed inwardly.

These two are like a pair of overexcited puppies. How do I even deal with this?

Ferris tilted his head, ears twitching slightly before turning to Fourier. "Oh, right! Your Highness, wasn’t there something important you had to attend today?" He placed a finger to his lips in mock thought. "What was it again…? Oh! Weren’t you supposed to be at the meeting with His Majesty and the Council of Wise Men, nyaa?"

Fourier’s eyes widened in sheer horror as he slapped his forehead. "By Volcanica, I totally forgot! Master Miklotov is going to scold me into oblivion for this!" He groaned, rubbing his temples. "I’ll never hear the end of it!"

Cid, who had been watching the exchange with mild curiosity, furrowed his brows. "A meeting with the Council of Wise Men? What’s that supposed to be?"

Ferris turned to him, blinking in surprise. Then, with a mischievous grin, he leaned in closer. "Nyaa~? You really don’t know? Are you sure you’re not from some faraway land or something, mister? That’s like, one of the most important meetings in the entire kingdom!"

Cid feigned an embarrassed chuckle. "Well, I don’t exactly keep up with politics."

Ferris giggled. "It’s basically a meeting between the most important figures in the Kingdom of Lugunica! The king, his closest advisors, and all the influential nobles gather together to discuss super important stuff. You know, like politics, national security, and economy. It’s a big deal, nyaa~"

A spark of intrigue flashed through Cid’s eyes, but he quickly suppressed it, keeping his expression neutral. Internally, though, his mind was already whirring with ideas.

The most important people in the kingdom… all gathered in the same place?

That’s a perfect dish served right in front of me.

He resisted the urge to smirk openly. Instead, he casually glanced around, taking in the bustling streets filled with taverns and townsfolk. His background character persona had worked flawlessly so far, but if he chose to appear as Shadow at such a prestigious gathering…

He’d be putting that persona in danger.

Which meant there was only one solution.

He had to take care of it—literally.

Cid exhaled softly, already formulating a plan. He needed to stage the perfect disappearance, a convincing end to his background character persona. Something dramatic enough to remove suspicion, yet subtle enough to avoid unnecessary attention.

After all, to move freely in the shadows…

Sometimes, a man had to die.

 

Time slowed.

The world around Cid shifted into a near standstill as his senses heightened, entering his fast perception state. His eyes scanned the environment, taking in the layout of the streets, the positioning of Fourier and Ferris, the perfect places to cause the most commotion. Then, he exhaled slowly and smirked.

"Now… let's start the mission: The Background Character is the focus for three minutes in this week's episode."

With one hand in his coat pocket, he lifted the other, extending a single finger. Carefully, methodically, he pointed at different areas across the street—on rooftops, between taverns, near market stalls—and with each flick, he fired concentrated beams of his purple magic.

"Let’s add some there... and some there too… Ah, right, there as well."

Each shot hit its mark with precision, embedding itself into wooden beams, barrels, and cobblestone walls. The air hummed with unstable magic, yet everything remained eerily still in Cid’s heightened perception.

Then, he turned his gaze toward Fourier and Ferris. The two were frozen mid-conversation, oblivious to what had just transpired. Grinning to himself, he took a few steps away, turned on his heel, and pointed directly at Fourier’s spot.

"Can’t forget about you, Your Highness." ZAP.

He fired another beam before casually strolling back to his original position, hands back in his pockets. Then, with a deep breath, he relaxed, allowing his perception to return to normal.

 

Time resumed.

Fourier suddenly snapped upright. "We must hurry to the Royal Palace!"

Then, everything exploded.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

A series of controlled, precisely placed detonations erupted across the street. Tavern windows shattered. Barrels burst into flames. Rooftops collapsed in carefully orchestrated chaos. The once-busy street descended into mayhem as people screamed and scattered.

Fourier and Ferris stood frozen in shock. "W-What’s going on?!" Fourier shouted, his eyes darting around wildly.

Ferris’s ears twitched in alarm. "Nyaa~!? This is bad! This is really, really bad!"

Cid feigned alarm, putting on his best panicked expression. Then, he saw the moment he had been waiting for—his own magic, the one aimed at Fourier’s position, now charging up for detonation.

"Your Highness! Look out!" Cid shouted dramatically, lunging forward.

He threw himself in front of Fourier just as the hidden magic beam erupted. The blast struck him directly in the chest.

BANG!

Blood.

A crimson spray arced through the air as Cid staggered back, eyes wide, his body jerking violently. He gasped, hand clutching his chest as he fell to his knees. The world spun. His vision blurred. For a moment, he thought he might’ve overdone it—but no, this was perfect.

Fourier paled. "CID! No! Stay with me!"

Ferris, eyes wide with horror, rushed forward. "Don’t die on us!"

Cid coughed weakly, making sure to add a dramatic wheeze. "I… I never thought… my story… would end like this…" He reached out, trembling toward the sky as if grasping at something unseen. "So… much… left… undone…"

"Stay with us, dammit!" Fourier shook him.

"So cold…" Cid whispered, eyes fluttering shut.

Fourier grabbed Cid’s shoulders, shaking him violently.

“WHY?! Why did you do that, you idiot?!” Fourier’s voice cracked, his usually confident demeanour shattered. “You could have—no, you SHOULD have let me take the hit! Why would you throw yourself in front of me like that?!”

Ferris knelt down beside them, his hands already glowing with a warm blue light. “No time for drama, Your Highness! If we don’t close this wound fast, he’s gonna kick the bucket! Cid, listen to me, okay? I need you to stay awake while I heal you.”

Cid barely kept his expression together. Inside, he was screaming.

Healing magic? You serious now? Is this what they call an asspull?

Good thing I had a plan B.

As Ferris placed his glowing hands over Cid’s chest, Cid suddenly grabbed his wrist, stopping the healing magic in its tracks. Ferris’s ears twitched in surprise. “What are you—”

“You… should run away…” Cid whispered, his voice weak. He turned his head slightly, locking eyes with Ferris. “He’s… coming.”

A cold chill ran through Fourier’s spine. He swallowed hard. “Who’s coming?”

Before Cid could answer, his entire body was suddenly engulfed in an inky mass of dark slime. The sinister substance pulsed and writhed around him, thickening and expanding like some monstrous cocoon. The air grew heavier, a suffocating presence washing over the chaotic street.

Ferris scrambled backwards, ears flattened against his head. “N-Nyaa~?! W-What the heck is happening?!”

Fourier took a step back, his face a mixture of horror and confusion. “CID! What is this?! What’s happening to you?!”

The writhing darkness emitted a deep, unsettling hum, as if whispering secrets from the void itself. Then, without warning, the slime collapsed in on itself, dissolving into the ground in a matter of seconds.

Cid was gone.

Only eerie silence remained.

Fourier stared at the empty space where Cid had just been. His hands, still trembling, reached out as if he could somehow pull him back. But there was nothing. No trace. No sign that Cid had ever been there at all.

His breath hitched.

“He’s… gone?”

Ferris, who had been frozen in place, suddenly snapped to his feet, his tail fluffed up in sheer distress. "T-That can’t be right! H-He was right here! He—” Ferris spun around frantically, scanning the street, his sharp crimson eyes darting across every shadow, every broken stall, every flicker of movement. But there was no sign of him.

Fourier exhaled sharply, trying to hold himself together. He wasn’t just sad—he was angry. Angry at whatever force had taken Cid. Angry at himself for not being able to do anything.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The world around them felt… wrong. Too quiet. Too empty.

Finally, Fourier straightened up, his expression hardening. “No,” he muttered. “I refuse to accept this. He’s not dead. Not until I see it with my own eyes.” He turned to Ferris, his gaze burning with determination. “We’re going to find out what happened. No matter what.”

Ferris hesitated, then nodded, wiping at his eyes. “Yeah. We have to.”

 

A gust of wind blew through the ruined street, carrying with it the lingering weight of an unanswered question. And somewhere, in the depths of the shadows, a certain mastermind was already smirking to himself.

Mission accomplished.

 

Later on...
Inside the grand halls of the Royal Palace, beneath towering golden chandeliers and walls adorned with intricate murals of Lugunica’s history, King Randohal Lugunica sat upon his majestic throne. His golden hair, tinged with age, gleamed under the warm light, and his piercing red eyes swept across the gathered members of the Council of Wise Men.

To his right, Miklotov, the stalwart and sagely Grandmaster of the Kingdom, adjusted his spectacles, his aged face lined with wisdom and experience. On his left, Bordeaux, the battle-hardened warrior who had once commanded the kingdom’s knights, sat with his arms crossed.

"Now, let us begin," Randohal declared, his voice calm yet commanding.

Miklotov cleared his throat, setting down a parchment filled with the latest reports. "Your Majesty, I am pleased to report that the kingdom continues to enjoy stability. Trade routes remain secure, and our relations with neighbouring territories remain amicable."

Bordeaux nodded. "The knightly order is in peak condition. We have new recruits training daily, and despite occasional skirmishes near the borders, nothing has escalated into a true conflict. Thanks to Volcanica’s blessing, these past few years have been more than peaceful."

The king exhaled deeply, a small smile gracing his lips. "Yes… Peace is indeed a blessing." He rested his chin on his clasped hands, his expression unreadable. "But peace is also the moment when shadows grow the longest."

Silence filled the chamber. Bordeaux raised an eyebrow. Miklotov shifted slightly.

Then—

A whisper of wind.

A flicker of darkness.

The candlelight dimmed unnaturally, and the very air itself seemed to constrict, heavy with an unseen force. A chilling presence slithered through the room, sending a shiver down the spine of every man present.

Before anyone could react—

SHFF.

A figure materialized behind the king’s throne as if stepping from the void itself. No footsteps. No sound. Just a seamless emergence from pure shadow.

"An astute observation, Your Majesty," a cold, smooth voice echoed through the chamber.

Gasps erupted. Miklotov’s eyes widened in horror. Bordeaux's hand flew to the hilt of his large axe. The royal guards stationed at the entrance instinctively moved, but an invisible weight pressed them still.

Randohal Lugunica did not move. Slowly, he turned his head.

And there he was.

A man clad in a long, obsidian-black coat, his very form shrouded in a dark mist that writhed like living ink. His face was obscured beneath a hood, but his glowing crimson eyes burned through the shadows. His presence was overwhelming—not one of a mere assassin or rogue but of something beyond.

A legend given form.

A nightmare given will.

"Who—" Miklotov barely choked out, his usually measured voice laced with genuine fear.

The intruder tilted his head slightly, his smirk unseen but felt. "You may call me… Shadow."

From the darkness around his feet, a blade began to rise—long, jagged, and black as the abyss itself. The slime-like substance twisted and solidified, forming a sword that pulsed with an eerie, otherworldly energy. It was not just a weapon. It was a statement.

Shadow slowly brought the blade to his side, its edge humming with restrained power.

"In the light of peace, shadows are born. And in the depth of silence…" His voice dropped, colder than ice. "I will be the one who brings the storm."

Notes:

Hey everyone, hope you're loving the chaos that Cid’s been stirring up so far!

If the cliffhanger at the end of this chapter left you stunned (or maybe even a little mad), don’t worry, the next one is about to hit you with some serious plot twists!

Chapter 4: The Sword Saint and the Shadow

Darkness was his domain. It stretched before him, vast and endless, shifting like a living thing beneath his feet. The void did not frighten him—it embraced him, whispered to him, swayed at his command.

He emerged without sound, stepping from the void into the mortal world. The air itself recoiled at his presence, the warmth around him bleeding into cold. Candlelight trembled. The weight of his existence settled into the space, unseen yet undeniable.

And there, upon his throne, sat the king. Randohal Lugunica, a man of power, wisdom, and lineage—yet even he was bound by the chains of mortality. Shadow could see it, the faint hesitation in his breath, the flicker of recognition in his crimson eyes.

Ah, yes. Fear.

Not the kind that sent men screaming, but the deeper kind—the understanding that something greater had stepped beyond the veil. A force unchained.

Randohal’s throat tightened. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught, tangled in the web of his own unease. His voice, usually commanding and regal, faltered. “You… what is it that you seek here?” he managed, the question trembling on his lips. His fingers gripped the arms of his throne, knuckles whitening.

Before Shadow could respond, a thunderous growl erupted from the side of the room. Bordeaux surged to his feet, his massive axe gleaming in the trembling candlelight. His face was a mask of fury, his pride wounded by the audacity of this intruder.

“How dare you!” Bordeaux bellowed, his voice echoing like a war drum. “You think you can waltz into the throne room of Lugunica and demand an audience with the king? I’ll cut you down where you stand!”

Shadow tilted his head as if regarding something insignificant. And then—he moved.

No, that wasn’t quite right. He did not step, nor did he vanish. He simply was.

One moment, Bordeaux stood tall, defiant. The next—his breath hitched, his grip on his axe trembling as cold fingers of dread wrapped around his soul. His body is locked in place. His heart pounded like a war drum, a deep, primal terror coiling in his gut.

A shadow tendril slithered up his axe, and with a soft, almost amused motion, Shadow flicked a finger.

The axe—Bordeaux’s cherished weapon, the very extension of his strength—shattered.

Fragments of steel clattered against the marble floor. The room, once heavy with Bordeaux’s bravado, now hung in silence, thick with disbelief.

Randohal’s breath halted. Miklotov, who had remained still, exhaled sharply, his hand freezing in hesitation.

Shadow slowly turned his gaze back to the king, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. The darkness around him pulsed like a living heart, an endless abyss lurking just beneath the veil of reality.

“Surely,” Shadow murmured, his voice smooth yet carrying the weight of inevitability.

“You must know why I’m here.”

Shadow remained motionless, the air around him thick with the scent of apprehension.

I definitely struck them as an evil entity. The ominous entrance, the shattered weapon, the looming presence—it all worked perfectly. Now all the king has to do is hand over the gold and riches, and off I go in a cool flair.

Randohal’s grip on the throne’s arms tightened further. He straightened his posture, a measure of his composure returning, though his voice was still edged with unease.

"If you have come seeking retribution, then name your grievance. If you seek blood, then name your foe. But if you have come for something else, state your demands, and let us see if peace can be brokered."

Shadow barely suppressed a sigh.

He thinks this is about vengeance, or war, or some grand scheme. How tedious.

He glanced at the heavy-set vault doors at the side of the throne room.

Imagine the legend of it—an enigmatic figure breaks through the defences of the Royal Palace, stands before the king, makes his demand, takes the wealth, and vanishes into the night. Never seen again, a spectre spoken of in hushed whispers. That would be legendary.

He turned his gaze back to Randohal, the abyssal tendrils of his presence shifting, restless.

"You misunderstand," Shadow murmured, his voice laced with something unreadable. He lifted his hand ever so slightly, and the room dimmed further, as though reality itself recoiled from his command. "My purpose is neither war nor retribution. I am not here to negotiate with swords or treaties."

He took a step forward, and the entire room seemed to shrink beneath the sheer gravity of his presence. His shadow stretched unnaturally, devouring the space between him and the throne.

"What I require… is simple."

The candles wavered. The breath of every soul present turned shallow.

Silence reigned.

The grand doors to the throne room burst open with a deafening crash.

Shadow’s instincts screamed.

He’s fast.

Before he could react, a force like a meteor struck his side. A devastating kick slammed into him, sending him hurtling across the polished marble floor. He twisted mid-air, landing in a controlled skid. His boots screeched against the floor, stopping just before the edge of the grand hall. A low chuckle escaped his lips, dark and amused, as he straightened.

Shadow exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the impact.

"Interesting," Shadow murmured, his voice a silken whisper laced with menace. He lifted his hand, brushing a stray speck of dust from his coat. "You move like lightning, yet strike like thunder. But tell me—" his lips curved into a faint smirk, "—was that supposed to hurt?"

The intruder stood tall, his presence alone shifting the atmosphere of the room. His crimson hair caught the flickering candlelight, and his piercing blue eyes carried the weight of absolute certainty. Clad in the signature armour of the kingdom’s finest warrior, he radiated an aura of overwhelming strength.

He turned to the king, offering a slight bow. "My apologies, Your Majesty. I arrived later than intended. Are you unharmed?"

Randohal exhaled, his knuckles still pale against the throne’s armrests. He nodded, though his expression remained grave. "I am fine, Reinhard. But be warned—this foe is no ordinary intruder."

Reinhard’s sharp gaze locked onto Shadow. His blue eyes, like twin shards of ice, studied him for the briefest moment—before widening ever so slightly in recognition.

This presence… There’s no mistaking it.

A memory from the previous night surfaced in his mind—whispered words from Cid, his voice laced with urgency.

This is him.

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the throne room as Reinhard straightened his posture, his movements fluid and controlled. He exhaled slowly before speaking, his voice steady, unwavering.

"I am Reinhard van Astrea, Sword Saint of Lugunica," he announced, his tone carrying the weight of both duty and challenge. "State your name."

Shadow regarded him for a moment, his crimson eyes gleaming like dying embers in the dark.

"A name, is it?" Shadow mused, his voice smooth as silk yet carrying an undeniable edge. "Names are shackles, tying men to their pasts, to their destinies. But if you must call me something—"

He took a step forward, his presence swallowing the space between them, his silhouette barely illuminated by the trembling candlelight.

"Shadow."

Reinhard's expression remained impassive, but a glint of intrigue flickered beneath the surface. He had encountered many foes—warriors, beasts. Yet this man carried something different. Something unnatural.

"I’ve never heard of you," Reinhard stated plainly.

Shadow let out a quiet chuckle, low and dark, as if amused by the very idea.

"Then history has done its job well," he murmured, his smirk barely visible beneath the dim glow of the room. "And you? You carry the title of 'Sword Saint,' yet even saints can bleed, can they not?"

His fingers brushed the hilt of his sword, a movement so fluid, so effortless, it was as though the blade itself answered his call. The blade gleamed with an eerie sheen, reflecting the dim candlelight like a sliver of the abyss itself.

Slowly, deliberately, he strode forward.

His steps echoed through the grand hall, each footfall measured, unhurried. The weight of his presence pressed against the walls against the air itself. As he passed near Miklotov and Bordeaux, neither moved.

Shadow did not acknowledge them. They were already ghosts in his mind, their defiance a footnote in the symphony of his arrival.

All that mattered was the man standing before him.

Reinhard.

Whoah, I did not expect the Hero to appear this fast,

He mused inwardly, his eyes flickering with cold calculation.

But then again, I suppose it had to be expected, didn't it?

His fingers traced the edge of his coat, a subtle gesture that betrayed no sign of panic or hesitation.

I’d hoped to clash with him later—when the timing suited me better when the shadows had more room to move... But still,

He thought, his smirk deepening,

This scenario is far too good for me to simply flee.

And then, in a voice that was velvet and venom all at once, Shadow spoke—his words a dark lullaby in the cold, echoing silence.

“Shall we begin?”

Reinhard lunged at Shadow with the speed of a lightning strike, his movements a blur even to the keenest of eyes. His fist, crackling with raw energy, shot forward like a cannonball, aimed squarely at Shadow’s chest.

Shadow’s crimson eyes flickered with amusement as he observed Reinhard’s approach.

No sword, huh?

He mused inwardly, his smirk deepening.

Does he value that blade on his back so much, or is he underestimating me?

The thought was almost insulting, but Shadow found it more entertaining than anything else.

With a flick of his wrist, the sword he had been holding dissolved into darkness, vanishing as though it had never existed.

In the same motion, Shadow raised his arm, his movements fluid and precise. Reinhard’s fist collided with Shadow’s forearm, the impact sending a shockwave through the throne room. The force of the blow pushed Shadow back a few feet, his boots skidding across the polished marble floor.

But Shadow’s grin never wavered. If anything, it grew wider, more sinister.

“Impressive,” Shadow murmured, his voice a silken whisper that carried an edge of menace. “But let’s see how you handle this.”

With a fluid motion, Shadow twisted his body, his free hand snapping forward in a precise strike. His movements were elegant, almost poetic. The strike was aimed at Reinhard’s midsection, a blow designed to incapacitate, to dominate.

But it never landed.

Reinhard’s body shifted with impossible grace, his form blurring as he evaded the strike by a hair’s breadth.

Before Shadow could react, Reinhard countered, his fist surging forward once more, this time aimed at Shadow’s chest. Shadow’s eyes widened ever so slightly as he leaned back, the punch grazing the fabric of his coat. The force of the near-miss sent a ripple through the air, and Shadow’s smirk faltered for the briefest of moments.

That hit… it couldn’t have missed,

Shadow thought, his mind racing even as his body moved on instinct.

Even with just a fraction of my strength, it should have connected. What is this?

He didn’t have time to dwell on it. Reinhard was already pressing the attack, his movements a relentless storm of precision and power. Each strike was calculated, each step deliberate, as though he were weaving a tapestry of combat.

Shadow dodged and weaved, his movements fluid and unhurried, but there was a new edge to his demeanour now—a flicker of curiosity, of intrigue.

This man… he’s not like the others,

Shadow realized, his grin returning, sharper, and more dangerous than before.

He’s not just strong. He’s perfect.

As Reinhard’s next strike came, Shadow didn’t dodge. Instead, he met it head-on, his hand snapping up to catch Reinhard’s wrist. The impact sent another shockwave through the room, the force of it rattling the chandeliers and sending the candlelight flickering wildly. Shadow’s grip was like iron, unyielding, and cold.

“You’re good,” Shadow admitted, his voice a low purr. “But let’s see how you handle this.”

With a sudden burst of speed, Shadow twisted Reinhard’s arm, using his own momentum against him. Reinhard’s eyes widened as he was forced into a spin, but he recovered almost instantly, his free hand lashing out in a counterstrike.

Shadow ducked beneath it, his movements a blur of darkness and precision. He retaliated with a sweeping kick, aiming to knock Reinhard off balance, but once again, the Sword Saint evaded with almost supernatural ease.

Is it just me, or is this guy draining my mana like crazy?

And then, what would happen if, instead of dealing with grains of salt, he had to handle solid bricks?

The two combatants circled each other, the air between them crackling with tension. Shadow’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and anticipation. Reinhard, for his part, remained calm, his expression one of focused determination.

“You’re holding back,” Reinhard observed, his voice steady. “Why?”

Shadow chuckled, the sound dark and velvety. “Holding back? Perhaps. Or perhaps I’m simply savouring the moment. After all, it’s not every day I get to dance with a saint.”

Randohal’s voice thundered across the throne room, cutting through the tension like a blade. “Reinhard! You must realize the grave danger this man possesses! Do not underestimate him!”

Reinhard’s eyes flicked toward the king, his expression calm but attentive. He gave a slight nod, his demeanour shifting subtly as he absorbed the weight of Randohal’s words. “My apologies, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice steady but laced with newfound resolve. “I will not falter again.”

With a fluid motion, Reinhard extended his hand toward one of the royal guards. The guard, understanding the unspoken command, tossed his sword to the Sword Saint.

Reinhard caught it effortlessly, his fingers wrapping around the hilt as if it were an extension of his own body. The blade shimmered as he poured his mana into it, the steel glowing with a radiant, otherworldly light.

“I am the Sword Saint of Lugunica,” Reinhard declared, his voice steady and resolute. “And I will not allow you to threaten this kingdom.”

Shadow tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “A sword, is it? How quaint.”

With a flick of his wrist, a dark, slimy substance oozed from the shadows at his feet, coalescing into a blade of pure darkness. Shadow twirled it lazily in his hand, his smirk widening.

“Let’s see if your light can pierce my darkness,” Shadow taunted, his voice smooth and dripping with menace.

Reinhard didn’t respond with words. Instead, he lunged forward, his movements a blur of speed and precision. The distance between them vanished in an instant, and with a powerful swing, his blade clashed against Shadow’s. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the throne room, shattering windows, and sending debris flying.

But Reinhard didn’t stop there. With a sudden burst of strength, he pivoted and delivered a devastating kick to Shadow’s midsection. The force of the blow sent Shadow hurtling backwards, crashing through the grand doors of the throne room and into the open sky beyond. The night air swallowed him as he soared through the air, his coat billowing like the wings of a dark spectre.

As Shadow soared through the air, he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. “He’s gotten even faster,” he muttered, his voice tinged with both annoyance and admiration. “How delightful.”

With a graceful twist, Shadow righted himself mid-air, his dark coat billowing around him as he hovered above the palace grounds.

But his amusement was short-lived. Reinhard emerged from the palace, his body glowing with a faint, celestial light as he too floated into the air. The Sword Saint’s expression was calm, but his eyes burned with determination.

Shadow’s grin widened. “I know you’re holding back,” he said, his voice carrying a note of intrigue. “But the way you grow stronger—as if with a mere thought—it’s unnatural at best. Care to enlighten me?”

“I have been blessed,” Reinhard admitted, his voice carrying over the wind with a quiet certainty. “Divine Blessings grant me strength beyond human limitations. They manifest as abilities suited for the needs of the moment, ensuring I never falter.”

Shadow’s eyes flickered, and the amusement in them dimming as irritation took its place. He let out a slow breath, the sound more akin to a sigh of exasperation than exhaustion. “Divine Blessings,” he echoed, his voice laced with something colder now—something resentful. “Of course. The perfect gift for the perfect hero.”

Reinhard remained silent, watching as Shadow’s fingers curled into fists. There was no longer the relaxed grace he had carried before, no longer the nonchalant smirk.

Shadow chuckled, but there was no humour in it. “The villain spends all his life meticulously planning, training, growing stronger. It’s not just about the goal. It’s about the determination—the unyielding will to carve his own path, to fight against fate itself.”

His voice was rising now, the controlled silkiness giving way to something far more visceral. “And then there’s always the hero. The one who needs just a few months—no, a few weeks—to overcome all of it. Hard work? No. Dedication? Nothing but a flute, played at the whims of fate.”

Shadow lifted a hand, covering his eyes for a moment, as if in mock reverence. “And then the hero would say… he got stronger because he ‘had it rough.’”

Reinhard’s grip on his sword tightened slightly. “What are you trying to say?”

Shadow slowly lowered his hand, his crimson eyes burning like dying embers. “What I’m saying,” he murmured, his voice carrying the weight of something far beyond anger, “is that I refuse to be another forgotten story.”

The night sky became a canvas of chaos and brilliance, streaked with flashes of silver and black. Shadow and Reinhard moved at speeds no mortal eye could follow, their blades clashing in a relentless storm.

Each impact birthed an explosion of light and darkness, shockwaves ripping through the air, rattling the palace foundations. The sound echoed across the city—a series of thunderous booms that illuminated the heavens like a festival of stars.

From the streets below, the people of Lugunica turned their eyes skyward, their faces filled with awe. Children clapped their hands in delight, pointing excitedly.

“Look! Fireworks!” one child exclaimed, their laughter ringing through the night.

Another gasped, tugging at their mother’s sleeve. “Mama, can we stay up and watch?”

Unaware of the battle raging above them, the people saw only beauty—blinding flares of gold and crimson, streaks of violet, and obsidian tearing through the sky like divine brushstrokes

Shadow, mid-swing, caught the flicker of joy in the eyes of those far beneath him. His smirk deepened.

How poetic.

A world so fragile, so blissfully ignorant, celebrating the battle that could decide their fate.

With a final clash, they broke apart, each hovering in the air, staring at the other. Shadow’s grin had returned, sharp as a razor’s edge. His eyes gleamed with something deeper than mere amusement.

Shadow twirled his weapon between his fingers, his movements deliberate, slow. “Your form is immaculate,” he continued, voice rich with intrigue. “Not a single wasted movement. Each step, each strike, measured to perfection.” His crimson eyes narrowed, studying Reinhard with something almost akin to fascination. “You don’t fight with arrogance, nor do you fight with hesitation. You are…”

The word lingered in the cold air before Shadow exhaled, his smirk darkening. “Complete.”

Reinhard gave a small nod, neither accepting the praise nor rejecting it.

Shadow’s fingers drummed against the hilt of his sword. “But that’s what makes it all the more ironic.”

Crack.

A faint sound.

A whisper of breaking steel.

Reinhard’s sword, the one he had been given moments ago, fractured along its edge. Fine cracks spiderwebbed through the blade, glowing faintly under the pressure of their battle. And then, with a final snap, the weapon shattered, shards of silver cascading into the night.

Shadow tilted his head, his amusement unshaken. “Ah.”

Reinhard exhaled, his grip on the now-useless hilt relaxing.

Shadow’s gaze drifted to the sword still strapped to Reinhard’s back—the one he had never drawn. His smirk deepened. “So… why not use that?”

Reinhard met his gaze, unshaken. “Because I do not seek destruction.”

The words were spoken with quiet certainty, yet they carried a weight heavier than steel.
Shadow raised a brow, waiting.

Reinhard continued, his voice steady. “Unlike you, I prioritize people first.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then—

A chuckle. Low, quiet, but unmistakably dark.
Shadow let his sword rest upon his shoulder, his grin widening. “And here I thought you were flawless.”

He took a step forward, his presence swallowing the light around him. “But that answer?” His eyes burned with something unreadable. “That answer… is riddled with weakness.”

Reinhard remained still.

Shadow’s gaze lingered on the shattered remnants of Reinhard’s sword, his expression unreadable. And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he raised his own blade—its edge gleaming with endless, abyssal hunger.

“Let’s see,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “how long you can afford to hold back.”

And then—

Shadow was gone.

Not a blur, not a flicker—just gone.

Reinhard’s eyes widened, his instincts flaring. He didn’t hesitate.

“Divine Blessing—Revealing Gaze!”

The world around him sharpened in an instant, details flooding his vision—every movement, every breath, every shift in the air. His gaze snapped downward.

And there, among the oblivious crowd below, Shadow stood.

Perfectly still.

Perfectly unnoticed.

His smirk was razor-sharp, his crimson eyes gleaming with something dark—something that mocked.

“Are you afraid you’ll break your principles, Hero?”

His voice was soft, but it cut.

Then, with an almost lazy motion, he swung his sword—straight for a man who had been laughing just moments before, oblivious to the danger.

Reinhard moved before thought could form.
A blur of light. A streak of steel.

Clang!

The sound rang out as Reinhard’s blade caught Shadow’s mere inches from the man’s neck. The impact sent a sharp wind rippling through the street, ruffling coats and hair. The people turned, startled, but still unaware of the battle unfolding right beside them.
Shadow’s grin deepened.

"See?" he murmured, voice laced with amusement. "Predictable."

Reinhard’s expression remained calm, but his grip on his sword tightened.

Shadow’s voice was velvet and venom, weaving through the air like a dark melody.

“You heroes... always bound by your principles. Always chained by your own morality.”

He twisted his blade, pushing against Reinhard’s defence, forcing him to shift his stance.

"Always predictable."

Then, he moved.

A shadow among the crowd.

The fight resumed in an instant, but it was unlike any before. Reinhard wasn’t just fighting Shadow—he was fighting to protect. Every strike had to be measured, every movement precise. The civilians around them were blind to the battle, yet they were pieces on the board.

And Shadow?

He weaved through them like a spectre, his blade slashing through the air, forcing Reinhard to block, dodge, maneuver—always reacting, never taking the lead.

“The villain,” Shadow continued between blows, “sees right through the hero’s weakness.”

A swing. A dodge. A near-miss.

“He knows the hero won’t hurt the innocent.”

A blade gliding past a woman’s shoulder. Reinhard intercepts at the last second, forcing his footing to shift.

“So what does he do?”

Shadow’s smirk turned wicked, his next strike forcing Reinhard back further into the crowd.

“He doesn't use it.”

Another clash. Another shockwave of power restrained.

“He just mock the hero.”

A flicker—Shadow appeared just behind a child, his blade at his side, nonchalant. Reinhard’s breath hitched, his movements halting.

“He wants to amuse himself.”

Their eyes met.

And then, Reinhard moved.

Faster than sound. Faster than thought.
Their swords met in an explosive burst of force, sending ripples through the night. The people flinched at the sudden gusts of wind but remained blissfully unaware of the battle unfolding inches from them.

And for the first time—Shadow’s smirk faded, if only slightly.

His gaze locked onto Reinhard, something unreadable in his crimson eyes.

Then—he laughed. Low. Dark.

And as their swords clashed once more, his voice dipped into something colder.

“And that,” he murmured, “irritates me too.”
His blade pressed down against Reinhard’s, their gazes locked in a silent war of wills.

“That’s why,” Shadow whispered, his grin returning, sharper than ever, “I am neither a hero nor a villain.”

Reinhard’s expression remained unreadable, but his voice carried weight.

“Then what are you?”

A flicker—Shadow was gone again.

No blur. No motion. Just—disappearance.

Then—he was behind another man.

A step. Another. Moving seamlessly between people, always in Reinhard’s sight, yet impossible to reach without endangering those around him.

Circling him.

A predator weaving through prey.

The night air grew heavy.

And then—

His voice.

Low. Smooth. Unshaken.

"I am Shadow."

Reinhard's eyes burned with resolve. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, his stance firm despite the chaos around them.

“I won’t let you get away with this,” Reinhard declared, his voice cutting through the night like a blade.

Without hesitation, he called upon another Divine Blessing.

“Divine Blessing—Sanctuary’s Domain.”

A brilliant light erupted from his form, expanding outward in a radiant wave. It surged through the streets, wrapping around every civilian, gently pushing them back with an unseen force. The people blinked in confusion as they found themselves inexplicably retreating, as though an invisible wall had guided them away. In mere moments, the battlefield was cleared—leaving only Reinhard and Shadow standing amidst the now-empty street.

Shadow tilted his head, his smirk unwavering. “How convenient.”

Reinhard didn’t waste a second. With a burst of speed, he closed the distance. His sword gleamed with celestial energy as he swung downward, the sheer force of his strike splitting the very air.

“It’s over.”

But just as the blade was about to connect—
Shadow grinned.

Slowly, deliberately, he raised a single finger—pointing it at Reinhard’s head.
And then—Reinhard felt it.

An ominous mana unlike anything he had ever encountered.

It was wrong.

It did not belong to this world. It did not belong to any magic he had ever faced. Even Od Lagna—the divine force that governed fate itself—had no recognition of this power.
Shadow’s smirk deepened.

A small beam of pure darkness shot from his fingertip.

Reinhard’s body screamed at him to move.

Yet—for the first time—

He couldn’t dodge it.

A thin line of red trailed down his cheek, a single droplet of blood tracing its path through the air before vanishing into the night.

Silence.

Reinhard’s breath remained steady, but his heart, for the first time in countless battles, hesitated.

His body had moved on instinct, had relied on the absolute certainty that no attack—no strike, no spell—could ever truly touch him. His Divine Blessings had always ensured it.

But this—

This was something else.

Shadow’s grin widened, his crimson eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he slowly lowered his hand, smoke still curling from the tip of his finger.

“Well,” Shadow murmured, his voice a dark melody laced with something deeper than amusement. “Would you look at that?”

Reinhard’s grip on his sword tightened, his mind racing.

That attack—

It bypassed his Divine Blessings.

Not because it was fast. Not because it was strong.

But because it was outside the realm of what Od Lagna—the force that had blessed him—could comprehend.

“Impossible,” Reinhard said, his voice quiet but firm.

Reinhard’s gaze remained locked onto him. He knew better than to react emotionally.

Od Lagna, the will of the world, the source of his endless blessings, had not foreseen this.

This attack… it did not belong.

Shadow exhaled, slow and deliberate. He lifted his hand once more, his fingers lazily pointing at Reinhard’s chest. “So, what happens now, Hero?”

The tension in the air grew unbearable.

For the first time in his life, Reinhard felt something close to uncertainty.

Reinhard’s breath was steady, but his body remained tense, every fibre of his being on high alert. Shadow stood before him, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement.

Then—Shadow moved.

Or rather, he ceased to exist.

No blur of motion. No fading into the darkness. One moment, he was standing there, and the next—nothing.

Reinhard's eyes widened slightly as he scanned the area, his grip tightening on his sword. His instincts screamed at him, but his senses found nothing.

Where?

His Divine Blessings sharpened his perception, letting him feel the mana in the air, but when he reached out to track Shadow—

His heart skipped a beat.

Shadow’s mana wasn’t just gone.

It was everywhere.

Not in a way that meant he was hiding in the city—no, it was as if his very essence had diffused, stretching across every corner of the capital, touching every street, every rooftop, every shadow.

Impossible.

Even the greatest mages in history couldn’t achieve something like this.

Then, just as he was about to shift his stance—

A whisper.

Low. Smooth. Unshaken.

Right by his ear.

"You felt it, didn’t you, Hero?"

Reinhard turned sharply, sword ready—

But there was nothing.

And then—his mana was gone.

Completely.

No trace. No lingering presence.

Nothing left to follow.

The world that had felt frozen in the heat of battle suddenly resumed its natural flow. The distant sound of carriages, the murmurs of the people, the cold wind brushing against his skin—it all came rushing back.

Reinhard exhaled slowly, lowering his sword but not loosening his grip.

"...Tch."

For the first time in a long while, he remained wary, eyes scanning the empty streets.

A true enigma.

A threat unlike any other.

Shadow was gone.

For now.

 

Later on...
Cid sat atop a massive boulder, gazing at the night sky. The faint glow of the city lights flickered in the distance, but out here, away from the crowds, the stars reigned supreme.

A breath.

Then—a smirk.

"Man... that was awesome."

He let himself fall back, lying atop the boulder with his hands behind his head, his expression full of satisfaction.

"I’d give my performance a solid 9.9 out of 10." His smirk deepened as he stared at the sky. "Because there's always room for more."
For a moment, he simply lay there, letting the thrill linger.

Then—his mind wandered back to him.

"...Reinhard, was it?"

His fingers tapped idly against the cold stone as he replayed their battle in his head.

"He was definitely capable of making me feel it," he muttered, a rare glint flashing through his eyes. "The adrenaline... the thrill. That’s quite rare for me."

"But his presence alone..."

His fingers curled into a fist.

"...was draining a lot of my mana."

Had they fought at full power, things would’ve gone differently.

"I could've used my final moves three times over with the amount of mana he was pulling from me." A small chuckle escaped his lips. "Good thing we resorted to just swordsmanship."

He sat up, stretching his arms.

"I wonder how things would go if we both didn’t hold back."

The thought was enticing. Dangerous.

Exciting.

But—

"That’s a matter for another time."

He hopped off the boulder, landing silently on the grass below. Then, in a voice as cold as the night air—

"Come forth, Alpha."

Silence.

His expression twitched.

"...Huh?"

Still nothing.

Cid’s brow furrowed slightly as he scanned the surroundings. Normally, at least one of them—Alpha, Beta, someone—would be lurking in the shadows, keeping an eye on him.

But now?

Not a trace.

"They're always around," he muttered, rubbing his chin. "One of them would definitely be stalking me right now..."

A pause.

Then—a spark of realization.

A grin spread across his face as he snapped his fingers.

"Let’s try that."

His eyes gleamed with anticipation.
He entered his high-speed perception state, and the world slowed around him. Every detail became crystal clear—the wind moving in slow waves, the distant flicker of torches stretching like liquid fire.

And then—he got to work.

A portal.

No, portals.

He traced the concept in his mind, remembering the one that had brought him here. He wove the mana carefully, testing, adjusting.

"Too small."

The first portal flickered weakly before vanishing.

"This one looks fishy."

Another one appeared, swirling erratically, unstable. He dispelled it.

"This one looks ominous."

A third. Dark. Unsettling. Even he didn’t want to step into that one.

Then—

His smirk returned.

"This one."

The portal stabilized, swirling like liquid void, perfectly balanced.

Cid stepped forward, reaching out toward the abyss with a gleam in his eyes.

"Now then…"

What lay beyond?

It was time to find out.

 

Beyond the portal...
As Cid stepped out of the portal, his boots landed on plush red carpet. The air was thick with a scent of aged wood and exotic incense. A grand chandelier cast a golden glow over the luxurious chamber, its high walls adorned with intricate paintings and deep crimson drapes.

A soft, melancholic melody filled the room. His sharp gaze flicked toward the source—a woman standing gracefully near the fireplace, playing the violin with effortless elegance.

Cid scratched his head. "Huh. This ain't my place… but it sure looks nice."

His gaze drifted to the far end of a long table, where a man sat eating.

Slender, yet exuding an undeniable presence, the man possessed piercing grey eyes—cold, calculating. His long, deep-purple hair shimmered like silk as he lifted a glass of red wine to his lips. The way he moved, so poised, so controlled, sent a faint chill down Cid’s spine.

Cid was in the wrong place.

"Uh… my bad," he said, raising his hands in a casual manner. "I was just passing by. Didn’t mean to—"

A heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder.
Cid turned his head slightly, only to be met with the sight of a towering figure.

A giant.

Eight arms. Blue skin. Black, soulless eyes that gave off the impression of a vengeful demon.

The grip tightened.

"Sit."

With a single push, Cid was forced into a seat at the long table, directly across from the purple-haired man.

The man slowly raised his hand—each finger adorned with an exquisite ring.

And in that instant, the violin ceased.

Silence fell.

The giant's voice was cold. Absolute.

"You are in the presence of His Excellency."

A pause.

"Stride Vollachia."

Notes:

Looks like Cid fumbled again and hit the rewind button lol.

Anyway, if you're confused about the Shadow vs. Reinhard, fight or just wanna share your thoughts, drop a comment!

Chapter 5: The Archbishop's Gambit, Vollachia Empire

The weight of silence pressed down on Cid as he sat stiffly at the grand dining table. The luxurious chamber, with its regal ambience and suffocating presence, made it clear—he was in deep trouble.

Judging by the vibes here and how my mana’s flowing, this place has to be close to where I was before.

Still not in Midgar.

He could feel the gaze of everyone in the room drilling into him, especially the man seated across from him: Stride Vollachia.

The faint clink of a wine glass being set down was the only sound before Stride leaned forward, his piercing grey eyes locking onto Cid’s with an intensity that made the air feel heavier. The eight-armed giant behind him remained motionless, but his sheer presence made escape an impossible thought.

Cid cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his seat. “Uh… so, yeah. I was just passing by,” he said with a casual shrug, forcing a grin. “You know, taking a stroll, minding my own business, and—”

Stride cut him off with a single flick of his wrist. “Enough.”

Cid got surprised.

Stride exhaled slowly, his tone chillingly composed. “Passing by, you say?” He tilted his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Through locked doors? Past an entire regiment of guards? Into the private dining hall of the Emperor’s kin?” His voice was smooth yet razor-sharp. “A bold claim for a liar.”

Cid blinked. “Okaaaay, fair point, but—”

“That faint mana of yours,” Stride interjected coldly. “Unfamiliar. Untamed. Yet you attempt to feign ignorance, as if you simply ‘wandered in.’” His fingers drummed against the table. “Pathetic.”

Crap. This guy saw through me instantly.

I have no idea where I am, but it is obvious now—this was no simple misunderstanding.

Stride’s cold, calculating gaze shifted to the eight-armed giant behind Cid. The towering figure did not move, but after a moment, his deep, rumbling voice echoed through the chamber.

“I have never seen someone like him around here,” the giant stated, his black, soulless eyes fixated on Cid. “It is clear this man is no resident of the Vollachia Empire.”

Shit, this is such a tight spot,

Cid thought to himself.

Simply acting like an NPC would be a death wish now.

His expression changed. Crossing his arms, he leaned back slightly and smirked. “And what if I’m not from here?”

The only way out is to bullshit my way through this situation.

He slowly turned his head to face the giant, his smirk unwavering. “What are you going to do about it?”

A tense silence followed, only to be broken by Stride’s sudden chuckle. The sound was low, amused, yet undeniably dangerous. His smirk widened as he rested his chin on one hand, eyes gleaming with intrigue.

“So, you finally decide to show your true colours,” Stride mused, his tone mocking.
“Good. I was starting to think you were just another insect scurrying where it shouldn’t.”

Under normal circumstances, I’d find a way to step in as Shadow, but that’s against my code. I can’t manifest as Shadow more than once in a single day—it would completely ruin the mystique and tension.

The allure depends on restraint.

The silence between them stretched, thick with tension. Then, with a slow smirk, Stride spoke.

"What am I going to do about it?" he echoed, his voice laced with amusement. "You march into my domain, reeking of faint, unknown mana, and now you act as if you belong here?" He let out a short, condescending laugh. "Tell me, do you take me for a fool? Or are you simply suicidal?"

Cid merely shrugged, his smirk unwavering. "Neither. Just a guy who goes where he pleases."

Stride’s fingers tapped rhythmically against the table, his gaze darkening. "A man without a master, without allegiance, wandering into places where he shouldn’t?" He exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing. "No. That’s not carelessness. That’s intent."

Cid tilted his head. "Oh? And what do you think my ‘intent’ is?" His tone was casual, almost playful, though he was well aware he was treading a fine line between amusement and execution.

Stride didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied Cid, his mind racing through possibilities. A spy? An assassin? No—if he were, he wouldn’t be this brazen. But if he were truly an idiot who stumbled in…

No. The mana around him was way too faint but unrefined. A beast pretending to be harmless.

"You’re testing me," Stride muttered, more to himself than to Cid. "Seeing how I’ll react. Weighing your options." His eyes sharpened. "Do you know how many men have tried such tactics before?"

Cid smirked, leaning forward. "Lemme guess… none of them are still breathing?"

Stride chuckled, low and menacing. "Precisely."

Cid spread his arms. "Well, lucky for me, I’m not like them."

Stride’s smirk faltered for the briefest moment. That confidence—no, that audacity—it was unnatural. Even faced with death, this man did not break. No desperate pleas, no attempts to flee. As if… he truly believed nothing here could touch him.

That alone made Stride wary.

Stride’s grip on his glass tightened slightly. That answer. So simple, yet infuriatingly difficult to dissect. Was he bluffing? Or was this the mark of someone who had seen true horrors?

The eight-armed giant shifted behind Cid, his deep voice rumbling. "Shall I tear him apart? If he does not fear death, we can test that claim."

Cid glanced up at the massive being and smirked. "Careful now. You might not like what you find."

Stride’s breath hitched for just a fraction of a second. Not from fear, but from the sheer audacity of those words. Every fibre of his strategic mind told him—this man was either a fool or something far worse.

"Interesting," Stride said finally, his smirk returning, though his eyes remained cold.

Stride’s piercing grey eyes bore into Cid, his expression unreadable but his tone sharp as a blade. “You look like you don’t fear me,” he stated, his voice low and deliberate. “That much is clear. So, tell me, where are you from? Speak plainly, or I’ll have my associate here”—he gestured to the eight-armed giant behind Cid—“extract the truth from you in a far less pleasant manner.”

Cid leaned back in his chair, his smirk never wavering, though his mind raced.

Huh. Where should I say I’m from?

He scratched his chin, feigning deep thought.

Oh, right. I remember talking with that prince guy the other day about locations. What was that place he mentioned? Ah, yes. That’ll do.

With a casual shrug, Cid said, “I’m from a place near the Pleiades Watchtower."

The room fell into a heavy silence.

The air seemed to grow colder, and even the giant behind Cid shifted slightly, his eyes narrowing. Stride’s expression darkened, his smirk vanishing as his fingers tightened around the edge of the table.

Suddenly, Stride slammed his hands on the table, the sound echoing through the chamber like a thunderclap. “Do you take me for a fool?!” he roared, his composed demeanour shattering. “The Pleiades Watchtower? You expect me to believe that?!” His voice dripped with venom as he leaned forward, his grey eyes blazing with fury. “If you’re going to lie, at least make it convincing!”

Cid blinked, his smirk faltering for just a moment.

Well, that didn’t go as planned.

Stride straightened, his voice icy but laced with contempt. “I would sooner believe you’re a Temple Knight from the Holy Kingdom of Gusteko than some wanderer from the Pleiades Watchtower. That place is a myth, a legend. No one comes from there—no one can.”

The eight-armed giant stepped forward, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. “Shall I dispose of him? His lies are an insult to your intelligence.”

Stride held up a hand, silencing the giant. His eyes never left Cid’s. “No,” he said slowly, his voice low and dangerous. “Not yet. I want to see how far he’s willing to take this charade.”

He leaned forward again, his smirk returning, though it was colder than before. “Tell me, ‘wanderer,’ what exactly do you hope to gain by coming here? What is your true purpose?”

Cid crossed his arms, his smirk widening. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Stride leaned back in his chair, his grey eyes narrowing as he studied Cid with renewed interest. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his hand, the dim light of the chamber glinting off the intricate rings adorning his fingers.

“Do you see these?” Stride asked, his voice low and dangerous. “Each one represents a pact, a bond, a curse. They are not mere ornaments. They are a reminder of what happens to those who lie to me, who waste my time, or who dare to trespass into my domain.” His fingers curled into a fist, the rings clinking softly. “You have one last chance to speak plainly. Who are you, and what is your purpose here?”

Cid’s eyes flicked to the rings, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, to Stride’s surprise, a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

Those rings look cool,

Cid thought to himself, his mind racing.

And ominous. Really ominous. This guy’s not messing around. It looks like the events in this scenario are about to escalate from ‘interrogation with the evil-looking guy’ to ‘torture with the large-looking one.’ I should do something.

Cid’s smirk widened, and then, without warning, he began to laugh. It started as a low chuckle, but it quickly escalated into a full-blown, maniacal laugh that echoed through the grand dining hall. His shoulders shook, his head tilted back, and his laughter filled the room with an unsettling energy.

Alright, let’s roll the dice on this one—I’m gonna say something, and it’s either gonna smooth things over like butter on toast, or the mountain of a dude lurking behind me is gonna turn my skull into a piñata.

Stride’s composed demeanour faltered for the first time.

“You truly don’t recognize me?” Cid said between laughs, his voice dripping with mockery. “Well, that’s to be expected. Our little group is more secretive than most.”

Stride’s eyes widened further, his mind racing. Our little group? Secretive?

His gaze flicked to the rings on his hand, then back to Cid. The pieces began to click together in his mind, though he refused to believe it—not yet.

“You don’t mean…” Stride began, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

Cid’s laughter subsided, and he leaned forward, his smirk turning into a grin. “Yeah. I do.”

Stride’s breath hitched, and for a moment, the room was utterly silent. He slowly sank back into his chair, his mind reeling. Many of the questions he had about Cid—his audacity, his confidence, and his unfamiliar mana—suddenly seemed to have answers. But those answers were impossible. Weren’t they?

“Show me your Gospel,” Stride demanded coldly, his voice sharp as a blade. His grey eyes bore into Cid’s, searching for any hint of deception. The mention of the Gospel was a test, a way to confirm his suspicions. If Cid truly belonged to that group, he would have one.

Cid’s grin didn’t waver, though internally, he was scrambling.

Gospel? What the hell is a Gospel?

He had no idea what Stride was talking about, but he couldn’t let it show. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms casually.

“Now, now,” Cid said, his tone playful. “You know the rules. We don’t just show our Gospels to anyone. Not even to someone as… impressive as you.”

Stride’s jaw tightened, and his fingers drummed against the table. He wasn’t convinced—not entirely—but Cid’s confidence was unnerving.

If this man truly was affiliated with the Witch’s Cult, then the situation was far more dangerous than he had initially thought. The Cult was a shadowy, enigmatic force, and even Stride, with all his power and influence, knew better than to underestimate them.

Stride’s smirk twisted into something far more menacing. “If you’re truly with the Witch’s Cult, then you surely know what it means to stand in the presence of an Archbishop… who represents Pride.”

Cid’s mind short-circuited for a second.

Archbishop of Pride?

That title…

That title sounded so cool, man.

"Should I bow?"

Stride’s fingers drummed against the table, watching him closely. “Not until you show me your Gospel, or your head will indeed fall.”

Damn, he’s pushy,

Cid thought, resisting the urge to sigh.

He had no clue what this Gospel thing was, but if it was that important, he’d just have to make one himself.

Closing his hand, he focused. A moment later, a writhing black substance oozed from his palm, twisting and solidifying into a pitch-black book. The eerie glow of dark mana pulsed along its edges.

Stride’s eyes widened ever so slightly. Even the eight-armed giant behind him tensed.

Cid barely stopped himself from grinning.

The only book that came to mind was the Holy Bible, so I guess it might work out if I don’t go into details.

He slowly placed the “Gospel” on the table, resting a hand on it as he met Stride’s piercing gaze. “Satisfied?”

Stride exhaled, his eyes scanning the book with renewed caution. The tension in the room thickened.

Then he glanced at the eight-armed giant, who studied the book in Cid’s hand for a moment before giving a slow, deliberate nod.

Stride’s gaze lingered on Cid for a beat longer before he pushed his chair back and stood up. He walked toward the grand fireplace at the end of the room, the flames casting flickering shadows across the chamber. He stared into the fire, his voice quiet but laced with an unmistakable weight.

"Under which faction do you serve?" he asked. "I can tell it’s not mine."

Cid, still seated, blinked.

Huh. That’s a good question.

He quickly ran through his mental encyclopedia of nonsense answers before settling on a classic.

The faction of the damned? No, too edgy. The Twilight Cabal? No, too try-hard. The Lost Order? Eh, sounds mysterious enough.

He let out a slow, deliberate sigh and leaned back. “I was sent by a certain… individual,” he mused, his voice carrying a deliberate coldness. “A man who doesn’t quite walk like others. Or talk like others. Or, well… move like a normal person at all.”

Stride’s head snapped toward him, his expression shifting from curiosity to immediate disgust.

Cid continued, oblivious to the reaction. “He’s a bit of a weirdo, honestly."

Stride’s eye twitched. His fingers curled into fists.

“Lemme guess,” Cid added. “You two aren’t exactly on good terms?”

Stride exhaled sharply, his patience wearing thin. “That wretched lunatic.” His voice was laced with venom. “Of all the miserable, shrivelled excuses for humanity, it had to be that dog sending messages.”

Stride turned fully, his grey eyes now burning with fury. “Tell me, what nonsense does Petelgeuse of Sloth wish to waste my time with?”

Oh crap, was that an actual person? Petelgeuse?

Cid kept his expression unreadable, though internally, he was sweating.

Alright, Cid. Think. If that guy’s a lunatic, then I just need to say something equally unhinged.

He closed his eyes briefly, then let his smirk widen ever so slightly. “His message?” He paused for dramatic effect. “Simple.”

The room seemed to shrink as Stride’s gaze bore into him, waiting.

Cid exhaled, his voice dropping into something dark and foreboding.

“The burden of the unloved shall be severed, and the lamentations of the false shall echo through the void.”

Silence.

Stride’s expression barely changed, but something in his eyes flickered. The giant behind him shifted slightly, his presence growing heavier.

Then, after a long pause, Stride exhaled sharply through his nose. “Hmph.” His lips curled into a twisted smirk. “That madman always did have a flair for melodrama.”

Stride turned away, once more gazing into the fire. The crackling flames danced in his reflection, his mind racing with possibilities.

Then, after a moment, he spoke again.

“I don’t care for his riddles, nor do I care for whatever game he’s playing.” His voice was cold, decisive. “But I also do not care for your presence.”

Cid raised an eyebrow.

Stride’s smirk widened, his voice carrying a deadly edge. “I will give you a generous countdown. If you are still here when I finish, you will be removed from this world in ways not even history will recall.”

Cid blinked. “So, like, a five-second head start or—”

Stride’s voice turned razor-sharp.

“Three.”

Cid tensed.

“Two.”

Crap, crap, crap—

“One.”

Cid vanished.

Stride exhaled sharply, his patience thinning, and raised his hand. At his signal, the soft, haunting melody of a violin began to fill the chamber once more.

The eight-armed giant stood motionless for a moment before stepping forward, his black, soulless eyes still lingering on the space where Cid had been.

“What should we do about him?”

Stride remained silent for a few moments, swirling the dark liquid in his wine glass before taking a slow sip. His smirk returned, though tinged with something between amusement and irritation.

“I would have loved to torment him as much as you do,” he admitted, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. “But… that might lead to an unnecessary feud with the other Archbishops.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “And none of us are the type to settle things like civilized men at a table.”

The giant let out a low, rumbling chuckle, his massive arms crossing over his chest. “That boy didn’t look exactly normal himself.”

Stride’s smirk deepened as he turned back toward the fire, watching the flames flicker and twist. “No, he wasn’t. He was hiding something.” His fingers drummed lightly against the armrest of his chair. “But for now, I’ll let it slide. My focus remains on Lugunica.”

The giant nodded. “The civil war there is at its peak.” His tone carried a note of excitement. “I’d love to take part in it.”

Stride chuckled, setting his wine glass down with a soft clink. “Relax. We’ll have our fair share of excitement soon enough.” His gaze darkened, his smirk turning into something far more sinister. “We just need to be patient.”

The violin’s melody swelled, its haunting tune filling the grand hall as the flames in the fireplace crackled—casting shadows that danced like spectres of the chaos yet to come.

Somewhere not far away...
Cid walked through the dimly lit alley, his sharp eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings. The tall, gothic-style buildings loomed over him, their dark, weathered stones exuding an eerie presence. The streets were damp, the cobblestones slick from a recent rain, and the faint scent of something foreign lingered in the air.

“If the capital I used to live in was grand and extravagant, then this place…” He paused, taking in the ominous architecture, the flickering lanterns, and the heavy atmosphere. “…is the complete opposite.”

He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. “Where the heck am I now?”

As he continued walking, his thoughts raced. This wasn’t Japan. It wasn’t Midgar. It wasn’t even close to anywhere he had ever been before. But one thing was certain—this place was brimming with unknowns.

“Guess my background character persona has to get mixed with some people from around here in order to get info,” he muttered to himself, adjusting his posture into something more unassuming.

But just as he was about to take another step, his instincts flared. A quick movement in the shadows.

He took another step. A second movement, opposite the first.

His eyes narrowed slightly. It was fast—too fast for an average person to notice. But for someone like him, for the epitome of being a shadow… it was clear as day.

“An ambush?” he mused under his breath, barely containing his amusement. “How amusing.”

But then another thought crossed his mind.
“…Or could it be Zeta? She likes to mess around before appearing in front of me.”

Testing the waters, he kept walking. The movement increased, shifting around him like whispers in the dark.

With a calm, deliberate motion, he turned, keeping one hand in his pocket. His voice remained steady, cold, but laced with amusement.

“I could’ve sworn there were a whole unit of shinobi coming for my head,” he said, eyes scanning the dark corners of the alley. “If I wasn’t familiar with your tricks.”

Silence.

Cid’s expression didn’t waver. He simply stood there, waiting, patience unwavering.

Then, he let out a sigh.

“You move like a veteran,” he commented, his voice low. “Creeping through blind spots, shifting your weight carefully to avoid detection, aiming precisely for my vital points. Judging by the way you adjusted your stance after I noticed you, you’re no ordinary assassin.”

The silence stretched for another second. Then—

A dry chuckle echoed from the shadows. A raspy, aged laugh that sent a strange, unnatural chill down the alley.

Cid’s eyes gleamed.

Interesting.

A kunai whistled through the air, cutting through the silence like a blade through silk. Its trajectory was flawless, a perfect assassination strike aimed at Cid’s throat.
But he didn’t even blink.

With an almost lazy motion, his hand flicked up from his pocket, and two fingers snapped shut around the kunai’s handle, halting its deadly flight just an inch from his neck.

He let out a small hum of amusement. "Huh."

Then, his instincts flared again.

Something—someone—was coming from behind. Fast.

Cid moved in an instant. His body twisted fluidly, the kunai now reversed in his grip. Another blade aimed straight for his spine, barely having time to close the distance before Cid’s own kunai was already at the attacker’s throat.

The assailant froze.

The cold steel of the kunai pressed against their neck, halting their movement completely. The dim alley lights revealed an unexpected sight—a short, wrinkled man stooped over with a deceptively small frame. His thick, long eyebrows nearly covered his yellow eyes, which gleamed with something ancient and cunning. His black hair flowed back, and he wore a black-and-white suit that resembled a kimono.

Cid, still holding his kunai steady, blinked.

This guy is not Zeta.

Then his thoughts caught up with him, and he frowned slightly.

Who the fuck is this man?

The man didn't move, his gaze locked onto Cid with a curious glint. Then, after a beat, he let out a slow, raspy chuckle.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” His voice was rough yet carried an oddly lighthearted tone. “Ain’t nobody ever put me in check like that—not even when I was a young’un. But here ya are, not even a half of my age, not just noticin’ me… but counterin’ my ambush.”

Cid kept his kunai at the man's throat, but internally, he was running damage control.

Crap. If this guy gets the impression that I’m actually strong, it’ll just cause more trouble.

Feigning nonchalance, he shrugged. “Maybe you’re just getting rusty in your age.”

The man’s grin widened, his yellow eyes gleaming with something dangerous.

“Or maybe…” His voice dropped to something quieter, more measured. “…yer nothin’ like the people I’ve encountered till now.”

Cid kept his expression neutral, but his mind was already spinning.

This guy isn’t normal.

The man let out a slow, knowing chuckle and withdrew his blade, tucking it away beneath the folds of his black-and-white attire. He took a step back, his expression unreadable.

“Well, guess I lost that one,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders. “Ain’t every day an someone like me gets bested by a young’un.”

Seeing the man retreat, Cid flipped the kunai in his hand before slipping it away. “I guess I was just lucky,” he said with a shrug. “You’re too good, old man.”

The man snorted, shaking his head. “Heh. Luck, he says. Kid, if luck could outmatch experience, I’d have keeled over a long time ago.” His face creased into a grin. “Still, gotta hand it to ya—you ain’t normal.”

He turned slightly, his yellow eyes narrowing ever so slightly,

My instincts were right. This kid’s somethin’ else.

Meanwhile, Cid was screaming internally.

Goddammit. Maybe I should just admit I’m not from here and never step foot in this place again. Just like selecting the bad option in a game, seeing its outcome, and then deleting that save.

But for now, he had to play it cool. Letting out an awkward chuckle, he scratched the back of his head. “I’m, uh, not really from around here. Got a bit lost.”

The man gave him a long look before scoffing. “Yeah, I figured as much.” He crossed his arms. “Where exactly are you from, then?”

Cid opened his mouth, about to say “Pleiades Watchtower,” but then froze.

The last time he mentioned that, Stride looked at him like he had just talked about Gehenna. Best not to repeat that mistake.

Thinking fast, he quickly pivoted. “Lugunica,” he said with a slight cough. “Doesn’t that ring a bell?”

The man suddenly burst out laughing, a deep, amused chuckle that echoed through the alley. “Of course it does! What kind of person doesn’t know the Kingdom of Lugunica?”

Cid blinked.

That would be me.

But instead of reacting, he quickly shifted gears. If he wanted to get on this guy’s good side, flattery was the way to go. “You know, wise man, you’re sharp. Real sharp. Bet you’ve seen a lot in your time.”

The man smirked. “Flattery ain’t gonna get ya anywhere, kid.”

Worth a shot.

Still, Cid pressed on. “Then, wise elder, could you, by chance, point me in the direction of this great kingdom?” He said it with as much politeness as he could muster, even throwing in a slight bow for effect.

The man narrowed his eyes at him. “Yer tellin’ me… you don’t even know where Lugunica is?”

Cid forced out a sheepish chuckle. “Let’s just say… I’ve been traveling for a long time. Maps aren’t my strong suit.”

The man stared at him for a long moment, clearly trying to figure him out. Then, with a sigh, he raised a hand and pointed toward the west. “That way. If ya keep walkin’ long enough, you’ll hit the kingdom’s borders.”

Cid followed his finger, nodding. “Got it. Thanks, old man.”

As the man watched him go, a faint smirk lingered on his lips. “Strange kid,” he muttered to himself. “Could be a liar. Could be a fool. But somethin’ tells me… he’s neither.”

As Cid walked away, the man let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

"Y’know, kid…" he mused, his voice carrying an ominous weight.

Cid's steps slowed slightly.

"...I actually feel kinda bad for ya."

The moment those words left his lips, a distinct shing echoed through the alley as he unsheathed his blade once more. A thin, deadly kunai gleamed under the dim lantern light.

"But I can’t just let someone like you wander around like this."

Before Cid could turn, the man lunged—his movement instantaneous. Faster than before, sharper, more decisive. This time, he wasn't testing Cid. He was going for a kill.

The blade struck.

A direct hit.

Cid's body jerked slightly as the kunai plunged into his side. The man’s grin widened—only for it to shatter as black smoke suddenly exploded from the wound.

"Tch!" The man jumped back, waving his free hand through the thick, unnatural fog. "Pullin’ tricks on me, huh?"

The thick smoke clung to the air, swirling unnaturally before dispersing all at once.

And then—

The man froze.

Right in front of him, where Cid should have been, lay nothing but a single, unassuming piece of wood. The kunai had embedded itself deep into it.

"Huh?" His yellow eyes widened slightly, his grip tightening on his weapon. "Substitution technique? Nah… I woulda noticed. Then… what the hell…?"

Silence settled over the alley.

No sign of Cid.

Nothing.

Just the faint echo of the wind whistling through the buildings.

After a long beat, the man let out a low, amused chuckle, rubbing his chin. "Heh… Well, well." His smirk widened.

"To think someone would outsmart Olbart Dunkelkenn twice..."

With Cid...
As Cid walked along a dirt path in the middle of an open field, he let out a sigh, shaking his head.

“He really thought he could just silence me like that.” His voice was laced with amusement. Then, with a smirk, he muttered, “Amateurs. You either target someone with time and preparation… or just push your luck and try to look cool.”

He stopped walking for a moment, rubbing his chin. “That guy did neither.” A dry chuckle escaped him. “Who even pays these guys? To act, maybe?”

Just as he finished speaking, a low grumble rumbled through the field.

Cid glanced down at his stomach. “…Good. Now I’m hungry.”

He looked around, taking in the scenery—the golden fields stretching endlessly under the afternoon sun, the occasional tree swaying gently in the wind.

“I was planning to take a walk for aesthetics, y’know,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “But my stomach is saying to go back to the main quest.”

His gaze shifted to the horizon, where distant mountains barely peeked over the land.

“That old man said the kingdom is that way.” He narrowed his eyes. “Guess we’ll make a shortcut.”

With that, Cid got into position. His stance lowered, his muscles tensed—then, in an instant, he launched himself skyward.

The world blurred beneath him as he shot through the sky like a comet, wind howling past his ears.

—

Meanwhile, at the Vollachia’s border, a group of imperial guards stood at their posts when one of them suddenly flinched, his eyes widening.

“…Did the Emperor order an attack on Lugunica?”

His fellow guard turned to him, frowning. “Don’t be stupid. We can’t just attack them like that.”

Yet, their eyes remained locked on the streak of motion in the sky—something fast, something not normal.

—

At the Lugunica border, knights patrolling the area noticed the disturbance as well.

“Is that… provocation from the Vollachia Empire?” one muttered, gripping his spear.

His comrade scoffed. “Don’t be stupid. They’re not fools. If they attacked, Volcanica would destroy them on sight.”

Still, both sides remained tense, watching as a lone figure soared across the sky—heading straight for the heart of Lugunica.

—

And Cid?

Cid was just looking for a meal.

As Cid descended, the air roared past him, and the golden fields of Lugunica blurred beneath his feet. The capital city soon came into view—a vast sprawl of stone buildings, towering walls, and winding streets.

With a smooth twist in the air, he adjusted his trajectory, aiming for an empty-looking building near the city's outskirts. The structure was worn down, its wooden beams weathered, and the windows shattered. It didn’t take a genius to tell it had been abandoned for a long time.

Crash!

He landed with a controlled impact, his boots kicking up dust as the floorboards groaned beneath him. He took a quick glance around.
No people. No guards rushing in. No alarms blaring.

"Well, that went smoothly," Cid muttered to himself, brushing off his coat.

He stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders. "Alright. Next step—find a good, cozy tavern."

With that, he strolled out of the abandoned building and into the streets, expecting to see the lively hustle and bustle of a capital.

Instead, what greeted him was… different.

The city’s layout felt off. Some buildings stood where they shouldn’t have been, while others were completely missing. The streets, which should’ve been filled with merchants, adventurers, and common folk, had only a few figures moving through them—quiet, cautious, and tense.

Cid narrowed his eyes. "If my memory was like that of a goldfish, I’d say this place was in a state of war."

His pace quickened as he headed toward the tavern district.

But when he arrived—

Every tavern was shut down.

Doors were barred. Windows were boarded up. Not a single drunkard or bard in sight. The lively, rowdy atmosphere that taverns should have was completely absent.

Cid folded his arms. "Okay, either happy hour ended forever, or something really bad happened here."

As Cid scanned the eerily quiet streets, his sharp eyes caught sight of a lone patrolman—a knight in dented armor, gripping his spear tightly as he moved with a tense, purposeful stride.

Bingo.

Without wasting time, Cid adjusted his posture, adopting the slightly clueless but well-meaning demeanor of an everyday civilian. He quickly made his way toward the guard.

"Hey, uh, excuse me!" Cid called out, raising a hand as he approached. "What exactly happened around here?"

The knight came to a sudden halt and turned his gaze toward Cid. His tired, bloodshot eyes immediately narrowed in suspicion.

"...Are you drunk? High? Or are you just some idiot messing with me?" the guard snapped, gripping his spear tighter.

Cid blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "I—" He struggled for a response. "I'm none of those, actually—"

"Then what the hell are you, some kind of damn fool?" the knight barked, clearly frustrated. He let out a bitter laugh before spitting on the ground. "The whole damn kingdom is in a state of civil war, you moron! The damn demi-humans finally snapped, and now we're all up to our necks in blood and chaos!"

A civil war?

Cid barely held back his expression from shifting.

I was only gone for like a day, and the events in this place advanced that fast?

His eye twitched slightly.

Is this what it feels like when you skip a cutscene and suddenly get thrown into the final boss fight?

The guard sneered at him. "Listen, you either march your sorry ass to enlist in the army and fight for the kingdom, or you go home, lock the damn door, and pray that your family ain't torn apart by the time this mess is over!"

He took a step closer, his glare turning even sharper.

"This is war, boy! Not some fairy tale where you can prance around like a clueless idiot!" The knight scoffed before shaking his head. "Tch, Volcanica help us if we have more fools like you running around."

With that, he stomped off, muttering curses under his breath.

Meanwhile, Cid just stood there, staring after him.

Well… this just got more interesting.

Chapter 6: Shadows Over Lugunica

As Cid Kagenou walked through the streets of the Royal Capital of Lugunica in the early morning, the air was thick with tension.

The city, once a proud and bustling hub, now showed clear signs of hardship. Buildings bore the marks of past skirmishes, and the people moved with caution, their eyes filled with weariness. Some shops remained closed, while others sold goods at inflated prices. Even the knights patrolling the streets carried an air of unease, their armour slightly worn, their expressions grim.

"So, it really isn't a dream," Cid murmured to himself, his hands in his pockets. "This place is going through some tough times."

He continued walking, glancing at a group of merchants haggling over supplies and a mother hurriedly ushering her children inside a home. From what he had gathered, a civil war was raging between the kingdom and the demi-humans.

"If there's truly a war going on," he mused, "then why hasn’t that hero ended it already?" His mind drifted to Reinhard van Astrea, the so-called Sword Saint.

The guy looked more than capable of handling a conflict like this. With his strength, ending the war should have been nothing more than a formality.

Cid stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes, focusing all his senses.

Yet, he felt nothing.

Cid’s eyes slowly opened, his expression unreadable, but his thoughts sharp. "I don’t feel his presence anywhere..." he muttered.

The idea that someone like Reinhard could be dead crossed his mind for a fleeting second, but he immediately rejected it. "No, that's impossible."

A few rushed past him, whispering about food shortages and border skirmishes. The war was more than just a distant conflict—it was changing the daily lives of everyone in the kingdom.

"I need to get more info about this event if I want to do something," Cid decided, his lips curling into a faint smirk.

Cid continued his leisurely stroll through the streets of the Royal Capital, his hands still in his pockets, when his gaze landed on a small commotion unfolding in a narrow alleyway.

A group of demi-humans—three in total—were cornering a frail old man and a young woman, their expressions filled with menace. The elderly man clutched a small sack tightly, his hands trembling as the demi-humans loomed over him.

"We ain't got time for this," one of them growled. "Hand it over, old man. Ain't fair humans gettin’ to eat while we starve."

"B-But this is all I have..." the old man stammered. The woman beside him stepped forward protectively, but her courage wavered against the hostile glares of the demi-humans.

Cid stopped a fair distance away, watching the scene unfold.

Ah, I’d love to step in right now, say something cool, and make them all kneel in terror... But that would go against my background character persona.

He sighed internally.

But still…

Before he could dwell on it any further, a figure stepped forward.

"Alright, alright, break it up," the knight said in a careful tone, raising both hands as if defusing a tavern brawl. "No need to make a mess here, fellas."

The demi-humans sneered. "This ain’t got nothing to do with you, knight."

"See, that’s where you’re wrong," the knight—Grimm Fauzen, as Cid picked up from murmurs in the crowd—replied with an easy grin. "Protecting people kinda is my job. Not that I’m all that great at it, but hey, gotta try, right?"

Cid arched a brow.

Not exactly the most intimidating presence.

The demi-humans, unimpressed, stepped forward. "You think we’re scared of some no-name knight?"

Cid chuckled silently.

Well, I guess this guy’s about to get beat up. That’s one way to inspire the people—taking a hit for them.

But before the fight could escalate, something changed.

A suffocating, razor-sharp bloodlust filled the air, completely directed at the demi-humans.

The demi-humans froze, their skin breaking into a cold sweat. Their ears twitched, and their tails bristled in sheer terror. They turned their heads toward the knight.

"Wh-what the hell…?" one of them stammered.

Another took a shaky step back. "That guy… he's a monster…!"

Without another word, they bolted, pushing past civilians as they ran.

The knight blinked in confusion. "Huh?" He turned around, sensing something behind him.

Cid stood there, hands still in his pockets, expression blank.

The knight narrowed his eyes. "…Was that you?"

Cid tilted his head. "Was what me?"

After a moment, the knight shrugged. "Eh, whatever."

The gathered civilians rushed forward, gratitude in their eyes. "Sir Knight, thank you!"

"You saved us!"

Grimm scratched the back of his head, clearly surprised but enjoying the praise. "Oh, uh… yeah! No problem! Just doin’ my knightly duties, you know?"

Cid watched the scene unfold, his smirk hidden beneath his aloof expression.

Later on...
As the two walked through the streets of the Royal Capital, the morning sun barely peeking through the overcast sky, Grimm glanced at Cid with a curious expression.

"So," Grimm began, hands resting lazily on his belt. "What squadron do you serve under?"

Cid, who had been leisurely observing his surroundings, tilted his head slightly. "Squadron?"

"Yeah," Grimm nodded. "You look too composed to be a commoner, and you carry yourself like someone who’s seen a fight or two. So, what knight order are you with?"

Cid sighed internally.

Ah, great. He thinks I'm a knight now. If I say something too impressive, it'll ruin my background persona.

Time to downplay everything.

He put on an awkward smile and scratched his cheek. "Ah, well… I'm actually not that great with a sword. If anything, I'd just be a burden to others."

Grimm's eyebrows rose slightly before he looked off into the distance. A contemplative silence followed.

"I see…" he murmured. After a pause, he let out a soft chuckle. "I know how that feels sometimes."

Cid glanced at him. "You?"

Grimm gave a small nod, a faint, almost self-deprecating smile on his lips. "Yeah. Some days, I feel like I'm just a burden, too. Like, no matter what I do, I won’t ever be as strong as the true knights—the real warriors of this kingdom."

Cid watched him, intrigued despite himself.

"But," Grimm continued, clenching his fist slightly, "I push forward anyway. Even if I'm not the strongest, even if I don’t have the talent of a chosen hero, I can still help people. I can still make a difference, even in small ways. And maybe, just maybe, if I keep at it, one day… I'll be strong enough to protect what really matters."

Cid remained silent for a moment, staring at him. Then, he sighed internally.

Damn, I got into a side story now.

His lips curled up ever so slightly.

This guy looks like a side character who keeps the lime and cold protagonist in check.

Grimm’s thoughts were interrupted by the distant chime of a bell. His eyes widened in realization before he groaned loudly and smacked his forehead.

“Ah! I’m late for the meeting with the commanders!”

Cid raised an eyebrow, watching as the knight insulted himself under his breath. “Idiot, idiot, idiot! I was supposed to be there ten minutes ago!”

Curious, Cid tilted his head. “Meeting with the commanders? What’s that about?”

Grimm blinked at him in surprise. “Wait, you don’t know?” He then crossed his arms and sighed. “Right, I guess not everyone’s been informed yet. It’s about the next battle—we’re making a move near Aihiya Swamp.”

Aihiya Swamp? Cid stored that piece of information in the back of his mind.

Grimm took a step back, shaking his head. “Anyway, I gotta run! Try not to get caught up in anything too crazy, alright?” He waved a hand before sprinting off toward the meeting hall, dodging carts and pedestrians in his hurry.

Cid, now alone, let out a quiet chuckle, his smirk returning.

A battle incoming, huh?

He placed his hands in his pockets and stared at the sky, his expression unreadable. Then, a glint of excitement flashed in his eyes.

This is it. One of my wildest fantasies is about to become a reality.

As he turned on his heel, fully prepared to gather more information, his gaze landed on a man standing a few feet away, watching him with a sharp, calculating expression.

The stranger had long brown hair tied back into a tail, his sky-blue eyes piercing, and his features set in a stern expression. His posture was relaxed, but there was an unmistakable air of strength about him—one that instantly set him apart from the people around him.

Cid instinctively knew.

This one’s way stronger than the other guys here.

The man narrowed his eyes slightly, taking in Cid’s smirking face. Then, in a flat voice, he asked,

“What’s your deal, grinning like a creep in the middle of the road?”

Cid quickly adjusted his expression and prepared to make up an excuse, but before he could finish, the man simply clicked his tongue and strode past him.

“Tch. Whatever.”

Cid watched him go, blinking in mild surprise. Then, his smirk returned, and he muttered under his breath,

Damn. That guy pulled off the mysterious and cool act effortlessly. I should take notes for the future.

The Outskirts of the Royal Capital – Nightfall...

The sun had long set, and the outskirts of the Royal Capital were eerily quiet. Most of the buildings here were abandoned, their windows shattered, and their walls were covered in ivy. It was the kind of place people avoided at night—too many bad memories, too much emptiness.

Cid walked through the desolate streets, his hands still in his pockets. His eyes lazily scanned his surroundings, but his mind was elsewhere.

"Tomorrow’s the big day," he murmured to himself. "The first real battle in this world… I have to make sure my performance is flawless."

For now, though, he needed a place to rest.

Just as he was about to settle near a crumbling wall, a voice cut through the silence—a voice laced with unmistakable irritation.

"Hmph. I never thought I’d see an idiot stepping all over the field in the middle of the night."

Cid blinked.

I knew she was there, but I didn’t take her for the kind of girl to throw salty comments at an unknown man this late at night.

He tilted his head slightly toward the source of the voice, still shrouded in the darkness. "Wow, my bad. I usually try to avoid ruining people's night, but I guess I’m on a roll today."

A scoff came from the shadows, followed by an elegant yet pointed insult. "Your presence alone is enough to wither the flowers, let alone your careless steps. But I suppose I shouldn’t expect refinement from a man who grins at nothing in the middle of the night."

Cid raised an eyebrow.

That was sophisticated. She’s got class.

Glancing down, he finally noticed the crushed flowers beneath his boots. His inner monologue paused for a brief moment.

Crap, I didn’t even notice. That’s why she’s acting like that with me.

For a split second, he considered playing it cool, but then he decided a different approach would be more fun.

He jumped back in exaggerated embarrassment, putting his hands up in surrender. "Ah—! My deepest apologies, noble flower guardian! I swear upon my honour as an average citizen, I didn’t mean to step on your sacred garden!"

There was a brief silence before the girl stepped into the moonlight.

Her long red hair was tied into two ponytails, with a large portion left loose, adorned with delicate flowers that blended seamlessly with her natural beauty. Her sharp blue eyes held a mix of irritation and curiosity, and her pale complexion made her look almost ethereal under the dim light.

She pouted slightly, crossing her arms. "You certainly have a way with words… though I can’t tell if you’re mocking me or genuinely apologizing."

Cid smirked. "Why not both?"

The girl narrowed her eyes at him, but there was a hint of amusement hidden beneath her exasperation.

Cid, hands still in his pockets, glanced up at her.

So, I’ve somehow ended up in another side story again…

The girl let out a sigh, rubbing her temples as she fixed Cid with an expectant glare. "If you truly regret your actions, then do something about this mess." She gestured toward the crushed flowers beneath his boots. "Or are apologies all you're good for?"

Cid blinked, glancing down at the flowers before slowly raising his gaze back to her.

Wait, wait, wait. Hold on.

His eyes subtly widened as he took a second, more careful look at her.

Flowing red hair. Piercing blue eyes. A noble yet powerful aura.

No way.

His mind raced as he recalled the name that had crossed his thoughts earlier. The so-called Sword Saint, Reinhard van Astrea.

But Reinhard was a man.

Yet here, standing before him, was a girl who looked eerily similar—no, identical—to him.

If the whole kingdom got thrown into a civil war in a single day, then it wouldn't be that shocking if the hero somehow got turned into a girl, too… right?

No. That couldn't be the case. That would be ridiculous.

His thoughts were abruptly cut off when the girl frowned and snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Are you going to keep staring at me like a fool, or do you have something to say?"

Cid quickly adjusted his expression, snapping out of his daze.

Right. Background character mode. Stay humble.

He cleared his throat, lowering his gaze slightly in an attempt to seem deferential. "Apologies. I was just caught off guard by your presence."

The girl narrowed her eyes slightly as if trying to gauge his sincerity.

Cid, maintaining his act, tilted his head slightly and asked, "May I at least know the name of the lady I've offended?"

The girl hesitated. A flicker of surprise passed through her expression before she averted her gaze for a moment, as if debating whether or not to answer.

Then, with a composed yet measured tone, she finally spoke.

"Theresia… Theresia van Astrea."

As soon as Theresia introduced herself, Cid's inner thoughts went into overdrive.

I knew it.

That name. That look. That presence.

This girl is definitely Reinhard’s twin sister!

Still, regardless of her relation to Reinhard, this girl was dangerous. Cid could feel it.

He had to tread carefully.

Lowering his gaze slightly, he put on a humble, slightly apologetic expression.

Background character mode—engage.

If I don’t want Reinhard to sniff me out, I better treat this girl with extreme caution.

As he stayed still watching, Theresia let out a soft sigh and knelt down, beginning to carefully fix the damaged flowers with precise movements. Her fingers delicately brushed against the petals, and despite the darkness, she moved as if she had done this a hundred times before.

Then, without even looking at him, she gave a firm order.

“Well? Don’t just stand there. You’re going to help fix what you’ve ruined.”

Cid’s mind immediately kicked into high alert.

Operation ‘No Matter What, Don’t Get on This Girl’s Bad Side’—start!

Without hesitation, he crouched down and began moving some of the flowers back into place, copying Theresia’s movements as best as he could.

For a while, they worked in silence.

Then, just as Cid thought he might get through this without further trouble, Theresia suddenly spoke again.

“So,” she said, her voice calm but expectant. “When are you going to ask?”

Cid blinked, looking up at her in confusion.

“Ask for what?”

Theresia continued fixing the flowers, not even sparing him a glance as she replied.

“What a girl of my age and status is doing in an abandoned place in the middle of the night.”

Cid stilled for a brief second before quickly resuming his work, his mind sharpening.

She’s testing me.

This girl wasn’t just some noble wandering the streets. There was something else—something hidden beneath her elegant demeanour.

Cid subtly observed her movements, her posture, and her tone.

She might not be anywhere near Reinhard, but…

His eyes narrowed slightly as he focused on the weight of her presence, the sheer sense of power surrounding her.

This girl could clearly be as powerful as one of the Seven Shades.

Cid glanced at Theresia, observing her carefully. The way she had acted in front of him the moment he stepped on her flowers told him everything he needed to know.

She didn’t see him as a threat.

"You know," Cid said with a slight smirk, his hands still occupied with fixing the flowers. "The way you spoke to me right after I stepped on your little garden… It was enough for me to tell that you didn’t see me as a threat at all."

Theresia stayed silent, her fingers still carefully adjusting the delicate petals.

Then, with a small chuckle, he added, "If anything, I should be the one being careful around you."

Theresia finally stopped her movements, looking at him with those piercing blue eyes.

Cid met her gaze without hesitation and offered her a compliment. "You’re strong. Stronger than anyone I’ve seen so far."

At that, Theresia let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. "That’s true," she admitted without arrogance. "You’re certainly not as strong as me."

Cid raised an eyebrow at her honesty.

Then, after a small pause, Theresia continued, "But I’m also not as strong as you think I am."

Cid’s expression shifted slightly. He took a moment to look at her again—not just at her presence, but at what lay beneath it.

He could see it now.

The raw potential within her was immense, like an untapped force waiting to be unleashed. And yet… something was holding her back.

No, not something—herself.

She was restraining herself.

Cid leaned back slightly, his gaze thoughtful. "I don’t know much about this kind of stuff," he admitted. "But once, a mysterious man in a black coat told me something interesting."

Theresia raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Cid nodded, his voice turning distant, as if recalling the words of a wise mentor. "He said… 'All humans are meant to achieve greatness—if not for their own mind and way of thinking.'"

Theresia’s expression shifted ever so slightly.

"He said that if one didn’t overthink things, they could achieve any goal."

A breeze passed through the abandoned streets, rustling the petals of the surviving flowers.

Theresia remained silent for a long moment before finally speaking.

"This mysterious man…" she murmured, her gaze sharp and assessing. "Was he a human?"

Cid paused.

Ah. That’s a good question.

He was clearly talking about himself—his Shadow persona. But to the people around him, Shadow wasn’t exactly… human.

After a brief moment of consideration, Cid shrugged and gave an enigmatic smile. "He was. But not for anyone around him."

Theresia watched him closely, as if trying to decipher his meaning.

For the first time that night, Cid felt like he had genuinely piqued her interest.

Cid, realizing the precariousness of the situation, decided to tread lightly. He needed to keep the conversation light, casual, and most importantly, not at all threatening.

“So, uh,” Cid began, scratching the back of his head awkwardly, “you come here often? Or is this, like, a one-time thing? Because, you know, the ambience is great—very post-apocalyptic chic. Perfect for a midnight stroll, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

Theresia raised an eyebrow, her expression a mix of amusement and mild disbelief. “Are you always this… chatty with strangers you’ve just met in the middle of the night?”

Cid shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Only when I’ve accidentally trampled their flower garden. It’s kind of my icebreaker. Works every time.”

Theresia let out a small, almost imperceptible laugh but quickly composed herself. “You’re an odd one,” she said, her tone softening just a bit. “Most people would be running for the hills by now.”

“Well, I’m not most people,” Cid replied with a grin. “I’m more of a ‘stand awkwardly in the ruins and hope for the best’ kind of guy.”

Theresia shook her head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “You’re certainly… unique.”

Cid took that as a win. He had managed to lighten the mood without accidentally insulting her or stepping on any more flowers. Now, he just had to keep the conversation going without saying anything too stupid.

“You’re not with the others,” Theresia said, her tone calm but probing. “The army is gathering for the next push tomorrow. Why are you out here, wandering the outskirts alone?”

Cid froze for a split second, his mind racing to come up with a plausible excuse. He couldn’t exactly tell her the truth—that he wasn’t from around here. So, he did what he did best: he improvised.

“Oh, uh, well…” Cid scratched the back of his head, putting on his most sheepish grin. “I, uh… got lost. Yeah. Totally lost. You know how it is—one wrong turn, and suddenly you’re in the middle of nowhere. Happens to me all the time.”

Theresia’s expression didn’t change. She stared at him, unimpressed, her arms crossed over her chest. “Lost,” she repeated flatly. “In the outskirts of the Royal Capital. Where the only thing between here and the army camp is a straight road.”

Cid’s grin faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered. “Okay, fine, you got me. I… uh… needed some fresh air. Yeah. The camp was getting too stuffy. All those guys talking about strategy and formations—it’s exhausting, you know? I just needed a break. A little me-time. Totally normal.”

Theresia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as if she were dealing with a particularly stubborn child. “You do realize there’s a civil war going on, don’t you? The kingdom is on the brink of collapse, and here you are, wandering around like it’s a leisurely stroll in the park.”

Cid shrugged, trying to play it off. “Hey, I’m just one guy. What difference does it make if I’m there or not? The army’s got plenty of people. They’ll be fine without me.”

Theresia’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, Cid felt a chill run down his spine. There was something in her gaze—a sharpness, a weight—that made him realize he might have pushed his luck a little too far.

“If that’s your attitude,” she said, her voice low and measured, “then I worry for the others who are carrying the hopes of this kingdom. Men and women are risking their lives to protect what little we have left, and you’re out here making excuses. Do you even care about what happens to this land?”

Cid’s usual carefree demeanour faltered for a moment. He hadn’t expected her to call him out so directly. He quickly scrambled to recover, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

“Whoa, whoa, hold on. I care, okay? I care a lot. I just… uh… have a different way of showing it. You know, like… unconventional methods. Yeah. I’m more of a behind-the-scenes kind of guy. I do my best work when no one’s looking.”

Theresia didn’t look convinced. She took a step closer, her presence almost overwhelming. “Is that so? Then tell me, what exactly have you done to contribute to this war? What ‘behind-the-scenes’ work have you accomplished?”

Cid opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He couldn’t exactly tell her about his Shadow persona or the fact that he was still trying to figure out how this world worked. Instead, he deflected with a nervous laugh.

“Uh, well, you see… it’s kind of hard to explain. It’s all very… secretive. Yeah. Top-secret stuff. If I told you, I’d have to, uh… you know. Do the thing.”

Theresia raised an eyebrow. “The thing?”

Cid nodded vigorously. “Yeah, the thing. You know, the whole… ‘I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you’ deal. Very dramatic. Very cloak-and-dagger. Not really my style, but hey, rules are rules.”

Theresia stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, to Cid’s surprise, she let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “You’re impossible,” she said, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice. “I don’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed by your ability to talk your way out of anything.”

Theresia sighed, her expression softening just a bit. “Just… try to take this seriously, will you? The kingdom depends on all of us. If you’re not going to fight, at least don’t get in the way.”

Cid nodded, his grin fading into a more serious expression. “Yeah, I get it. Don’t worry, I’ll stay out of trouble. Probably.”

Theresia gave him one last assessing look before turning away. “Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more important things to attend than babysitting you.”

Cid nodded, his usual carefree grin returning. "Yeah, I should probably get going too. Wouldn’t want to keep you from your important duties."

He turned and started walking away, his hands slipping back into his pockets. But after a few steps, he suddenly stopped as if remembering something important. He spun around and shouted back at her, "Oh, and hey! Don’t tell Reinhard you met me here, okay? That’d be... bad. Really bad."

Theresia, who had already begun to walk in the opposite direction, paused and turned to look at him, her expression a mix of confusion and mild irritation. "What was that supposed to mean?" she called back, her voice carrying a hint of suspicion.

Cid waved his hand dismissively, already backing away. "Nothing, nothing! Just forget I said anything! See you around—or not! Preferably not!"

With that, he turned and hurried off into the darkness, leaving Theresia standing alone in the moonlight. She stared after him, her brow furrowed in thought.

"Reinhard...?" she murmured to herself, placing a hand over her heart. Her expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable passing through her sharp blue eyes. "Who is... Reinhard? And why does that name feel... different? Familiar?"

She stood there for a moment, her gaze distant, as if trying to grasp at a memory that was just out of reach. The name stirred something deep within her—a feeling she couldn’t quite place. It was as if it carried a weight, a significance she couldn’t yet understand.

Aihiya Swamp – The Battlefield of Dawn...
The stench of blood and mud mixed into the air, as countless warriors stood ready on either side, gripping their weapons with tense anticipation.

On one side, the Kingdom’s Army, clad in silver armour and blue banners, stood in tight formations. Their spears glinted under the dim sunlight, their ranks bolstered by knights and magicians prepared to enforce order. These were the forces of the nobility, those who sought to maintain control over the kingdom, fighting to preserve the old ways.

On the other, the Demi-Human Coalition, a ragtag yet formidable force of beastmen and other oppressed races, stood defiant. Clad in scavenged armour and wielding a variety of weapons, they were not an army of discipline—but of raw instinct, survival, and sheer will. Their eyes burned with the fury of generations of oppression, their war cries echoing through the swamp as they prepared to take back what had been denied to them.

Then—

A horn bellowed.

The battlefield erupted into chaos.

The frontlines crashed together like a violent tide, swords clashing, spears thrusting, arrows raining down from both sides.

The roars of beastmen warriors mixed with the battle cries of knights as blades clashed and blood sprayed into the murky waters. A massive demi-human swung his axe, cleaving through a squad of foot soldiers, only to be skewered by a dozen spears moments later.

A squad of other demi-humans archers rained down pinpoint arrows, felling enemy captains before they could rally their troops.

A tall, muscular man in royal armour shouted above the chaos, rallying his troops. "Hold the line! Do not falter!"

Meanwhile, an elusive snake-like beastman leapt over enemy shields, tearing through humans with terrifying ferocity. His double-blade sword dripped with blood, his green scales covered with mud, his voice a deafening roar:

"For our fallen! For our freedom!"

The battle raged on, bodies falling by the dozens, the swamp becoming a graveyard of warriors.

Yet high above it all—

Shadow watched.

From the skies, standing atop a floating black mass of energy, a lone figure in dark robes overlooked the battlefield. His golden eyes gleamed beneath the hood, and his presence alone seemed to distort the very air around him.

Shadow had arrived.

He observed the bloodshed with calm amusement, as if watching a grand performance unfold exactly as he expected.

Then, after a long silence, he grinned.

"Well now…" Shadow murmured, his voice carrying an almost playful tone. "It looks like the actors are all in place."

He extended a hand, dark energy swirling around his fingers.

"The time has come."

His cloak billowed in the wind, his presence radiating an overwhelming pressure.

"Let the shadows make their move."

And with that—

The battlefield descended into even deeper chaos as a new force joined the fray…

Notes:

Shadow’s out here making dramatic entrances like he’s auditioning for a Shakespearean tragedy.

What can I say? The man loves his flair.

Stay tuned for more chaos, questionable decisions, and maybe—just maybe—a hint of actual plot lol.

Thanks for reading, and for the support this far.

Chapter 7: Descent of Pride, Atomic Arrival

The Battle of Aihiya Swamp was a gruesome clash that would be etched into the annals of Lugnica's history. The swamp, a sprawling morass of murky water and twisted trees, was an unforgiving battlefield.

The air was thick with the stench of decay and the cries of the dying. The human soldiers of Lugnica, clad in their silver armour, advanced with grim determination, their banners fluttering in the damp breeze. Across from them, the Demi-Human Coalition, a horde of beastly warriors, roared and snarled, their eyes gleaming with feral rage. The swamp was alive with the sounds of clashing steel, guttural war cries, and the sickening squelch of boots sinking into the mire.

At the heart of the chaos, Libre Fermi, the serpentine commander of the demi-humans, moved with a lethal grace. His double-bladed sword whirled through the air, cutting down human soldiers with terrifying precision. His scales glistened with blood and swamp water, and his forked tongue flicked out as he assessed the battlefield. But even he could not ignore the tide turning against his forces.

The Zellgef Squadron, Lugnica's most elite unit, had carved a path of destruction through the demi-human ranks, their coordination and skill unmatched.

Libre found himself surrounded. The Zellgef Squadron closed in, their weapons gleaming with deadly intent.

Libre's golden eyes darted from one adversary to another. The battlefield around him was a slaughterhouse; demi-humans were being cut down left and right, their bodies littering the swamp. He sighed, a sound that was almost mournful, before addressing his opponents. "You lot speak the language of power. You've trained yourselves to the utmost. And that boy there… Could he be the Sword Devil, I wonder?"

Bordeaux let out a hearty laugh. "Oh-ho! So even the demi-human commanders know the Sword Devil. You're moving up in the world!"

Libre's lips curled into a faint smile, though his eyes remained cold. "Please don't call me a commander. There's no allure to that title; it's not suited for me. Titles reeking of such manliness would make idiots like Valga happy." He crossed his arms, his twin blades resting against his shoulders, and let out a long breath. His gaze drifted upward to the overcast sky. "I suppose even I am not quite a match for Zellgef Squadron by myself."

Wilhelm stepped forward, his breathing heavy but his grip on his sword steady. "You and me, then! I'll knock that head right off your shoulders—!"

Libre chuckled softly, his serpentine features twisting into a wry expression. "I would love to share this dance… but I believe the moment to call an end to things is coming. If you'll, so kindly pardon me."

Bordeaux frowned, his axe lowering slightly. "What are you—?"

Before he could finish, the air shifted. The thick, oppressive atmosphere of the battlefield, heavy with bloodlust and the metallic tang of iron, suddenly grew damp and cloying. An unnatural chill swept through the swamp, and the ground beneath their feet began to tremble.

Wilhelm's eyes widened as he felt the change. "What in the—?!"

The Zellgef Squadron, despite their elite training and unyielding resolve, found themselves struggling against the invisible force pressing down on them. Their movements slowed, their breaths came in laboured gasps, and even the weight of their weapons seemed to multiply.

Wilhelm, his sword trembling in his grip, glared at Libre. "You... planned this from the start," he growled, his voice strained.

Libre's serpentine smile widened, his golden eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and malice. "Precisely. You humans are so predictable. You see a magic circle, and your first instinct is to destroy it. But in doing so, you played right into our hands. The energy you released from those circles was never meant to harm you directly—it was meant to activate the true spell hidden beneath your feet."

Bordeaux, his axe now dragging in the muck, cursed under his breath. "Damn it all... We walked right into this."

Their entire body felt as though it was trapped in a thick, syrupy substance, every movement sluggish and laboured, each breath a struggle to draw in.

Pivot, his usually calm demeanour shattered, struggled to keep his footing. "What... what is this spell? What have you done?"

Libre tilted his head, his forked tongue flicking out as if savouring their desperation. "This spell is a gift from our allies—a little something to level the playing field. It saps your strength, slows your movements, and clouds your minds. In this state, even the mighty Zellgef Squadron is no match for us."

Wilhelm's mind raced, his thoughts sluggish under the spell's influence. He glanced around, taking in the battlefield. The human soldiers were faltering, their formations breaking as the demi-humans pressed their advantage. The swamp, once a chaotic but manageable battlefield, had become a death trap.

Libre's voice cut through the haze, cold and deliberate. "This is the beginning of the end for your kind. The demi-humans will no longer be pushed to the fringes, forced to live in the shadows. We will reclaim what is rightfully ours, and you will either submit... or perish."

Wilhelm's grip tightened on his sword, his knuckles white. "We... won't... give up," he spat, forcing the words out through the suffocating pressure.

Libre chuckled, a low, menacing sound. "Brave words, Sword Devil. But bravery alone won't save you now."

As if on cue, the ground beneath them began to tremble more violently. The reddish-purple sky darkened, and the air crackled with magical energy. The true extent of the spell was becoming clear—it wasn't just a debilitation; it was a prelude to something far more devastating.

Bordeaux, his voice a ragged growl, shouted to his comrades. "We need to break the circle! If we don't, this whole battlefield will be consumed!"

But Libre was already moving, his twin blades flashing as he positioned himself between the Zellgef Squadron and the heart of the spell. "I'm afraid I can't allow that," he said, his tone almost apologetic. "This is the turning point, the moment when the demi-humans rise. And you, my dear humans, will bear witness to it."

The demi-humans, though not completely unaffected, retained enough of their agility and ferocity to tear through the now-defenseless human ranks like wolves among sheep.

Screams of agony and terror filled the air. The swamp, already soaked in blood, became a slaughterhouse. Demi-humans warriors pounced on their prey with sharpened claws and fangs, lizardmen swung their massive weapons with ruthless efficiency, and they crushed soldiers underfoot, their laughter ringing with bloodlust.

A young human soldier, barely more than a boy, collapsed onto his knees, his silver armour now caked with mud and blood.

"P-please… Volcanica… save us…"

And then—

A brilliant purple light exploded in the sky.

It was not the natural glow of magic, nor the eerie hue of demi-humans spell. No, this light was different—otherworldly. It pulsed like a living heart, crackling with energy as it illuminated the battlefield with an ominous, electric radiance.

Every pair of eyes turned upward, human and demi-human alike, caught in the sheer intensity of the sight. The battle, for the briefest of moments, paused as warriors gaped at the anomaly above them.

And then, from the centre of the glowing void
—
A figure.

Dark, distant, barely a silhouette against the overwhelming light.

Demi-humans with sharper vision squinted, their breaths hitching as they discerned the shape.

"T-there’s a person up there…!"

"Impossible… Is it a spirit…?"

Then—

BOOM!

The figure fell.

Like a streak of violet lightning, it plummeted toward the swamp, a comet of pure, concentrated force. The air howled with the descent, the pressure alone causing ripples through the already disturbed water.

And then—

Impact.

The ground shattered.

As the dust settled, a lone figure stood amidst the destruction.

A man clad in black.

He stood tall, his posture effortlessly composed, as if the carnage around him was but an insignificant backdrop to his presence.

His face was partially obscured by shadows, but the faint glint of amusement in his eyes could be seen by those brave enough to meet his gaze. His lips curled into the faintest hint of a smirk—an expression both unreadable and terrifying.

Surrounded by the frozen, terror-stricken warriors, he exhaled softly.

...The stage is set.

His crimson eyes gleamed in the dim light, filled with something unnatural.

"Now all I need to do... is create this masterpiece."

A chill ran down the spines of every being present, human and demi-human alike.

For the first time since the battle began—

True fear took hold.

Libre Fermi, the serpentine commander of the demi-humans, slowly uncrossed his arms, his golden eyes narrowing. His forked tongue flicked out instinctively, tasting the air—the scent of something beyond mortal comprehension. A deep chill coiled in his gut, and for the first time that battle, his fingers tightened around his twin blades. "That thing… is not ordinary." His voice, usually filled with nonchalance, was laced with something unfamiliar—unease.

Bordeaux, the warrior of Lugnica, let out a slow breath, his broad chest rising and falling with the weight of the moment. His instincts, honed through countless battles, screamed at him—this was no man. This was a calamity given form. "I don't know who the hell you are," Bordeaux rumbled, "but I ain't ever felt something like this before. My gut tells me to charge in and swing… but my gut also tells me I'd die before my axe even touched you." He spat into the mud. "And I don't ignore my gut."

Wilhelm, the Sword Devil, tightened his hold on his blade. His keen eyes, sharper than most, studied the man who had fallen from the sky like judgment itself. No opening. No wasted movement. No hesitation. This man carried himself not as a warrior but as an inevitability. Wilhelm felt his muscles coil, ready for a strike—yet a rare, cold bead of sweat trailed down his temple. "Who… is he?" he whispered.

The man in black—Shadow—slowly lifted his gaze. His crimson eyes, glowing faintly in the dim swamp light, swept over the battlefield with cold amusement.

Always been top of my bucket list: roll up to a war zone like a ghost, wreck the enemy, dip out, and let the myth live on.

"Ahh… what a stage you've all set for me." His voice was smooth, rich, yet carried an undertone of something vast, immeasurable.

He raised his arms slightly, as if to encompass the battlefield itself. "A war. A grand, foolish struggle between man and beast. Between kings and rebels. And yet… in the end, it is power that decides everything."

He exhaled softly, his breath visible in the unnaturally cold air. "And so, I shall take one side in this war."

Sure, I’m human too, but that’s not a free pass to side with them. Though, that girl from yesterday?

Yeah, she’d probably cancel me if humans don’t win.

His crimson eyes gleamed with something unreadable as he slowly began walking forward. Each step echoed across the swamp, ripples spreading through the murky water.

"Now, the question remains…" He stopped, his gaze sweeping across the battlefield before locking onto the demi-human ranks. "Which side shall I grace with my presence?"

For a moment, hope flickered in the eyes of the demi-humans. Had this terrifying being come to aid them? Would this power be theirs to wield?

But then—

Shadow tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly.

And in that instant—the temperature seemed to plummet.

A single glance was all it took.

The demi-humans, so full of fire and battle-hardened resolve, suddenly felt the weight of true power pressing down on them. It wasn't bloodlust, nor was it the overwhelming force of a battlefield commander.

No, it was something far, far worse.

It was indifference.

He wasn’t even considering them a challenge.

The meaning was clear.

Shadow had chosen his side.

And it was not theirs.

"You arrogant bastard!" A wolf-headed warrior snarled, baring his fangs. "Do you think you're some kind of god?! We are warriors of the Demi-Human Coalition! We will not—!"

"You reek of human filth!" a lizardman spat, his tail thrashing violently. "We'll tear you apart!"

A chorus of roars and battle cries followed, the demi-humans’ pride unable to accept this humiliation.

But Libre—he knew.

His golden eyes widened in realization as he sensed the overwhelming stillness in Shadow’s stance, the sheer unshakable presence that surrounded him.

"STOP!" Libre bellowed, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. "Do not rush him, you fools! You don't understand what you're dealing with!"

But it was too late.

Shadow exhaled softly, shaking his head as the demi-humans rushed toward him in a frenzy.

"Ah… so predictable," he mused. Then, with a faint smirk, he raised his chin ever so slightly.

Very well. Let me show them—what it means to be a one-man army.

The first wave of demi-humans lunged, weapons raised.

Shadow did not draw his sword.
Instead—he moved.

A step. A pivot. A blur of motion.

His palm struck a wolf-headed warrior’s chest, and in an instant, the massive beast-man was launched skyward, his body spinning uncontrollably before crashing into the swamp with a sickening splash.

Another demi-human swung a halberd. Shadow sidestepped, the weapon cutting through empty air. With a flick of his wrist, he grasped the shaft of the halberd and wrenched it forward—driving the blunt end into the wielder’s gut. The lizardman gagged, collapsing instantly.

More came.

Shadow was art in motion.

A bull-headed warrior roared, swinging a massive spiked club.

Shadow—ducked.

In the same breath, he spun behind the beast, grabbing him by the horns before twisting violently. The giant creature was sent tumbling into a cluster of his own allies, flattening them under his weight.

Every movement was effortless.

Every strike was absolute.

The battlefield had changed. No longer was it humans versus demi-humans.

Now—

It was Shadow versus all.

Libre trembled. His claws twitched, his fangs clattered against each other. The battlefield that had once been his playground—where he had revelled in the slaughter of weakling humans—had become a nightmare.

“No… no way…!” Libre muttered, taking an unsteady step back. He turned to his forces, his voice shrill with terror. “R-retreat! All forces, retreat! We—”

A whisper.

A voice.

Directly behind him.

"You sound awfully desperate, my dear beast."

Libre froze. His pupils shrank to pinpricks.

Impossible.

He had not heard any movement. No breath, no footstep, nothing. And yet—he could feel it. The weight of something—someone—looming over him.

Slowly, he turned his head.

Shadow stood there, just inches away, his smirk laced with amusement, crimson eyes glowing like embers in the darkness.

Smashing the enemy's top players? Instant vibe check—moral: going down.

“Going somewhere?”

Libre snarled and spun, swinging a massive claw, but—

He hit nothing.

Shadow had already moved. A blur. A spectre.
Then—

A single, brutal kick to the side of Libre’s head.
The force sent the beast crashing into the mud, tumbling across the battlefield like a ragdoll. The sheer impact sent a shockwave through the swamp, uprooting trees, and sending demi-humans flying.

Wilhelm watched.

Not with fear.

“…Not even a single speck of blood sullies him,” Wilhelm murmured, gripping his sword tighter. “This is beyond the realm of mere skill… this is something else entirely.”

Shadow began to walk. Slowly. Purposefully. The kind of stride that belonged to a predator confident in its absolute dominance.

Wilhelm steeled himself.

A chill ran through his spine, but he did not falter.

Shadow stopped just a few feet away, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. “Oh? You still stand?” His smirk widened slightly. “How admirable. Your resolve is commendable.”
Wilhelm said nothing.

Shadow tilted his head. “But it is wasted.”

A pause.

Behold: the enigmatic, all-knowing vibe guru who drops cryptic wisdom bombs, pushing the hero to level up and glow tf up.

Then, he continued.

"Your stance—it's too rigid. You rely on form, yet you forget fluidity. Your grip—too tight. Strength alone does not dictate victory."

Wilhelm’s heart pounded.

The words. The tone.

It was not mockery.

It was instruction.

A lesson.

Even now, this mysterious warrior—this force of nature—was imparting wisdom.

Wilhelm swallowed hard and steadied himself. “Who… are you?”

Shadow’s smirk did not fade.

“That doesn’t matter.”

Wilhelm tensed as Shadow took a step past him.

“What matters… is that you have a place you need to be.”

Libre.

Wilhelm clenched his teeth. He thought of the battlefield, the people counting on him. His hesitation evaporated.

With a single motion, he dashed forward.
As he ran, he threw one last glance back.

“We owe you nothing, stranger!” Wilhelm called. “No one asked for your help, and—”

He did not finish his sentence.

Because in that instant—

A writhing mass of darkness coiled around Shadow’s hand.

A shape.

A form.

A sword, oozing into existence from the abyss itself.

Shadow levelled the blade toward the demi-humans. His voice was a whisper, yet it carried across the battlefield with the weight of undeniable authority.

“I hope you weren’t planning to leave.”

The demi-humans, despite their terror, roared in fury and charged.

Shadow smirked.

"Good."

The first beast lunged—only for its head to separate from its shoulders in a single, effortless swing.

The second followed—only for Shadow to sidestep, his sword tracing an arc through the air before cleaving the beast’s torso in two.

One by one, they fell.

And yet—

Shadow did not hurry.

He did not struggle.

Every movement was deliberate. Every strike, absolute.

It was no longer a battle.

It was a performance.

A masterpiece in the making.

Shadow moved like a whisper, slipping through the chaos like an unbound spectre. A hulking minotaur raised its greataxe, its muscles bulging with raw power—only to find itself swinging at empty air. Shadow was already behind him, a single finger pressed against the beast’s exposed spine.

Tap.

A heartbeat later, the minotaur’s body twisted unnaturally, limbs spasming as if an invisible force had seized control. Then—

BOOM!

The monster’s own momentum betrayed it, sending it hurtling through the air like a broken puppet before crashing into a distant tree with enough force to shatter the trunk.

Shadow exhaled slowly, brushing nonexistent dust from his shoulder. "Disappointing," he murmured, crimson eyes gleaming. "I expected more from the so-called apex of beast-kin."

The lizardmen circled him, wary now, their predatory gazes clouded with uncertainty. One, braver than the rest, flicked his tongue and hissed. "Kill him!"

They struck as one—fifteen warriors, their weapons flashing under the pale moonlight.

Shadow smiled.

A pulse of darkness erupted from him, swallowing the air in an instant. The world itself seemed to slow. Then—

He moved.

No wasted motion. No unnecessary effort. His blade—a phantom streak of abyssal violet—cut through the first warrior’s spear mid-thrust, shearing clean through flesh and bone before Shadow had even finished stepping past him. The second lunged with twin daggers—only to find Shadow already standing behind him, his blades untouched by blood, yet the lizardman’s chest now bore a deep, elegant slash.

The others hesitated.

Shadow laughed—a low, resonant sound dripping with condescension. "Oh? Is that fear in your eyes?" He extended his hand, his fingers curling. "Come, then. Show me your resolve. Or kneel."

Their pride would not allow surrender.

With a collective roar, they charged once more.

Shadow sheathed his blade.

The demi-humans had a single second to realize what had happened.

Then—

Darkness.

A sphere of absolute nothingness exploded from Shadow’s being, engulfing everything in an instant.

Silence.

And then—

The blackness dispersed.

Fifteen bodies collapsed in unison. No blood. No wounds. Their minds simply broken, their wills shattered.

Shadow exhaled, shaking his head. "Such fragile souls," he mused, striding past their lifeless forms. "Perhaps I overestimated this world’s warriors."

Shadow rolled his neck, a series of satisfying cracks breaking the eerie silence that had settled over the battlefield.

He exhaled slowly, tilting his head as he glanced around. Something was missing.

Then, he noticed.

The human forces—gone.

Only the demi-humans remained, their numbers still vast, yet now trembling. Their predatory arrogance had long since crumbled, leaving only a stark, primal fear.

Shadow’s smirk widened, his voice laced with quiet amusement.

“Oh? So the weaklings have fled… and all that remains are beasts.” His tone dipped, sharp as a blade. “How fitting. Insects scatter when the storm arrives.”

He raised a single gloved hand, fingers curling like a puppeteer tightening his grip on unseen strings. The air grew heavy. Magic crackled, reality itself distorting around him.

“Now, I suppose it’s time to introduce myself.”

He spread his arms, as if welcoming the horror that would follow.

“I am the one who stands above all.” His voice echoed, deep and resonant, carrying across the battlefield like an undeniable truth. “The shadow that consumes the arrogant, the abyss that gazes back.”

The very world seemed to shudder.

“I am the Sin Archbishop of the Witch’s Cult.”

Silence.

Then—terror.

The demi-humans’ reactions were instant.

Some recoiled, eyes wide with disbelief. Others staggered backward, their bodies trembling. A few dropped their weapons entirely, their primal instincts screaming at them to flee.

“The Witch’s Cult—?!”

“A Sin Archbishop? No… that’s impossible…!”

“Why is someone like him here…?!”

Shadow chuckled, the sound dripping with cruel amusement.

"Scared?" His smirk deepened. “You should be.”

He raised his sword.

All that's left is to drop my big announcement like that purple-haired dude would. How very chef's kiss of me.

The abyssal blade pulsed, its very existence an anomaly. Then—

Mana surged.

The battlefield trembled as all surrounding magic was wrenched from the air, drawn into a singularity above his blade. Wind howled, energy crackled, and the very fabric of the world seemed to strain under the sheer force being gathered.

Shadow’s eyes gleamed as he declared:
“I am the one who embodies absolute supremacy—Pride.”

Darkness swirled violently around him, the concentrated energy spiralling into an ever-growing vortex above his sword.

Then—he spoke.

“I… AM—”

The demi-humans broke.

They turned.

They ran.

Sheer, unrestrained terror overtook them, overriding whatever scraps of courage they had left. Beasts, lizardmen, and monsters alike trampled over each other in a desperate bid to escape.

Shadow’s smirk turned into a grin.

“—ATOMIC.”

BOOM.

The world exploded.

A blinding, violet-black flash engulfed everything. The battlefield was erased in an instant.

A pillar of destruction shot into the heavens, consuming all within its reach. The ground cracked, the swamp evaporated, and the sky itself seemed to wail as an apocalyptic force tore through existence.

For those fortunate enough to flee—

They would never forget.

The man. The shadow. The being that brought only devastation.

And the name that would forever haunt them.

Shadow, the Archbishop of Pride.

Later on...
The human soldiers returned hours later, cautiously stepping into what remained of the battlefield. Their expressions twisted between horror and awe as they took in the absolute devastation.

The ground was unrecognizable. The swamp had been reduced to a wasteland of deep craters and scorched rock. Not a single trace of demi-humans remained—only the whispers of destruction left behind by an unstoppable force.

Among them, Cid walked.

He moved with a practised stagger, his steps uneven, his breathing ragged. His once-pristine armour was stained with dirt and blood—though, of course, none of it was actually his. He clutched his side, faking an injury, blending seamlessly into the ranks of the wounded.

As he passed a group of shaken soldiers, he caught snippets of their conversation.

"I-I still can't believe it… That wasn't normal magic. That was something else entirely."

"A Sin Archbishop… The Witch's Cult is involved now… and not just any Archbishop—Pride. The sheer destruction… He wiped them out like insects."

"Did you see that explosion?! It was like the wrath of a god itself!"

Cid, still walking with an exaggerated limp, hid his growing grin. He kept his head slightly lowered, but inwardly, he was radiating satisfaction.

Yes. Yes! This is perfect!

The legend of Shadow was already taking root. His presence—his performance—had shattered the very concept of battle for these soldiers.

And he?

He was just a humble, wounded survivor.

Suppressing his excitement, Cid exhaled and turned toward the barracks.

As he entered the medical barracks, his gaze locked onto a particular sight.

Wilhelm.

The young swordsman lay unconscious on a cot, bandages wrapped around his torso, his breathing slow but steady. Around him, medics worked tirelessly, tending to the countless wounded.

Cid's eyes gleamed.

That guy looked cool.

Even when faced with an overwhelming force, Wilhelm had not faltered. His stance, his resolve—it was admirable.

He’s got potential.

Glancing around to make sure no one was looking, Cid took a silent step forward. The air around him stilled as he reached out, pressing his palm against Wilhelm’s chest.

A whisper of dark energy flowed from his fingertips, sinking into Wilhelm’s body. The wounds, once deep and life-threatening, began to close instantly. Muscles repaired, bones realigned—every trace of injury was erased in an instant.

Then—

Wilhelm’s eyes snapped open.

He gasped, his body jerking upright as if he had just been pulled from the depths of a nightmare. His breath was ragged, his eyes wide with shock.

He looked down at himself.

His hands trembled as they ran over his once-wounded torso—now completely healed. Not a single scratch remained. In fact…

He clenched his fist.

Stronger.

He felt stronger.

"How…" Wilhelm whispered, his mind racing. "How is this possible…?"

He looked around frantically, searching for an answer—searching for someone.

But there was no one there.

Only the fading echo of a presence long gone.

In the shadows...
Cid stood outside, watching from the darkness.

A smug grin played on his lips as he turned away, hands in his pockets.

"Heh," he murmured, voice low. "Looks like my masterpiece is done here."

He exhaled slowly, his crimson gaze lifting toward the horizon. The sky, now tinged with the eerie afterglow of his own making, stretched endlessly before him.

His lips curled into a small, amused smirk.

“Well… I suppose it wouldn’t be bad if I tried that portal again.”

Chapter 8: The Amnesiac and the Repeater

Cid Kageno walked through the dense forest, his boots crunching against the fallen leaves and twigs beneath him. Towering trees surrounded him, their thick canopies casting shifting shadows over the sunlit ground. The air was crisp, tinged with the scent of earth and greenery, but none of it was familiar to him.

He stopped in his tracks, scanning his surroundings with a blank expression.

Yeah… this still isn’t Midgar.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, contemplating the situation.

That portal must have sent me somewhere else again.

Letting out a slow sigh, he resumed walking, hands in his pockets. "Maybe I should just blow up the whole world and see if it resets or something," he muttered, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather.

Before he could entertain the thought further, his instincts flared. He halted. Something was coming.

A moment later, rustling filled the air, followed by low, guttural growls. From the depths of the forest, large wolf-like creatures emerged, their brown and black hides bristling with hostility. Their razor-sharp fangs glistened with saliva, and jagged spikes jutted out of their backs. Red eyes locked onto him with predatory intent, and each of them bore a single spike-like horn on their snout.

Cid slowly glanced around, noting how they had encircled him. Then, a smirk played at the corner of his lips.

"Hah… Looks like these puppies aren’t too happy to see me."

One of the creatures lunged first, its jagged teeth aiming straight for Cid’s throat. Without a hint of urgency, he tilted his head to the side, letting it sail past him. The beast crashed into the dirt behind him, growling in frustration as it scrambled back to its feet.

Cid barely spared it a glance. Instead, he smirked and muttered, "Heh… this brings back memories."

Another lunged from his left. He casually sidestepped, stuffing his hands into his pockets as the creature landed where he had been a second ago.

"Back when I was in elementary school in Japan," he continued as if giving a lecture, "some kid got attacked by stray dogs near the park."

Three more leapt at him in quick succession. He twisted his body slightly, letting them pass like a gust of wind, their claws swiping at empty air. He didn’t even look at them.

"That was my first attempt at being the mysterious guy who saves the day." His voice carried a hint of nostalgia, yet his expression remained indifferent.

The creatures grew more agitated. They stopped hesitating. In unison, they lunged at him from all directions.

Cid’s eyes flickered with amusement. "But… things went horribly wrong."

His foot snapped out, slamming into the first creature’s jaw, sending it spiralling through the air. "One. Three stitches on my forehead."

The next tried to bite his leg—he kicked it in the ribs, flipping it midair. "Two. Four stitches on my right arm."

Another dove from behind—he spun, driving his heel into its snout. "Three. Two stitches on my left cheek."

They kept coming. He moved like a shadow, weaving through the chaos, each precise kick, sending them tumbling away.

"Four. Two stitches on my knee."
"Five. Three stitches on my palm—don’t ask."

"Six. Five stitches on my back. That one sucked."

One last beast lunged in desperation, and it's maw wide open.

Cid sighed. "Seven." His foot struck its head with a dull thud, and it collapsed in a heap.

He exhaled, adjusting his cuffs as the creatures lay groaning around him. "And after all that, the kid I saved didn’t even remember my name the next day. Hah… classic."

Cid casually rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension leave his body as he stepped over the groaning beasts. However, before he could fully appreciate his handiwork, more rustling came from the dense forest.

He sighed and glanced up.

From the shadows emerged a second wave of creatures.

Cid blinked. Then he let out a soft chuckle.

"Oh wow… the starter zone mobs have arrived. What’s next? A tutorial pop-up telling me how to swing a stick?" He smirked. "Or maybe a village elder asking me to gather five of their hides?"

As he muttered to himself, he suddenly paused. A strange sensation crawled up his spine—not the usual thrill of battle, but something deeper. Something unnatural.

He closed his eyes, allowing his senses to stretch outward. And then he felt it.

A presence.

Something… or someone… was controlling these creatures. Their movements weren’t random aggression; they had a purpose, a direction.

He smirked. "Hah. So, someone’s pulling the strings, huh? That makes things more interesting."

As if responding to his realization, the creatures charged all at once.

Cid exhaled slowly.

Then he moved.

A blur. A ghost. A shadow cutting through the battlefield.

Before the first beast could reach him, his hand casually flicked forward, a tiny black needle slipping from his sleeve and piercing the creature’s forehead. No sound, no struggle—it dropped instantly.

Two more lunged—he sidestepped and, with a mere flick of his fingers, sent a shockwave rippling through the air, hurling them back like ragdolls.

A pack of five came at him together.

Cid tilted his head.

"Okay, let’s try something new."

He bent his knees slightly—then vanished.

A moment later, he reappeared above them, upside down, mid-air, with a relaxed grin. "Surprise."

He casually swung his foot in a lazy arc, and a dark crescent of energy shot downward, cutting through the creatures with a muffled whump.

They collapsed.

He landed softly, hands still in his pockets. "Hah… that was kinda fun."

The battlefield was still. The creatures, whether groaning in pain or knocked unconscious, were utterly defeated.

Except for one.

A lone straggler stood frozen at the edge of the clearing, staring at Cid with wide, trembling eyes.

Cid slowly turned to face it.

The creature whimpered.

Then it ran.

Cid watched it disappear into the forest before shaking his head. "Yeah… these events are just rolling in one after another. Not that I’m complaining, but whoever’s directing this should at least try to get some build-up going." He sighed, stretching his arms. "Jumping straight from one encounter to the next is kinda lazy writing, don’t you think?"

He took a step forward.

Then he froze.

His eyes widened slightly.

"Wait."

A thought struck him.

What if… he was taking the wrong approach to this?

What if just going with the flow wasn’t enough?

What if… he actually needed to get involved to escape this madness?

"Well… guess I better start playing along."

The real game was about to begin.

 

Later on...
Subaru drew his broken sword as the massive wolf-like creature, way bigger than others, roared before him. He charged forward, putting all his strength behind his attack.

“—SHAMAAAAK!!”

A thick black mist exploded around him, swallowing Subaru and the beasts in complete darkness. Inside, the world became incomprehensible—no sight, no sound, only the ground beneath his feet.

Trapped in the void, he forced himself to focus. His body burned with exhaustion, but he pressed forward, searching for his target. Suddenly, his blade struck something solid—the demon beast’s chest.

Emerging from the darkness, he saw the creature still stuck inside, unaware of its fatal wound. The unsettling sensation of piercing flesh lingered in Subaru’s hand, but he had no time to dwell on it.

As he tried to escape, a claw slashed his thigh, and before he could react, the beast grabbed him by the neck. Hoisted into the air, Subaru faced the creature’s gaping maw.

“Damn it all…!”

With a desperate roar, he yanked the sword free and drove it into the beast’s mouth. The monster flung him away, howling in agony. Subaru hit the ground hard but still managed to taunt it, grinning despite his bloodied state.

Before the final clash could begin, a sudden blast of fire engulfed the demon beast.

“—Ulgoa.”

Subaru shielded himself from the heat as the massive flames consumed his enemy. When the fire died, only charred remains were left.

More fiery projectiles rained down, burning away the black mist and exterminating the remaining creatures.

“My, myyy, such an impact from a simple smokescreen spell.”

Descending from the sky with an amused smile was Roswaal, the kingdom’s most powerful magic user.

Subaru, drained and barely standing, glared at him.

“You’re super late, Rozchi. I thought I was gonna die—multiple times.”

Roswaal chuckled, explaining that Emilia had guessed Subaru would use magic when desperate, so he had watched from above.

Before Subaru could respond, a familiar voice called out.

“Master Roswaal—!”

Ram appeared, supporting a weakened Rem. Seeing them safe, Subaru finally exhaled in relief.

“—Subaru!”

Rem rushed forward, embracing him tightly.

The forest clearing, still smouldering from Roswaal’s flames, fell into silence. The aftermath of the battle lingered in the air—charred remains of the creatures, the faint scent of burning fur, and the exhaustion weighing down on everyone.

Then, the sound of unsteady footsteps.

Shuffle… step… shuffle… step…

A shadowy figure emerged from the tree line, staggering forward. His clothes were tattered, his face smeared with blood and dirt. His right arm hung limply at his side, and deep gashes lined his torso. His breathing was ragged, each step looking like it could be his last.

Cid Kageno.

Golden chance staring me in the face.

Gotta play it cool, cosy up to the other characters, and figure my way outta this mess.

He barely managed to lift his head, his crimson-stained lips parting as he muttered weakly, "H-Help… me…"

Then, his legs buckled. He dropped to one knee, barely catching himself on the ground.

The sight of the wounded figure drew everyone’s attention.

Roswaal’s eyes widened slightly before his usual smile returned, though with a glint of interest. "Ohhh myyy, this is quite a suuurprise~ I didn’t expect to see another guy here of all places."

Subaru, still catching his breath from the battle, squinted at the stranger. He had no idea who this guy was, but the sheer amount of blood on him was enough to make his stomach turn.

He clenched his teeth. "Damn it… He looks way worse than me!" Despite the pain in his body, Subaru tried to push himself up. "We have to help him!"

But before he could even take a full step forward, Rem was already at his side, holding him back. "Subaru-kun, you mustn’t move! Your injuries are just as severe—you’re in no condition to help anyone."

Subaru gritted his teeth. "That doesn’t mean we should just leave him like that!" His eyes locked onto Cid, who now barely seemed conscious. "If we don’t do something, he’ll—"

Before he could finish, Cid’s body swayed.

Gonna play the hurt guy to get inside. Works like a charm.

Good thing I studied these dogs—they drain your mana when they bite, so passing out? Totally believable. Perfect excuse.

Then, with a final exhale, he collapsed face-first into the dirt.

"HEY!!" Subaru shouted, eyes wide in panic.

Rem gasped, immediately shifting her focus to the fallen figure. Even Roswaal, who usually kept his amusement in dire situations, tilted his head with mild curiosity.

Subaru clenched his fists.

There was no time to hesitate. Whether this guy was a friend, foe, or some wandering lunatic, none of it mattered.

Right now, he needed help.

Later on...
Cid’s consciousness drifted somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, the lingering sensations of pain and exhaustion fading into a distant blur. Then, slowly, his eyes cracked open.

Above him stretched an unfamiliar ceiling—ornate, pristine, and far too elegant to belong to some rundown inn or a random village shack. The polished wooden beams and intricate golden patterns lining the corners practically screamed wealth.

He blinked once, then let out a quiet chuckle.

Heh… I managed to get through the first steps way too easily.

Lifting himself up slightly, he glanced down at his body, taking note of his condition. His once-tattered clothes had been changed into a comfortable nightshirt, and while faint scars remained, the deep wounds and torn flesh from before were almost completely gone.

"Hah… impressive. They managed to heal me this much?" He flexed his fingers, feeling only mild stiffness rather than the agony he had expected.

His gaze shifted around the room. Every inch of it exuded refinement—the plush red velvet curtains, the massive wooden wardrobe, the polished marble floors, and the large bed he was lying on.

Yeah… this definitely belongs to a rich man.

As he was contemplating his situation, the door suddenly swung open with a loud creak.

Standing in the doorway was a young man with black hair and brown eyes, dressed in a neatly pressed butler uniform.

It was Subaru Natsuki.

The two locked eyes.

A beat of silence.

Then, Subaru’s expression twisted into shock. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again like a fish out of water before he finally blurted out:

"Wait, YOU’RE AWAKE?!"

Cid tilted his head. "…Yeah?"

This dude seems super scrawny, but why do I feel like I’m lowkey underestimating him?

Subaru immediately rushed toward him—only to make a strangled, pained noise as his own body protested against the sudden movement. He clutched his side, groaning dramatically.

"Ahhh, crap, that was a bad idea—ow, ow, ow!"

Cid raised an eyebrow. "You okay there?"

Subaru gritted his teeth through the pain. "You’re the one who was dying yesterday, and you’re asking me that?!"

Before Cid could respond, another figure entered the room.

A girl with medium-length sky-blue hair that covered her right eye, large light blue eyes, and delicate features. She wore a maid outfit and carried a gentle yet firm presence.

It was Rem.

She's giving major romcom energy—childhood friend vibes, always the second option. Classic.

The moment she stepped in, her gaze immediately landed on Subaru, who was still grimacing. Her cheeks puffed out slightly in an adorable pout.

"Subaru-kun, you mustn’t overwork yourself," she scolded, placing her hands on her hips.

"H-Hey, it’s not my fault! This guy just—" Subaru gestured wildly at Cid, who simply stared at them.

However, when Rem finally turned her attention to the bed, her expression shifted. Her eyes widened slightly, surprised to see Cid awake.

"Oh… you’re conscious."

"I guess so."

Rem studied him carefully before glancing at Subaru, then back at Cid. Her cautious yet curious gaze lingered as if trying to assess what kind of person he was.

Meanwhile, Cid leaned back against the headboard, watching them both.

So… I have been healed, brought to a noble’s mansion, and I am now being attended to by a butler and a maid.

Subaru let out a dramatic sigh as he plopped into a chair beside Cid’s bed, crossing his arms and furrowing his brows in deep thought. Then, with zero hesitation, he leaned forward and blurted out,

"Alright, first question—what’s your deal?"

Cid raised an eyebrow. "…Huh?"

"You know, your deal! Like, why were you dying in the middle of the forest? Were you fighting some secret war against shadowy enemies? Did you challenge a demon beast just for fun? Or wait—are you secretly the lost prince of a fallen kingdom who’s been hiding his identity this whole time?" Subaru’s eyes practically sparkled with excitement as he listed out each possibility, completely ignoring any sense of tact.

Cid blinked. "…What?"

"Okay, okay, let’s dial it back. Next question—what’s your favourite food?"

"…Huh?"

"Don’t just ‘huh’ me! I’m trying to get to know you, man! Come on, throw me a bone here!" Subaru gestured wildly, looking entirely too invested in this impromptu interrogation.

Before Cid could respond, a sigh echoed through the room.

"Subaru-kun," Rem’s voice was as sweet as honey but carried the sharpness of a well-polished dagger.

Subaru instantly stiffened, his face paling. "U-uh… Rem-chan?"

The blue-haired maid stood beside him with her hands firmly on her hips, her expression equal parts scolding and exasperated. "This is not the way you should treat someone in that condition. He has just woken up from a near-death state. You should not bombard him with nonsense."

Subaru fidgeted in his chair. "B-but I wasn’t trying to be rude! It’s just—!" He hesitated for a moment before scratching the back of his head with a sheepish grin. "I dunno… I just feel like this guy, and I have a lot in common. Just from a first glance, y’know?"

Cid tilted his head slightly, eyeing Subaru with an unreadable expression.

Subaru suddenly stood up, clearing his throat before dramatically placing a hand over his chest. "Ahem! My deepest apologies for my unruly behaviour," he declared in an exaggeratedly formal voice. "I was simply overexcited by the prospect of making a new friend! Allow me to correct my previous misstep with a proper introduction."

With a flourish, he bowed deeply, his arm sweeping outward as if he were a noble greeting royalty. "I am Natsuki Subaru! A man of unparalleled charm, wit, and occasionally questionable luck!" He peeked up with a smirk. "At your service, dear sir."

Subaru Natsuki?! Super Japanese name. What if he’s like me—another world hopper?

Uh-oh, this dude could totally wreck my plans.

Rem smiled and gave a small nod. "That was better, Subaru-kun."

Then, with flawless grace, she performed a perfect curtsy, her every movement exuding professionalism. "And I am Rem, a humble servant of the Roswaal mansion. It is a pleasure to meet you."

Subaru shot Cid a glance. "Alright, your turn, buddy. What’s your name?"

Cid’s eyes slightly narrowed. Internally, he smirked.

So… this is where the next step begins.

Before he could answer, he suddenly flinched, his hand moving to clutch his forehead. His entire body trembled as he winced in apparent pain. "Agh… my head…"

Subaru’s eyes widened in alarm. "Oi, oi! You okay?!"

Cid let out a shaky breath, his voice weak. "I… I can’t remember…" His fingers dug into his temple, as if struggling to grasp something slipping through his mind.

Rem’s expression turned serious, stepping closer. "You mean… your memory?"

Cid gave a slow, uncertain nod. "I… I don’t know who I am… except…" He closed his eyes for a moment before whispering, "Lucien. That’s the only name that comes to mind…"

To blend in here without spilling too much about my Shadow persona, I cooked up a whole new persona—total opposite of Shadow. Solid plan, if I do say so myself.

Subaru and Rem exchanged glances.

Subaru crossed his arms. "Lucien, huh…? Sounds kinda fancy."

Rem, however, looked more concerned. "Memory loss is a serious matter, Subaru-kun. We should inform Master Roswaal immediately."

Subaru nodded before turning back to Cid—no, Lucien. "Well, Lucien, buddy, don’t worry. You’ve got me, and that means you’re in good hands! We’ll figure this out together!" He gave a confident thumbs-up.

Cid—Lucien—looked down for a moment before slowly smirking.

Hah… perfect.

Everything was falling into place.

Notes:

So Cid Kageno—oops, I mean Lucien—just stumbled into the main plot. Now he’s winging it with a fresh “strategy.” Will he nail the whole “blending in” thing or just accidentally nuke the storyline?

Stay tuned.

Chapter 9: A Shadow in Roswaal Manor

Cid Kageno—now known as Lucien in this world—lay in bed, his head resting against a soft pillow as Roswaal worked his magic, analyzing him with a faint glow of mana. The room was dimly lit, the only sounds being the hum of magical energy and the occasional crackle of the fireplace. Subaru and Rem stood close by, watching with concern.

Damn, I didn't think they'd actually check my head that thoroughly.

Good thing I've already perfected the art of self-inflicted damage.

After a few more moments, Roswaal’s magic faded, and he pulled his hands back. With a knowing smile, he said, “It’s juuust as I thought.”

Subaru immediately leaned in. “Oi, don’t leave us hanging! What’s the verdict, Doc?"

Roswaal shook his head. “No, no, nothing quite draaamatic. Our dear Lucien here has suffered a strooong concussion. The damage is primarily around the hippocampus and frontal lobe—meaning his ability to reeeecall personal memories has been compromised.”

Subaru crossed his arms and sighed. “So basically, he got the classic anime protagonist amnesia package."

Cid—or rather, Lucien—sat up slightly, his expression blank. “…So, uh… what do I do now?”

Roswaal folded his hands behind his back and gave Lucien (Cid) a thoughtful look. “The best course of action wooould be to let your memories return naturally. Forcing them could cause unneeeecessary stress or even hinder the process. So, nooo rash decisions, hmm?”

Rem, standing beside Subaru, nodded gently. “But if you were able to remember your name, then there’s a chance you’ll recall more with time. It’s not hopeless.”

Subaru, however, frowned, crossing his arms. “Yeah, but isn’t it kinda dangerous for him to just wander around not knowing a thing?”

Roswaal chuckled, stepping away and stretching dramatically. “It seeems my manor has become quite the attraction for lost boys these days. First Subaru, and now you, Lucien-kun.”

Nice, everything’s falling into place. Now I just gotta play my cards right, and they’ll let me stick around.

Cid—no, Lucien—looked at Roswaal seriously. He clenched the bedsheets for a moment before lowering his head. “Then… please let me stay here. I’ll find a way to repay you once I get my memories back.”

Roswaal smirked, tilting his head. “Ohooo, begging already?” He let out a small laugh before waving his hand dismissively. “Buuut! Since I am feeeling generous as always, I suppose I’ll allow you to live here until your memories return.”

Subaru suddenly jumped, grabbing Cid’s hand with a grin. “Alright, that settles it! Welcome to Casa de Roswaal, officially!”

Lucien blinked, staring at Subaru’s hand before hesitantly shaking it.

Later on...
Subaru clapped his hands together and grinned. “Alright, Lucien! Time for the official grand tour around here, brought to you by yours truly, Subaru Natsuki!”

Lucien (Cid) gave him a blank look. “…I have a feeling this is going to be weird.”

Subaru gasped, clutching his chest. “Weird?! I’ll have you know, my tours are legendary!” He draped an arm around Lucien’s shoulders and dramatically gestured down the hallway. “Now, my dear amnesiac, feast your eyes upon the marvels of this place!”

Cid raised an eyebrow. “That… that doesn’t sound convincing.”

Subaru ignored him and pointed at the first room. “Behold! The grand dining hall, where we feast like kings—unless it’s Ram's cooking day, then we feast like peasants. Moving on!”

He led Cid down another corridor, throwing open a door with a flourish. “And here! The famous library of infinite wisdom! And by that, I mean, don’t touch anything unless you want a certain little gremlin to erase your existence.”

Cid tilted his head. “Little gremlin?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll meet Beako later. Just, y’know, don’t expect a warm welcome.” Subaru waved a hand dismissively before leading Cid down another hallway. “Aaaand here’s the laundry room! A sacred place where even the mightiest warriors must bow to the power of soap.”

Cid narrowed his eyes. “…Why did you say that so dramatically?”

“Because laundry is serious business.”

Honestly, I’m less into Subaru’s words and more curious about what I’m not catching about him.

Before Cid could reply, a soft, melodic voice interrupted them.

“Subaru? What are you doing?”

Both turned to see a breathtaking young woman standing at the end of the hallway. She had long, silver hair that shimmered in the dim light, her purple-blue eyes filled with curiosity. She wore an elegant white and purple outfit, a small white flower resting in her hair.

Of course there’s that one character who’s basically screaming “main cast energy” here.

Subaru immediately straightened up, placing a hand over his chest as if struck by divine light. “Ah, the heavens have blessed us with your presence! The one, the only, the incomparable Emilia-tan!”

Emilia blinked. “…Subaru, you didn’t have to overdo it.”

Lucien stared at her for a moment.

Subaru smirked and elbowed him. “Right? But hands off, buddy. Anyway! Emilia, meet Lucien! Lucien, meet Emilia!”

Emilia gave a gentle smile. “Oh so you're Lucien. It’s nice to meet you. I hope you regain your memories soon.” Then, she tilted her head slightly. “For a second, I almost mistook you for another butler.”

Cid blinked. “Another butler?”

Emilia nodded. “Yes, we have one here already. But anyway, I should go now. It was nice meeting you!” She gave a small wave before walking off gracefully.

Here’s my shot—my golden ticket to slide right into the main story.

Time to channel my inner classy butler: all finesse, all style. Let’s do this.

As soon as she was gone, Subaru turned to Cid—only to find him frozen in place, his hands clenched into fists, eyes wide with excitement.

“…Uh, you good there, buddy?”

Cid suddenly spun to face Subaru, practically vibrating with energy. “Subaru. I have made my decision.” He pointed dramatically at Subaru. “I want to become a butler here.”

Subaru blinked. “…What.”

“I must become a butler,” Cid repeated, eyes burning with determination.

Subaru sighed, rubbing his temples. “Oh boy… What have I gotten myself into?”

Later on...
Subaru and Cid stood in front of Ram, who had her arms crossed, looking down at them with her usual unimpressed expression. Her pink hair swayed slightly as she sighed, already tired of whatever nonsense Subaru had dragged in this time.

“…What’s going on here?” she asked, her tone flat.

Subaru puffed out his chest and gestured toward Cid. “Well, you see, dear Ram, our new guest here, Lucien, has decided to dedicate his life to the noble and prestigious profession of butler-ing! He wishes to work here under your guidance!”

Ram blinked once, then slowly turned her head away, as if the sheer ridiculousness of Subaru’s statement was physically painful. “Hah… Ever since Barusu became a butler, the standards of this manor have truly plummeted.”

Subaru gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. “Oi, oi, that’s uncalled for! I’ll have you know, I am an excellent butler! Emilia-tan herself said—”

“—that you spill tea at least twice a week,” Ram interrupted smoothly.

Subaru flinched. “Th-that was one time—”

“—per day,” Ram added mercilessly.

Subaru threw his hands up. “Okay, listen here, you pink-haired menace—”

Before he could finish, something unexpected happened.

Without anyone noticing, Cid had moved. In a single fluid motion, he took Ram’s delicate hand into his own, his grip gentle yet firm.

She’s got that grumpy vibe, but bet she’s got a soft spot for surprises.

Ram’s eyes widened slightly in surprise.

Subaru blinked. “Oi, oi, how did you move that fast?!”

Cid, ignoring Subaru’s outburst, gazed into Ram’s eyes with a composed expression. Then, with the elegance of a seasoned nobleman, he bowed his head slightly and spoke in a smooth, refined voice.

“Ah, Lady Ram, your beauty is akin to a finely crafted jewel—one that radiates an effortless grace, even in moments of displeasure. If I may be so bold, to serve under you would be both an honor and an education in true refinement.”

There was a brief silence.

Ram stared at him, clearly caught off guard. Subaru, meanwhile, was staring at Cid with his jaw slightly open.

“…Dude,” Subaru muttered, “that was kinda smooth.”

Ram, regaining her composure, narrowed her eyes. She pulled her hand back, her usual indifferent expression returning, though there was the faintest hint of red on her cheeks.

“Hmph. Flattery will get you nowhere,” she said, though she quickly turned on her heel before either of them could see her reaction. “If you truly wish to become a butler, you will have to prove yourself. And do try not to be as useless as Barusu.”

Subaru scowled. “You could’ve just said the first part…”

As Ram walked away, Cid straightened his posture, his eyes gleaming. “This… this is my calling.”

After a few moments...
Inside the changing room, Cid stood with his arms crossed, surveying the various butler outfits hanging neatly on the racks. Ram, standing beside him with a tape measure in hand, let out a small sigh.

“We need to create a costume fit for you,” she said, already sounding tired. “Can’t have you looking like a third-rate servant.”

Cid smirked, stepping forward and running his fingers across the fabric of one of the uniforms.

“I want a coat with a tailcoat cut—sharp, dignified, but with just enough flow to give an air of effortless elegance. Dark colors, but accented with silver embroidery. The vest should be fitted, emphasizing the silhouette, and the gloves should be of the finest material, perfectly tailored to allow precise movement. A true butler’s uniform must balance function with presence, embodying both servitude and silent authority.”

Ram arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed but mildly intrigued. “You certainly have a refined taste for costumes, especially for someone who supposedly doesn’t remember who he is.”

Cid stiffened for a fraction of a second before letting out a small, forced chuckle. “W-Well, you see, my preferences work like some kind of instinct. Even without my memories, I just… know what feels right.”

Dang, this girl’s too sharp—like a knife in a balloon factory.

Ram gave him a long, scrutinizing look, then shrugged. “Anyway.” She lifted the measuring tape in her hands. “Strip.”

“Alright,” Cid replied instantly, already unbuttoning his shirt without hesitation.

Ram blinked. “Hah… You didn’t even give it a second thought before stripping in front of a girl.”

Cid continued undoing his shirt, completely unfazed. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about when it comes to one’s body. We should be proud of it the way it is.”

Ram tilted her head slightly, then glanced at her own chest. A smirk played on her lips. “Hmph. I get what you’re saying a lot.”

Ram then continued nonchalantly, “Still, you don’t actually need to go naked. It’s fine to measure you with a few clothes on.”

Cid stopped mid-motion, his shirt half-off. “…You could’ve said that earlier.”

Ram smirked. “You didn’t ask.”

The next day...
The manor's garden was peaceful, bathed in the soft golden light of the morning sun.

Sitting on a wooden bench near a small fountain, Emilia turned a page in her book, her delicate fingers gliding across the paper. She enjoyed these quiet moments, where she could immerse herself in stories without distractions.

Just as she reached the next paragraph, a smooth voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Good morning, Lady Emilia."

She blinked and looked up. Standing before her was Lucien—Cid—dressed in a pristine butler uniform. His tailored dark coat, accented with silver embroidery, caught the morning light just right, and the white gloves on his hands added to the air of refinement. With a graceful motion, he lifted a silver tray, revealing a steaming cup of tea.

Watch this move: charm the main girl, score points as her butler, she slides in a good word to the boss, and boom—raise secured.

"Lady Rem has requested that I deliver this to you," he said with a composed expression, bowing slightly.

Emilia tilted her head in surprise before smiling. "Oh? So you're really working as a butler now?" She placed a ribbon in her book to mark the page and set it aside before accepting the tea.

Cid placed a hand over his chest, his posture perfect. "It is my honor to serve here until my memories return, Lady Emilia. If I may be so bold, please do not hesitate to rely on me for anything you require."

Emilia giggled lightly. "You're really getting into it, huh?"

Before Cid could respond, a voice chimed in from above.

"Oho~ A new butler, huh? Heh, I wonder how long you'll last."

Cid turned his head to see the source of the voice—Puck. The small spirit floated lazily in the air, his feline-like body relaxed as he hovered near Emilia's shoulder. His light grey and white fur almost shimmered in the morning sun, and his bright aqua-blue eyes held a teasing glint.

Ah, the adorable little chaos gremlin—solely here for laughs and to empty your wallet with merch.

"Puck, don’t be rude," Emilia scolded gently before smiling. "Lucien, this is Puck. He’s my guardian spirit and closest friend."

Puck stretched out a tiny paw, his grin widening. "Nice to meet ya, kid. I'm the Great Spirit who other's know as the Beast of the End, Puck." His tone was playful, but there was a distinct air of challenge in his voice.

I sense his power, but comedy characters always break the scale. It's all about chaos, not math.

Cid, unfazed, smirked slightly before clasping a hand behind his back. His next words came out smoothly, as if he had been waiting for this exact moment.

"Then I'm Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor of the French, King of Italy, Protector of the Confederation of the Rhine, and Mediator of the Swiss Confederation," Cid declared confidently, his sharp gaze locking onto Puck’s.

For a few seconds, the two held a silent stare-off, as if engaging in a battle of wills.

Emilia, watching them, blinked in confusion. "...Um, are you two fighting? I feel like you're fighting."

Then, without warning, Puck suddenly burst into laughter. He clutched his belly midair, his tiny body shaking with mirth. "Pffft—hahaha! Okay, okay, I like this guy!"

Emilia sighed in relief. "Geez, don’t scare me like that."

Puck floated closer to Cid, his eyes still twinkling with amusement. "You’ve got some guts, Lucien. I respect that."

Cid smirked and straightened his tie. "A butler must always carry himself with dignity, after all."

Emilia giggled again, taking a sip of her tea. "I have a feeling things won’t be boring with you around."

As the morning sun cast a warm glow over the garden, a familiar voice broke the peaceful atmosphere.

"Good morning! What’s up, my favorite heroine and our brand-new shiny butler?"

Subaru strolled in, hands behind his head, his usual cocky grin plastered across his face.

Puck, without missing a beat, snickered. "Oh look, it's the tea-spiller-in-chief. What, you here to drop something again?"

Subaru gasped in mock outrage, clutching his chest. "Puck, my fluffball of wisdom! How could you wound me so deeply?"

Puck smirked. "Just stating facts, champ."

Emilia giggled behind her teacup while Cid merely observed the exchange with mild amusement.

Clearing his throat, Subaru turned to Cid. "Anyway, Lucien, you’ve got a mission. Ram told me to pass this message to you. Ahem." He took a dramatic pose and deepened his voice to imitate Ram’s tone.

"If you want to be a real butler, you must start from the absolute basics. That means training under me. And if you embarrass me with your incompetence, I will personally ensure you suffer a fate worse than Barusu’s daily existence."

Subaru shuddered. "Man, even repeating that gave me chills."

Cid bowed deeply, placing a hand over his chest. "It would be my greatest honor to receive Lady Ram’s guidance. A butler must always strive for perfection, and I shall endeavor to meet her expectations."

Puck, floating lazily in the air, snorted. "Wow, Subaru, look at this guy. So refined, so composed. And here I thought you were the manor’s butler, but I guess you’re just the comedy relief now."

Subaru scowled. "Oh, come on! He’s been a butler for like, what, a day? I’ve been at this for ages!"

Puck grinned. "And yet, he’s already making more moves on Lia than you ever did."

Subaru froze. Emilia blinked in confusion.

“Hold on,” Subaru started, forcing a laugh, “let’s just take a step back here. Did I just hear that correctly? You’re saying he’s making more moves on Emilia than me? After all the blood, sweat, and everything I’ve been through?"

Puck floated lazily, smirking. “Mhm.”

Subaru placed a hand on his chest, staggering back like he had just been struck. “And you’re saying this guy—” He dramatically pointed at Cid, who merely raised an eyebrow. “—who just showed up yesterday, who’s literally amnesiac, who—who probably doesn’t even know Emilia’s favourite colour—he’s outdoing me?!”

Puck nodded. “Yep.”

Subaru let out a wheeze. He turned to Emilia, eyes pleading. “Emilia-tan. Emilia-tan. Please, tell me this is some sort of cruel joke. A divine test, maybe? Surely, surely, you don’t think he’s cooler than me.”

Emilia blinked, caught off guard. “Huh? Cooler?”

Subaru gulped. He had walked straight into a minefield.

Puck grinned wider. “Oh yeah, Lia. Who do you think is cooler? Subaru or Lucien?”

Emilia tilted her head, finger resting on her chin in thought.

Subaru’s soul was on the verge of leaving his body.

“Well,” Emilia said after a moment, “I think you both have your own charms.”

Subaru grabbed his chest like he’d been shot. “Own charms?!”

“Oh no,” Puck chuckled, “she hit you with the ‘you have a nice personality’ response.”

Subaru dramatically dropped to his knees. “This… this is it. This is my villain origin story.”

Meanwhile, Cid observed the entire exchange with mild amusement. Then, ever so casually, he adjusted his tie and looked at Subaru. “I simply believe that a butler must uphold the highest standards of elegance and composure. Naturally, it is only right to serve Lady Emilia with the utmost care and respect.”

Subaru squinted at him. “That’s just fancy talk for ‘I’m better than you,’ isn’t it?”

Cid smiled slightly. “I would never say such a thing.”

Subaru groaned, running a hand down his face. “Unbelievable. I finally get another guy around here, and instead of being a bro, he’s just effortlessly dunking on me without even trying.”

Emilia, trying to salvage the situation, patted Subaru’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Subaru. You’re still very… um… unique.”

Subaru looked at her, completely dead inside.

Puck snickered. “That’s basically just another way of saying ‘you’re special in your own way,’ you know.”

Cid, still exuding an air of effortless refinement, gave a final bow. “Well then, I must take my leave. A butler’s duties are never done, after all.” He turned on his heel with impeccable posture and strode away, his coat billowing slightly with each step.

As soon as he was gone, Puck wasted no time. With a wide, mischievous grin, he floated around Subaru like a tiny specter of mockery. “Well, well, well. Subaru, my guy, you’ve got some competition.”

Subaru sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Here we go…”

Subaru opened his mouth again to argue, but Emilia suddenly let out a quiet giggle.

“…Et tu, Emilia-tan?” Subaru muttered, holding his heart in mock betrayal.

Emilia smiled behind her teacup. “I think it’s funny.”

Subaru groaned, rubbing his temples. “Man, you guys are ruthless.”

Puck stretched out his tiny paws. “Hey, I just call it how I see it. And what I see is a guy who’s starting to sweat over the presence of another butler.”

But to Puck’s surprise, Subaru just let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “Nah, I don’t actually hate the guy.”

Puck blinked. “Oh?”

Subaru leaned back, resting his hands behind his head. “I mean, yeah, he’s got that whole ‘mystery cool guy’ thing going for him, and he’s got this whole butler act down to a T, but… I dunno. He doesn’t seem like the type to actually hit on Emilia-tan like that.”

Puck narrowed his eyes playfully. “And how would you know? You’ve barely known him for more than a day.”

Subaru grinned. “It’s called a hunch.” He tapped his temple. “And I like to follow them.”

Puck tilted his head, then let out a small laugh. “Hah. You really are something else, Subaru.”

Later on...
The midday sun shone through the grand windows of Roswaal Manor, casting long, golden streaks across the marble floor. In the grand hall, Cid stood alone, carefully polishing a silver candelabrum.

“Yo, Lucien! Need a hand?”

Cid stilled. He didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was. With a sigh, he continued polishing without looking up. “That won’t be necessary.”

But Subaru, ever persistent, was already grabbing a cloth from a nearby table. “Too late, buddy! I’m already helping. You don’t get a say in the matter.”

Cid frowned slightly, glancing sideways. Subaru had picked up another silver candelabrum and was wiping it down with all the expertise of a man who had definitely never done this properly before. His strokes were too broad, leaving streaks behind.

“…That’s not how you polish silver,” Cid commented dryly.

Subaru scoffed. “Hey, hey, I’ll have you know I’m a veteran butler, alright? I’ve been working here way longer than you.”

Cid’s lips twitched. “A veteran who spills tea at least twice a week?”

Subaru flinched. “Okay, first of all, that statistic is a blatant exaggeration. Second—”

“A minimum of twice per day, if Lady Ram is to be believed,” Cid continued, not even bothering to hide his amusement.

Subaru groaned. “Man, you really are a tough crowd.”

Despite their banter, they worked in a comfortable rhythm. Subaru, surprisingly, was actually trying this time. The two of them polished in silence for a while before Subaru spoke again.

“Y’know, Lucien… You’re a weird guy.”

Cid raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“Well, for one, you’re suspiciously good at being a butler despite the whole ‘amnesia’ thing."

Why’s everyone here gotta overanalyze? Can’t they just accept someone’s awesome without a thesis?

Before he could process it further, Subaru chuckled. “Anyway, we’ve got a saying back in Japan: Even monkeys fall from trees.”

Cid blinked.

And in that moment, his brain short-circuited.

Wait, hold up. So this dude’s definitely from Japan, like me.

Is he lowkey crazy strong too? Is that why his vibe’s so hard to pin down?

His hands suddenly pressed too hard against the silver candelabrum—slipping from his grip.

With an ominous clatter, the polished silver piece tumbled from his hands and crashed onto the floor.

If that’s true, keeping up my flawless act is just gonna cause more drama around this guy. Gotta fix this, ASAP.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then Subaru slowly turned to look at him, eyes wide.

“…No way.”

Cid, stiff as a board, could only stare down at the fallen candelabrum.

Subaru broke into a wide, smug grin.

“No. Way.”

Cid turned to glare at him.

Subaru pointed at him dramatically. “You messed up!”

Cid scowled. “It was a minor slip—”

“You messed up!” Subaru repeated, now laughing. “Mr. ‘A butler must uphold the highest standards’ just dropped an actual priceless antique on the floor!”

Cid exhaled sharply, regaining his composure. “That was… an exception.”

Mission accomplished.

Subaru wiped a fake tear from his eye. “Man, you had me fooled. I was starting to think you were some kinda perfect mystery cool guy. But nope, turns out even Lucien trips up sometimes.”

Cid clicked his tongue and bent down to pick up the candelabrum—only for a familiar voice to cut through the air.

“What is going on here?”

Both men froze.

Turning slowly, they saw Ram standing in the doorway, arms crossed, her usual unimpressed expression firmly in place.

Cid was already preparing himself to take responsibility, but before he could, Subaru took a step forward, putting himself between Cid and Ram.

“It was me,” Subaru said smoothly. “My bad, I wasn’t paying attention and knocked it over.”

Cid’s eyes widened slightly.

Ram’s gaze flickered between them. She narrowed her eyes but didn’t question it.

“Hah… It was foolish of me to expect anything else from you,” she sighed.

Then, before Subaru could react, she flicked her hand—smacking him on the forehead with the back of her fingers.

Thwack!

“Gah!” Subaru stumbled back, clutching his forehead.

“That’s your punishment,” Ram said flatly. “Now clean up your mess.”

Still rubbing his forehead, Subaru groaned. “Man, that one had force behind it…”

Ram didn’t even spare him another glance before walking away.

Cid, still watching Subaru, finally spoke. “…Why did you take the blame?”

Subaru shrugged. “Eh. It’s no big deal.” He grinned, flashing a thumbs-up. “Consider it my way of saying ‘Welcome to the butler life.’”

Cid remained silent for a moment before, ever so slightly, a small smirk formed on his lips.

“…I see.”

As Subaru resumed polishing, muttering about how his forehead still stung, Cid silently took note of something:

For all his antics, Subaru was a good guy.

The way he acts, the way he moves—dude’s either a total background pro, better than me, or just next-level. No in-between. He’s either the weakest link or outshining Shadow. No middle ground.

Chapter 10: The Fallen Oni

In the quiet kitchen of Roswaal Manor, Cid—now going by the name Lucien—stood before a traditional tea set, carefully preparing to brew a cup of tea. He had been practising under Rem’s guidance, but today, he was determined to show something different.

He methodically heated the water, ensuring it was just shy of boiling before pouring it into a small ceramic bowl. With measured movements, he scooped a portion of finely ground matcha powder into the bowl, then used a bamboo whisk to stir in rhythmic, circular motions. The vibrant green liquid frothy and smooth, he gently placed it before Rem.

“This… is how I prepare my tea,” he said, his voice carrying an air of mystery. “A simple yet refined method passed down through generations.”

Rem picked up the tea, blowing softly on its surface before taking a sip. Her blue eyes widened slightly in surprise. “This is… actually really good.” She looked at him curiously. “Lucien, where did you learn to make this?”

Cid crossed his arms, closing his eyes with a confident smirk. “Hmph. It seems… I’m remembering bits and pieces of my lost memories.” He let the words linger, as if unveiling a small piece of an elaborate puzzle.

Before Rem could respond, the kitchen door swung open, and Ram entered with her usual unimpressed expression. “The fresh fish supply from Aihiya has arrived,” she announced. Then, she gave Cid a sideways glance. “And what are you doing now?”

“Ah, Lady Ram… You see, a master such as myself does not merely make tea. I channel the spirit of the leaves, listening to their silent whispers, guiding them into a harmonious blend that transcends mere taste… into an experience.”

Rem chuckled lightly, shaking her head. “You really do love making things sound grander than they are, don’t you?” She sipped her tea again, but even she had to admit—it was surprisingly well-made.

Ram, unimpressed as ever, rolled her eyes. “Enough with your nonsense. Stop playing around and start working on the fish.”

At the mention of fish, Cid’s expression shifted to one of genuine confusion. He tilted his head slightly as if processing the information. “Wait… the fish is from Aihiya?”

“Yes.”

“But… isn’t Aihiya a huge swamp? How can there be fish there?”

Ram stared at him, unimpressed, then clicked her tongue. “Honestly, you truly are a hopeless case.” She let out a long sigh before crossing her arms. “It’s been around forty years since that place was called Aihiya Swamp. It’s now known as Aihiya Gulf.”

What kind of bizarre plot twist is this? I was just there a few days ago, and that place was the literal definition of a swamp.

Cid blinked. “Huh? No, I’m sure it was called Aihiya Swamp.”

Ram narrowed her eyes at him, then gave a small smirk. “Now I’m fully convinced you’re not lying about your lost memories.” Without further ado, she reached into a large basket and pulled out a massive fish, its scales glistening under the kitchen light.

Fair enough.

“Forty years ago, Aihiya Swamp was the site of a brutal civil war between humans and demi-humans. But then, an Archbishop of the Witch’s Cult appeared and—” She clapped her hands together, mimicking an explosion. “Blew the entire place to oblivion. Left a crater so massive that, over time, water from The Great Waterfall filled it. And now? Aihiya Swamp is long gone, replaced by Aihiya Gulf.”

Cid processed this information, his mind racing.

Hold up, hold up—forty years ago?! Are these guys messing with me? When the hell did the time skip happen?

Did my portal fling me into the future, or are they just insanely good at selling this whole thing?

Either way, hearing people talk about my legendary exploits from way back? Kinda loving it.

But, being Cid Kageno, he simply folded his arms, lowered his head slightly, and smirked.

“I see… So that’s how it is.”

Ram huffed. “If you’re done brooding, start gutting the fish. Now.”

And just like that, Cid—no, Lucien—was thrust into his next great challenge. The battle against kitchen duty.

Later on...
As Cid walked through the dimly lit hallway of Roswaal Manor, his hands tucked behind his back in a refined but casual manner, he glanced at Ram beside him. She walked with her usual air of disinterest, her arms crossed as she led the way.

If I wanna step up my butler game, I should probably get closer to these girls.

“Lady Ram,” he said, his voice low yet deliberate, “I’ve been meaning to ask… you’re not human, are you?”

Ram didn’t even glance at him. “Oh? And what makes you say that?”

Cid smirked slightly, closing his eyes. “Call it intuition. I have a sharp sense for these things.” That was a lie. Of course—he had literally sensed something off about her with his trained perception. Her presence felt subtly different from the other humans, something faint yet undeniable.

Ram sighed. “Hmph. Not bad, I suppose. But you’re asking something unnecessary.”

Cid gave a small chuckle, his confidence unshaken. “And yet, you haven’t denied it.”

She finally stopped walking, turning to face him. In the dim glow of the hallway lanterns, her pink hair cast soft shadows over her face. “I’m an Oni,” she admitted simply.

“Oni…” Cid crossed his arms, tilting his head in an exaggerated show of curiosity. “I see. The legendary race of horned demons feared for their immense powers. But…” He paused, furrowing his brow in politeness. “Aren’t Oni supposed to have horns?”

Ram’s expression darkened just slightly. It was subtle, but Cid caught the way her lips pressed together for a brief moment before curving into a knowing smirk.

“My, my… You really do have a bad habit of prying into things best left alone.”

Before Cid could respond, she reached into the folds of her uniform and pulled out a neatly folded letter, pressing it into his hand.
“Take this to Emilia.” Her tone was firm, almost dismissive. “I’d do it myself, but you’re the butler now, aren’t you?”

Cid took the letter, glancing down at it before looking back up. Ram was already turning away, walking off without another word.

Maybe I should just talk to Rem instead; Ram feels like stepping into a minefield. But that is what makes her way more interesting.

He glanced around at the hallway lined with identical doors.

“…Wait. Where was Emilia’s room again?”

For the first time since arriving in this world, Cid Kageno—the man who always had a plan—stood utterly lost in a hallway, faced his greatest challenge yet: navigating Roswaal Manor.

Cid stood in the hallway, letter in hand, scanning the identical doors in front of him. With a confident nod, he pointed at one.

“Hmph. This one,” he declared to himself.

Adjusting his posture, he reached for the handle, his movements smooth and refined. As he pushed the door open, he stepped inside with an air of practised elegance, keeping his eyes closed for effect.

“Good evening, Lady Emilia,” he greeted, his voice carrying the composed grace of a seasoned butler. “I bring a letter from Lady Ram.”

After a brief pause, Cid opened his eyes—only to freeze in place.

Instead of Emilia’s room, he found himself standing in a massive library, its towering bookshelves stretching far beyond what should have been possible within Roswaal Manor. The air smelled of parchment and aged wood, the dim lighting casting long shadows across the endless rows of books.

And in the middle of it all, sitting on a chair with a thick tome in her hands, was a small girl.

She had sky-blue eyes that peered at him with quiet scrutiny. Her blonde hair, styled in elaborate twin drills, framed her delicate face. She wore an extravagant pink frilly dress with white trimmings, its front exposed to reveal her legs, which were completely covered by pink-and-purple vertically striped tights. A petite crown sat on the right side of her large head, adding an air of regality.

Alice in Wonderland???

The girl stared at him in silence.

Cid stared back.

Neither spoke.

The moment stretched on, thick with unspoken tension.

Then, without missing a beat, Cid placed a hand over his chest and bowed deeply.

“My sincerest apologies for the intrusion,” he said smoothly, as if nothing had happened.

He then immediately stepped back and shut the door with a soft click.

For a moment, he stood in the hallway, completely still.

Then, narrowing his eyes, he muttered to himself, “What the hell was that place? A dungeon?” He let out a slow exhale, his instincts screaming that he had just stumbled into something far beyond his current objectives.

“No doubt about it… That place and that girl totally screamed side quest.”

He clenched his fist in determination.

“And I can’t afford to be in one right now.”

"Talking to yourself isn’t gonna help, you know.”

Cid turned to see Subaru leaning against the wall, arms crossed with an amused yet knowing smirk on his face.

Cid narrowed his eyes slightly. “Oh? So you were watching.”

Subaru pushed off the wall and shrugged. “Look, I get that you lost your memories, but you won’t find ‘em by just monologuing in a hallway.”

Cid crossed his arms, letting out a small chuckle. “Hmph. You make a fair point. But I must ask…” He tilted his head. “Where have you been?”

Subaru groaned, rubbing the back of his head. “Ugh, don’t remind me. Ram’s been working me to the bone all day. I had to haul sacks of flour from the storage room, chop firewood, clean the entire east wing, and—oh yeah—deal with a very grumpy Beatrice.” He shuddered. “That little gremlin hates it when people mess with her library.”

At the mention of the library, Cid nodded knowingly. “So that was her domain… I knew it. Definitely a side quest.”

Subaru gave him a flat look. “Not everything is a side quest, dude.”

Cid smirked but then shifted to a more serious expression. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something about Ram’s origins.”

The moment he said that, Subaru immediately tensed up, waving his hands frantically. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Stop right there! If you start prying into Ram’s past, you’re gonna get punished so bad, man.” He shook his head furiously. “I’m talking real suffering. And trust me, I’ve been there. It ain’t worth it.”

Oh, so she’s got quite the background—makes her a prime pick for an ally.

Cid narrowed his eyes in interest. “So it’s something that must not be spoken of…”

Subaru sighed and leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “Look, since you’re my bro, I’ll give you a little something—just this once. Ram used to be insanely cool back in the day. Like, way stronger than she is now. But she lost all of her powers… because she sacrificed them to save her little sister.”

Cid’s smirk faded slightly as he processed the information.

Giving up your own powers just to protect your family? Now that’s next-level dedication.

Ram, I take back every doubt I ever had—you’re outshining most main characters these days, who honestly feel copy-pasted at best.

Ram—someone as prideful and sharp-tongued as she was—had once been powerful. And yet, she had willingly given that up to protect her sister.

For a brief moment, he felt respect.

Then, he smirked once again. “I see… That explains a lot.” He folded his arms. “A fallen warrior, still carrying the burden of her past… Hmph. How poetic.”

Subaru stared at him. “Dude, you’re really into this whole ‘mysterious butler’ act, huh?”

Cid just chuckled. “Hah.”

Subaru groaned. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t let Ram hear you poking around about her past, or you’ll be dealing with something worse than a side quest—you’ll be in a boss fight.”

Cid’s smirk deepened. “Heh. Noted.”

Looks like Shadow Garden hasn’t expanded to this area yet… Guess I’ll have to recruit some new members myself.

And I think I’ve already found my first pick.

 

Later that night...
In the dimly lit office of Roswaal Manor, the candlelight flickered softly, casting elongated shadows against the extravagant furniture.

Seated in his high-backed chair, Roswaal L. Mathers rested his chin against his hand, his signature enigmatic smirk never faltering. And on his lap, resting against him with an air of familiarity, was Ram. She sat sideways, one leg casually draped over the other, her arms crossed as she leaned against his chest.

Roswaal idly stroked her back with one hand, his voice smooth yet carrying its usual theatrical lilt. “How are things going, Ram?”

Ram’s eyes remained half-lidded, her expression unreadable as she replied in a soft, even tone. “Everything is fine.”

Roswaal chuckled lightly, his golden and blue eyes glinting with interest. “Mm~hmm. And what of our new butler?”

Ram let out a small sigh, tilting her head slightly. “He can be… too much to handle sometimes.” She closed her eyes for a moment, recalling Cid’s usual nonsense, his cryptic monologues, and the way he carried himself with an air of self-importance. “But he poses no threat.”

Roswaal’s smirk deepened slightly. “I see~.”

Ram shifted a little, her gaze sharpening ever so slightly. “You accepted him rather too easily, Roswaal-sama.” She paused for a beat before adding, “Do you have something in mind for him?”

Roswaal merely chuckled, the sound deep and amused. “Oho~ Ram, Ram… That is something I can not reveal for now.” His fingers traced small circles against her back. “But you will find out soon enough.”

Ram exhaled softly through her nose. She didn’t press the matter further.

Roswaal then hummed, tilting his head. “Well then, that’s enough chit-chat for today~.”

Ram closed her eyes, relaxing slightly in his arms. A moment later, she felt Roswaal’s fingers gently move aside her pink bangs, exposing the smooth skin of her forehead—where her horn was supposed to be. A faint shimmer of mana surrounded his fingertips as he began to apply magic to the spot, a process they had repeated many times before.

—Far away, outside the manor.

Hidden with absolute mastery, unseen by any living soul, was Cid Kageno. He was perched on a tree branch, effortlessly blending into the darkness, his presence completely erased. And in his hand? A small bag of cookies.

For a second there, I genuinely thought I was about to witness the most nightmare-fuel moment in my life. And trust me, I’ve seen some messed-up stuff.

He popped one cookie into his mouth, chewing slowly, his crimson eyes locked onto the dimly lit window of Roswaal’s office. Despite being far away, his enhanced senses allowed him to witness the entire exchange without needing to be anywhere close.

As he watched Roswaal applying magic to Ram, Cid’s mind processed the situation. “Hoh… So that’s how it is.” He muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes slightly. “A secret meeting… a mysterious ritual… and a cryptic hint about my role in all this… Heh.” He smirked, taking another bite of his cookie. “Classic shadow organization behaviour.”

His mind raced with theories. Was Roswaal enhancing Ram’s power? Was he sealing something? Was there an ancient Oni power hidden within her? Or perhaps… this was all part of an elaborate scheme that would one day shake the very foundations of this world?

He crossed his arms, still chewing. “Hmph. No doubt about it… This is a flag.”

And so, while Roswaal continued his magic, while Ram rested in his lap, and while the gears of unseen plots continued to turn… Cid, master of secrecy and self-proclaimed mastermind, continued to enjoy his cookies, observing from the shadows—ready for whatever came next.

In the middle of the night...
The manor was shrouded in silence, save for the soft creaks of wooden floors and the occasional rustle of fabric as Cid Kageno—no, Lucien—moved like a shadow through the dimly lit hallway. His steps were silent, his form unseen, his very presence erased.

“Hmm… If my memory serves me correctly, Ram’s room should be… this one,” he muttered to himself, his eyes glinting with certainty as he reached for the door handle. “Hmph. No doubt about it.”

With his usual dramatic flair, he pushed the door open.

Only to once again find himself standing in the exact same massive library.

Beatrice peered at him with a slow, deliberate blink, her expression shifting from neutral to something bordering incredulous irritation.

“… Again?” she muttered, her voice carrying the weight of sheer disbelief.

Cid stood at the entrance, frozen in place. Then, ever so slowly, he placed a hand over his mouth in deep thought.

“Let me think.”

A beat of silence.

Then, as if struck by divine inspiration, he dramatically pointed at her.

“I see! You must be a lost princess, hidden away in a grand library, waiting for a chosen hero to rescue you!”

Beatrice’s eye twitched. “I am no such thing, I suppose.”

Cid smirked. “Hmph. Then… are you a homunculus created by an eccentric alchemist to store the collective wisdom of a lost civilization?”

Beatrice’s eyebrow twitched harder. “Do I look like some test tube failure to you?!”

Cid narrowed his eyes, taking a step closer. His smirk deepened. “Aha! Then you must be a vampire—an ancient loli vampire who waits for her fated servant to awaken her true power!”

At this, Beatrice slammed her book shut with an audible thud, her small hands tightening around it as she took a deep breath.

“…Are you actually an idiot?” she asked flatly, her voice utterly drained of patience.

Cid, unshaken, raised a finger. “Wait, I’ve got it! You’re actually an ancient weapon in the form of a girl, housing an eldritch entity inside you that—”

“GET OUT!”

With a flick of her wrist, an unseen force blasted Cid backwards.

The last thing he saw was the rapidly approaching doorframe before he was forcibly ejected into the hallway with a resounding CRASH.

He lay on the ground for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, before letting out a slow exhale.

“…Hmph. Looks like I hit a nerve.”

From inside the library, Beatrice’s irritated voice rang out.

“Idiot!”

Cid chuckled to himself as he dusted off his coat, rising to his feet.

“No doubt about it…” he muttered, placing a hand over his chin in deep thought. “That girl is hiding something.”

Then, with unwavering confidence, he reached for the doorknob once more. "Hmph. Third time’s the charm," he muttered, pushing it open.

He stepped inside. “Alright, listen here, you ancient—”

Cid stopped mid-sentence. The air was different. The overwhelming presence of books was gone. Instead, the room was dimly lit by the soft glow of the moon peeking through the curtains. The scent of old parchment had been replaced with something subtler—a faint floral fragrance mixed with the cool night air.

His eyes darted to the bed.

There, resting in peaceful slumber, was Ram.

For a moment, Cid simply stood there, processing his surroundings. Then, ever so slowly, he closed his mouth and shut the door behind him.

He exhaled. “Alright, I should probably stop doing that.”

Now, moving with absolute silence, he approached Ram’s bedside. She looked peaceful, her usual sharp gaze softened in sleep. Her pink hair, slightly messy, framed her delicate features. Despite her usual cold demeanour, she looked… vulnerable.

Alright, I better do something before the readers start thinking things are about to get spicy in here.

Cid crouched down beside her, studying her face. Then, as if confirming something, he reached out and gently placed a single finger against her forehead.

A faint warmth pulsed beneath his fingertip.

“So he was supplying her with mana,” he muttered to himself, narrowing his eyes. “Hoh… Now, this makes sense.”

He pulled his hand back and crossed his arms.

To put it simply… she’s in a tight position. And making her disobey her master is way too difficult.

Cid sighed, scratching his head. Then, after a moment, his eyes suddenly widened.

Wait, wait, wait… I’ve seen this scenario somewhere before.

His mind raced through countless stories, tropes, and experiences. And then—

“Ah. Got it.”

Without hesitation, he moved closer to Ram, pressing his fingers gently against her head.

I remember when I was a kid in Japan, trying way too hard to watch those "highbrow" films, thinking I'd be the kid with sophisticated tastes.

Then, I stumbled upon this movie where people manipulated others by messing with their dreams.

A subtle shift in Ram’s breathing. Her body relaxed even further.

Deep sleep achieved.

Cid smirked. “Heh. Works every time.”

Now, with Ram in a deep slumber, Cid had a rare opportunity. He leaned back, his gaze thoughtful.

If I remember correctly from that movie, to mess with someone's grip on reality, you had to drop them into a dream within a dream within another dream. Each level feels real enough to make the person lose track of what’s actual and what’s not, until they’re questioning everything, all while you pull the strings.

Cid let out a slow breath, glancing at his hand. “Alright, alright… This is new for me, so don’t blame me if she explodes or something.” He muttered, flexing his fingers before carefully placing his palm against Ram’s forehead.

Basically, high-stakes brainwashing, but make it cinematic.

A faint warmth met his touch.

Closing his eyes, he focused.

Mana manipulation wasn’t exactly his specialty—no, he had perfected something beyond that in his world. But here, where magic worked differently, he had to adapt.

Analyze the flow. Adjust the output. Maintain control.

A soft glow formed beneath his palm.

Ram’s expression remained peaceful, her breathing steady.

Inside Ram’s dream...
As Ram slowly opened her eyes, she found herself surrounded by an abyss of endless darkness. There was no floor beneath her feet, no walls to define the space—only an infinite void stretching in all directions. Yet, she stood there, weightless but grounded, as if the abyss itself was holding her in place.

Then, a voice—low, menacing, and echoing from everywhere at once—cut through the silence.

"You are bound, chained to a fate, not your own."

Ram’s sharp pink eyes narrowed as she turned her head, scanning the void for the speaker. There was no one. Only darkness.

"You follow orders. You obey without question. But is that truly your will… or merely the will of another?"

A ripple passed through the darkness, and suddenly, before her, chains materialized out of the void. They stretched infinitely into the abyss, thick and unbreakable, glowing faintly with a pale light. Ram instinctively stepped back, her heart pounding. Something about these chains felt… too real. Too familiar.

"You lost something once. A part of yourself. A power that defined you."

A flash—brief but vivid—crossed her mind. The sensation of strength, of overwhelming ability. And then… its absence. A deep void where something irreplaceable once was.

Ram clenched her fists. “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice calm but firm.

A chuckle—smooth yet laced with an unsettling amusement—echoed around her.

"That is not the right question."

Another ripple, and suddenly, the chains surged forward, wrapping around her wrists and ankles. She tensed, but they did not tighten. They merely held her in place, like shackles that had been there all along, waiting for her to notice.

"The right question is... who do you truly serve?"

Ram's breath hitched.

"A man who claims to know what is best for you?"

A flicker—an image of Roswaal, seated in his lavish office, his mismatched eyes watching her with quiet amusement.

"Or the power that could set you free?"

A second flicker—brief, unclear. A silhouette in the darkness. Tall. Unshaken. A smirk barely visible beneath the shadows. Crimson eyes gleamed with knowing confidence.

Ram’s mind reeled.

"What nonsense," she muttered, shaking her head. "This is just a dream."

"Is it?" the voice whispered.

The chains trembled.

Ram's breath caught as she felt something shift within her—something deep, buried, forgotten. A sliver of something she had long since abandoned stirred awake.

"You know the truth."

The chains rattled.

"You are not weak. You were never weak. But you let yourself be controlled, tamed, reduced."

The darkness around her rippled violently, and in the farthest depths of the abyss, she saw something begin to crack.

A light.

Faint but undeniable.

Ram's heart pounded. Her fingers twitched.

"Do you want it back?"

A pause.

A single moment of hesitation.

Then—

Ram's eyes sharpened.

She inhaled.

And for the first time, the chains trembled.

Ram's eyes snapped open.

Her breath came in short, uneven gasps, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she stared at the ceiling. Sweat clung to her skin, dampening her pink bangs. The phantom sensation of chains still lingered on her wrists, even though she could see nothing there.

A dream.

Her fingers curled slightly against the fabric of her blanket. "What… was that?" she murmured, her voice hoarse. It wasn’t just a dream—it had felt too real. Too vivid. As if something had reached into her mind and forced her to confront something she had long since buried.

Slowly, she sat up, brushing her damp hair away from her face. She took a steadying breath, willing her heart to calm. "Ridiculous," she muttered to herself. "I don’t have time for such foolish visions."

Despite her words, unease coiled deep in her stomach.

Shaking it off, she swung her legs over the bed and stood. The cool night air brushed against her skin through the thin fabric of her pale pink pyjamas. She needed water.

Padding softly across the wooden floor, she reached for a glass sitting atop her dresser, then poured herself a drink from a nearby pitcher. The water was cool against her parched throat, bringing a momentary relief.

But then—

A chill slithered down her spine.

She froze.

Something was behind her.

The moment she felt it—an unmistakable, oppressive presence—her grip on the glass faltered. It slipped from her fingers, shattering against the floor.

The sound echoed in the silence.

Slowly—so slowly—Ram turned her head.

And from the depths of the darkness, a figure emerged.

A silhouette, perfectly blending with the shadows. Crimson eyes gleamed beneath the hood of his dark cloak. The air around him seemed wrong—as if the very fabric of reality wavered around his form, struggling to contain his existence.

The smirk on his lips was unreadable.

“Good evening, Ram,” the figure said, his voice smooth, confident. Amused.

Ram felt her throat tighten. Her body urged her to move, to summon mana, to react—but she couldn’t.

 

Then—his next words, cryptic yet deliberate, sent another shiver down her spine.

"Tell me… do you truly wish to break your chains?"

Chapter 11: A Butler’s Mask

It was a quiet morning at Roswaal Manor, but quiet never lasted long when certain personalities collided.

In the grand hallway, Subaru Natsuki was already on his knees, scrubbing the marble floor with a rag that had definitely seen better days. Beside him, Rem worked efficiently, polishing a nearby table until it practically blinded him with its reflection. Trailing behind them with perfect posture and a gloved hand holding a feather duster was Cid Kageno.

"Subaru, your floor scrubbing is... inefficient," Cid remarked in a calm, detached tone, standing over Subaru like a chess master watching a clumsy pawn.

Subaru gritted his teeth. "Hey! This is the third floor I've cleaned today! My arms are noodles, man!"

Rem, unfazed as always, chimed in sweetly, "Subaru-kun, Lucien-san is right. The floor still has streaks. Perhaps you need to put more feeling into it."

Subaru froze mid-scrub. "More... feeling?" He gave the rag a deadpan stare. "What am I, a floor whisperer?"

Moments later, Cid dramatically pointed towards a slightly dusty chandelier hanging above. "Rem, Subaru, that relic above us threatens the dignity of this manor. We must purge it."

Subaru's jaw dropped. "You want us to clean the chandelier? It’s three stories high! How do you even plan to—"

Before Subaru could finish, Cid had already ascended halfway up the wall, balancing on seemingly invisible footholds like a ninja. His duster flicked once, sending a rain of dust directly onto Subaru’s freshly cleaned floor.

Rem clapped politely. "Impressive as always, Lucien-san."

Subaru coughed through the cloud of dust. "WHY did you do it like that?!" he wheezed.

Cid landed softly beside him, adjusting his gloves. "Efficiency."

Subaru pointed at him. "Okay, you’re doing that on purpose now."

As the dust settled and Subaru grumbled under his breath, Ram strolled into the hallway, carrying a basket of laundry. Her usual scowl was a little deeper today, and the click of her heels echoed with a sharper rhythm than normal.

“Hey, Ram!” Subaru called out, waving half-heartedly with the grimy rag still in his hand. “Mind giving us a break and telling Roswaal we’re working ourselves to death down here?”

Without missing a step, Ram shot him a withering glare. “Maybe you wouldn’t be dying if you had even a fraction of a brain cell.” She walked right past him, her tone ice cold and biting.

Subaru blinked, sitting back on his heels. “Ouch. That felt personal.”

Rem tilted her head slightly, still polishing the table. “Nee-sama... is something wrong?” she asked gently.

But Ram didn’t slow down or look back. She just continued down the hall, completely ignoring Rem’s concern.

The three of them silently watched her go.

It appears she hasn’t fully shaken off the impact of the dreams I left her with last night.

Subaru finally broke the silence. “Soooo... Does anyone else feel like we just got caught in a storm cloud with pink hair?”

Cid crossed his arms, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Strange. Lady Ram is expressing more emotions than usual today.”

Subaru nodded in agreement, wiping sweat from his brow like they’d just cracked a code. “Right? Usually, she just insults me like she’s reading from a list. Today had spice to it.”

Rem sighed softly, smiling faintly as she returned to polishing. “You two speak of Nee-sama as if she’s some puzzle to solve.”

Cid didn’t reply immediately. Instead, his gaze followed the distant hallway where Ram had vanished. A knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

Hmph... interesting.

Subaru stood up with a groan, stretching out his sore back as he walked a few paces away from Rem and Cid, muttering to himself. "Man, I swear, this manor is like a boot camp... If I ever get out of this alive, I’m demanding hazard pay."

But then—

It hit him.

A flash.

The hallway around him flickered like a broken reel of film. The pristine marble walls crumbled in his vision, twisted and blackened by flames. The air reeked of smoke and iron. The polished floor beneath him cracked and turned crimson as screams echoed from the distant wings of the manor.

He gasped. The hallway snapped back to normal, but Subaru stumbled back against the wall, pale as a ghost, trembling violently.

His rag slipped from his hand. "No... no, no, no..." he muttered under his breath, clutching his chest as his breathing turned shallow. His heart pounded like a war drum. Sweat beaded down his face while Cid looked at him.

What is Subaru even doing? Is he one of those people who pretends to be sad or traumatized just to get attention from others?

I have to admit, though, he’s really selling it.

Cid tilted his head. “Subaru?”

Rem’s soft voice reached him too, laced with concern. “Subaru-kun, are you alright?”

But Subaru couldn’t answer. His mind was still trapped in that nightmare. His eyes darted across the hallway, checking for signs of cracks, blood, anything to prove it hadn’t been real. His fingers trembled as he clenched them into fists.

“I'm... fine,” he forced out hoarsely, voice shaking. “I-I just... felt dizzy for a sec.”

But they could see it—Subaru’s knuckles white from how tightly he was gripping himself, his eyes glassy and distant.

Subaru never fails to surprise me. He’s mastered playing the victim card way better than I ever could, and he still went with the whole “No, I’m fine” approach.

Rem stepped toward him, clearly worried. “Subaru-kun...”

Subaru forced a strained smile, waving her off weakly. “Don’t worry about it, seriously. I-I’m just tired.”

Subaru couldn’t tell them. Couldn’t explain how, just moments ago, he had died again. That they had all died.

As Subaru slumped back down to the floor, pretending to resume scrubbing, his shoulders still trembled under the weight of fear. He bit his lip so hard it nearly bled.

In his head, he repeated like a broken mantra: Not this time... not again... I won’t let it happen again.

Meanwhile, Cid kept watching him silently, eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

Please teach me your ways Subaru Natsuki.

Later that afternoon...
Ram stood alone by the flowerbeds, kneeling as she carefully trimmed the edges of the rose bushes. The faint smell of fresh earth and blooming petals hung in the air, but Ram’s movements were stiff—more forceful than usual. The clippers in her hands snapped shut with sharp, impatient clicks.

From a shaded spot beneath a tree, Cid silently observed her.

It’s time to see the outcome of the effort I put in last night.

After a long moment, he stepped out from under the tree and approached her, boots silent against the garden path.

“You’re cutting them too sharply,” Cid remarked in his usual calm tone.

Ram didn’t glance up. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion, Lucien.”

He stopped beside her, hands behind his back, watching her stubbornly clip another flower stem shorter than needed.

“You seem... tense,” he commented.

Ram’s eyes narrowed. “If you’ve come to lecture me, save it.”

Cid tilted his head slightly. “Not a lecture. An offer.”

She paused, finally turning her head slightly toward him, eyebrow raised.

“I’ll help,” he said simply.

Ram scoffed, straightening up with a flick of her pink hair. “I don’t need your help.”

Trying to create some distance, huh? Well, I suppose now’s the perfect moment to drop some wisdom on her. Works like a charm every time.

Cid smiled faintly. “Even the sharpest blade dulls if it’s forced to cut without pause.”

Ram blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What?”

Cid’s voice remained calm, like he was reciting an old saying. “Sometimes, the blade must rest to see how clean its last cut truly was.”

For a split second, Ram’s usual composure wavered. Her cheeks flushed ever so faintly, and she turned her head, pretending to focus on the bushes again.

“Hmph... you’re strange,” she mumbled under her breath, clearly flustered in her own deadpan way.

Without waiting for her approval, Cid knelt beside her and picked up a spare pair of gardening shears from the basket. He began trimming the neighbouring bush with precise, effortless motions.

Seems she’s taking a softer, more chill approach with me lately. Can’t blame her, honestly.

I threw her into some wild dreams—one to wake up her power hunger, another where Shadow wrecked everything to make her face her weak side, and finally, one where I wanted to make her realize that Roswaal’s a total self-serving schemer. Tough love, I guess.

Ram shot him an annoyed glance. “I didn’t tell you to help.”

Cid’s smirk grew as he focused on the flowers. “I know. I’m just looking forward to the punishment later.”

Ram’s hand faltered mid-snip, and her lips parted slightly in surprise before she quickly masked it with a frown.

“Tch... idiot,” she muttered, but there was no real bite behind it.

From a tall window overlooking the garden, Roswaal stood with his usual theatrical posture, swirling a glass of red wine in his hand. His two-tone eyes watched the interaction between Cid and Ram with keen amusement. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he tilted his head ever so slightly.

“My, my... Lucien’s movements,” Roswaal mused to himself, voice smooth as silk, “such a sight to see. Always so cryptic, like a riddle wrapped in velvet.”

He swirled the wine one last time, smirked knowingly, and then turned away from the window, disappearing deeper into the manor’s shadowed halls.

Down in the garden, Cid paused mid-snip, his gaze subtly drifting upward to the window where Roswaal had been. His sharp eyes flickered, and a ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips.

Is he monitoring me? Wait, could it be that he suspects I’m flirting with his maid?

Ram noticed his sudden glance and raised an eyebrow. “What’s your deal now?”

Without looking at her, Cid replied smoothly, “Our master just now... he was watching us.”

Ram followed his gaze to the empty window, blinking. “You noticed that?” she asked, faintly impressed. “Your senses are sharp.”

Cid responded with a soft, deferential bow of his head. “A butler must be aware of all eyes, especially those who prefer to watch from the shadows.”

A quiet breeze rustled through the flowerbeds as the two stood in silence for a moment, the earlier tension melting into a more reflective atmosphere.

’Bout time I see what kinda mark I left on her.

Then, breaking the silence, Cid tilted his head, voice softer but laced with curiosity.
“If I may... Lady Ram, do you serve Roswaal because of loyalty... or because of obligation?”

Ram’s breath hitched ever so slightly, her grip on the shears tightening. Her usual sharp tongue was momentarily absent, as if the question had struck deeper than expected.

She didn’t answer immediately.

“I serve Roswaal-sama because... it’s what I’ve always done. It’s who I am.” She hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly. “But lately... I’ve been wondering if there’s something more. Something I’ve forgotten... or lost.”

She glanced at Cid, her usual sharpness dulled by a flicker of vulnerability. “Why do you ask?”

Perfect, she's questioning stuff. Just gotta nudge her in the right direction.

Cid met her gaze, his expression unreadable. “Just curious. A blade that doesn’t know its wielder may cut the wrong target.”

Ram’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t retort. Instead, she turned back to the flowers, her movements slower, more deliberate. “Hmph. Maybe you’re not as much of an idiot as I thought.”

Cid smirked faintly, returning to his trimming. “High praise, coming from you.”

Ram didn’t respond as she focused on the roses, her thoughts swirling in a direction she couldn’t quite place.

The next day...
The warm smell of freshly baked bread and sizzling butter wafted through the kitchen of Roswaal Manor. Rem moved gracefully between the stove and counter, flipping fluffy pancakes onto a serving plate. Beside her, Cid was meticulously arranging plates, utensils, and side dishes on a large silver tray, every movement as precise and deliberate as a clockwork doll.

Cid adjusted his cuffs, glancing at the frying pan. “The pancake edges could be half a millimetre sharper,” he commented dryly.

Rem smiled gently. “Perfection is a noble pursuit, Lucien-san, but food made with care is already perfect in its own way.”

Cid gave a small, conceding nod. “Spoken like a true master of comfort.”

The door creaked open, and Subaru shuffled in, looking like a zombie. His hair was messy, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his usual lively demeanour was replaced with a sluggish shuffle toward the counter.

There it is again. Dude’s not even trying, looking all basic and low-key fragile.

“Morning,” Subaru mumbled, rubbing one eye as he yawned deeply.

Rem’s soft smile faltered. “Subaru-kun?” She stepped closer, tilting her head as she examined him. “You look terrible. Did you not sleep well?”

Cid, without turning from the counter, added calmly, “His posture is slouched, his reflexes dull. Likely less than four hours of rest.”

Subaru waved them off with a lazy hand. “Nah, nah, I’m fine. Just... had a rough night, that’s all.” He reached for the coffee pot with a shaky hand.

Seeing Subaru like this makes me wonder how epic his big reveal will be when he shows us how strong he really is. Should I play along and fake a dramatic escape when it happens?

Rem frowned, eyes narrowing with concern. “Subaru-kun,” she said firmly, stepping in front of him. “You can’t keep pushing yourself like this.”

Subaru forced a weak grin. “Relax, Rem. I’ve handled worse. Coffee’s all I need.”

Cid quietly observed them, arms crossed, his gaze still sharp and contemplative.

If I were a background character, I’d totally pee myself, but since I’m Lucien now, I’ll just freeze in terror when that happens. Cool, cool.

Rem sighed but softened as she reached into a small basket nearby and pulled out a neatly wrapped package, offering it to Cid. “Lucien-san, could you finish the preparation for breakfast alone?”

Cid accepted the request with a respectful bow.

“As you wish, Lady Rem,” he replied smoothly. Then, with a faint, knowing smile, he added in a measured, butler-like cadence, “‘Even the strongest falcon needs its perch; lest it forgets the sky and crashes to the earth.’ I shall leave Subaru-kun in your capable care.”

Rem blinked, slightly flustered by the poetic tone, but quickly nodded. “Thank you.”

Cid gave a small bow, turned on his heel, and exited the kitchen with practised grace. As the door swung shut behind him, Rem, noticing something odd, glanced at Subaru.

“Subaru-kun?” Rem called softly, stepping closer with a puzzled expression. “What’s the matter?”

“That—” Subaru started, pointing a trembling finger toward where Cid had just exited. “That quote! I’ve heard it before. No... I know it.” His voice quivered, eyes darting between Rem and the door. “There’s no mistaking it now. That’s from my world. From back home!”

Rem’s eyes widened slightly as Subaru clenched his fists.

In the garden...
Cid strode calmly along the stone path, a tea package cradled in one arm.

As he approached the far side of the garden, the sight of swirling silver-blue mana caught his attention. Beneath the soft glow of the morning sun, Emilia stood in an open clearing surrounded by budding trees, practising with delicate streams of ice magic.

Beside her, Puck hovered lazily, yawning as he floated in circles. “That’s it, Lia. A little more focus on your flow, and you’ll be freezing lakes in no time.”

Emilia laughed softly, brushing a silver strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not sure freezing lakes is on my to-do list, Puck.”

Cid stopped just at the garden’s edge, silently observing them for a brief moment. His gaze lingered on Emilia’s focused expression and the smooth, controlled arcs of ice forming around her fingertips.

Ice magic? Cool, dude. Though most girls rocking that vibe scream 'Ice Queen.' But hey, it works for her.

Tucking away his thoughts, he approached with measured steps, making just enough sound to announce his presence without startling them.

“Lady Emilia,” Cid greeted smoothly, bowing slightly as he held out the small package. “Your favoured tea blend.”

Emilia turned, surprised but pleased. “Oh! Thank you, Lucien-san.” She accepted the package with a warm smile.

Puck, still floating lazily beside her, peered at Cid with half-lidded eyes. “You’re pretty sneaky, mister butler. Could’ve sworn you weren’t there a second ago.”

Cid offered a faint, enigmatic smile. “A butler must tread like a shadow, but only when necessary.”

Puck’s small grin widened. “Heh. Of course.”

Puck lazily twirled in the air, arms behind his head. “I was just showing Lia how to properly channel her mana. Getting her to sync her flow better.”

I guess this is my chance to finally figure out how mana works here.

Cid’s brow lifted slightly, interest flickering in his eyes. “Mana manipulation...” He folded his arms, voice calm but inquisitive. “That’s an intriguing subject. I must admit, my memories are still rather hazy. Magic, the concept of mana... they’re things I should understand, but somehow don’t.” His tone remained smooth, carefully veiled as if he were confessing with practised subtlety.

Emilia’s expression softened with sympathy. “You’re still dealing with memory loss, Lucien-san?”

Cid nodded faintly. “Yeah...”

Puck rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, sounds rough, pal. Well, I guess a quick crash course wouldn’t hurt.”

He floated down to eye level with Cid, tail swishing playfully. “Alright, listen up! Mana’s the fuel for magic, right? Everyone’s got a ‘gate’ inside them—a kind of organ that draws mana from the world and lets you process it. The stronger and healthier your gate, the better your control and output.”

Cid’s eyes remained fixed on Puck, absorbing every word with that same calculated calmness.

Puck continued, now gesturing dramatically with his little paws. “Now, mana comes in flavors—six basic ones. Fire, water, wind, earth, yin, and yang. Think of them like elements that shape all magic in this world. Most people have an affinity with one or two, but prodigies... well, they might master more.”

He spun lazily midair, smirking. “Course, overdoing it or messing up your flow can wreck your gate, and trust me, fixing it isn’t exactly a walk through the forest.”

Cid nodded slowly, mulling it over. Then, after a brief pause, his voice dipped lower, thoughtful. “So, does affinity determine only the element one controls... or does it influence the nature of the individual themselves?”

Puck froze mid-spin, then chuckled deeply. “Oho... you don’t pull punches with questions, do ya?” He wagged a finger at Cid with a sly grin. “You’d get along well with Beako if you keep talking like that.”

Cid allowed himself a faint, knowing smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Puck floated back with a soft hum. “Well, you’re not entirely wrong. A person’s element does have a way of reflecting who they are deep down. Call it nature’s little joke or a mirror of the soul.”

Then, eyes twinkling, Puck leaned forward mischievously. “Alright, Lucy, here’s a game for ya.” He pointed toward Emilia. “Based on what you’ve seen of her... which element do you think our little Lia here holds closest to her heart?”

Emilia blinked and tilted her head, slightly flustered. “Puck...”

Cid’s gaze lingered on Emilia, reading her calm demeanour and gentle aura.

Wait, if I say "water," they might think I’m a genius or something, and that’s way too much attention. Better go with something dumb.

“Fire,” Cid finally said.

Emilia’s eyes widened. “Eh? Fire?” she echoed, clearly caught off guard.

Puck let out a sharp chuckle, paws on his hips. “Heh! Ding ding ding, jackpot!” He gave Cid an amused look. “Not bad, Lucy. Most folks see her using ice and jump straight to water, but you saw right through her.”

Emilia laughed sheepishly, scratching her cheek. “It’s true... my actual affinity is fire, but I’ve trained in ice magic most of my life.”

What the hell, dude? She’s a natural at fire magic but goes full ice mage—like a chef who’s great with a flamethrower but insists on serving frozen pizza.

Cid let out a faint, polite laugh, trying to play it off. “Ah, just a lucky guess,” he said humbly.

Just then, Subaru approached from down the path, still cradling a steaming cup of coffee, looking less zombified than earlier. “Yo, what’s going on here?” he asked, glancing between them.

Puck spun around midair and grinned. “We’re playing ‘guess the affinity,’ Subaru. Lucy here nailed Emilia’s on the first try.” He jabbed a tiny paw toward Cid. “Not bad, right?”

Subaru blinked, then raised an eyebrow at Cid. “Huh. Didn’t know we were doing personality quizzes now.”

Puck floated closer to Subaru, wagging a finger. “And you, buddy, you’re a textbook case. Yin affinity—bright, active, reckless, and stubborn.”

Subaru nearly choked on his coffee. “Hey! I’m not that reckless.”

Emilia giggled behind her hand. “You kind of are, Subaru.”

Subaru sighed in defeat. “Fine, fair.”

Puck twirled back toward Cid with a curious glint in his eye. “Now you... I’m really curious what element you’re naturally tied to.” His tail swished lazily. “Wanna share?”

Pretty sure I can handle all those elements no problem, but hey, maybe I’ll play it cool, hide most of my mana, and let ‘em think Lucien’s not all that. Sneaky, right?

Cid’s calm mask didn’t waver, but his gaze briefly lowered, thoughtful. “...I wish I knew,” he admitted quietly, voice carrying a tinge of longing. “It’s something I intend to find out.”

Puck’s grin widened as he floated closer to Cid, his paw raised as if to tap the butler’s chest.
“Well then, Lucy,” he said teasingly, “how about I take a little peek and find out for you?” His tone was lighthearted, but his eyes shimmered faintly.

Cid’s usual composure remained unshaken, though the corners of his lips tightened subtly. “Curious little spirit, aren’t you?” he murmured.

Before Puck could get any closer, Subaru’s eyes widened as a sudden, bone-deep chill crept down his spine.

“No… no, wait—”

Images flashed violently through Subaru’s mind—

—Puck’s calm face contorting into shock.

—The air growing heavy as an ominous shadow cloaked the garden.

—A figure, draped in a dark coat, stepping from behind a tree.

—A gleam of dark steel slicing cleanly through Lucien’s neck.

—Lucien’s head hitting the ground, eyes still open.

—And then... chaos. Puck’s beast form roared in rage, Emilia screamed, and Subaru’s own chest bursting open as a sharp pain engulfed him—
“Death.”

Subaru snapped back to the present, breath ragged, sweat pouring down his face.

Without thinking, he lunged forward and snatched Puck mid-air, gripping him tightly in his hands.
“W-Whoa!” Puck flailed his tiny arms, eyes wide. “Subaru?! What gives?!”

Subaru forced a shaky grin, masking the panic bubbling beneath his skin. “Haha! Uh... you know, Puck! You always go reading people without asking! Not cool, buddy!”

He turned to Emilia, trying to steady his voice. “Right, Emilia-tan? Spirits shouldn’t just peek inside people without warning. Super rude.”

Emilia blinked, clearly confused by his sudden burst of energy. “Um... well, I suppose you have a point, Subaru. But, are you okay? You’re sweating a lot...”

Subaru’s grip on Puck tightened slightly as his mind raced.
“I can’t let that happen again. If Puck checks him out now… that thing might come back.”

Puck squinted at Subaru, tail flicking. “Huh. This isn’t like you...” Then, narrowing his eyes curiously, he asked, “You’re hiding something, aren’t you?”

Subaru laughed nervously, backing away slightly. “Nope! Nothing at all! I just think—uh—maybe we should all just relax and enjoy the garden. No mana readings, no probing butlers, just... flowers and sunshine!”

He turned toward Cid, forcing a casual tone. “Right, Lucy?”

Cid tilted his head ever so slightly, sharp eyes studying Subaru with quiet intrigue.
“Of course,” he replied calmly. “As you wish.”

He outplayed me—blocked Puck from checking me to keep his "weak guy" rep. Always one step ahead, that guy.

But inwardly, Subaru’s heart pounded wildly, screaming a single thought:
“I bought us time… but how long until that thing shows up again?”

Cid glanced at Subaru, watching him awkwardly cradle Puck, visibly sweating and trying his best to act normal despite the tension in his shoulders and the forced grin on his face.

Dude's dripping sweat—probably struggling to keep all his mana on lockdown.

After a brief silence, Cid gave a subtle bow.

“Then, I shall excuse myself,” he said smoothly, adjusting his gloves with practised elegance. “The garden is in capable hands.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away with the quiet steps of a shadow, disappearing beyond the hedges and into the manor grounds, leaving Subaru to awkwardly smooth things over with Emilia and Puck.

Later that night...
The soft crackle of the fireplace filled Roswaal’s private office, casting long shadows on the richly decorated walls.

At a small table near the window, Cid stood silently, carefully pouring a deep crimson wine into Roswaal’s glass with flawless precision. The wine glinted faintly in the candlelight.

It looks like Rozy wants me on duty tonight. Perfect shot at that cash boost—gotta nail it!

Roswaal, lounging comfortably in his high-backed chair, accepted the glass with a theatrical flourish. “My, my... always so impeeeccable, Lucien. Thank you.”

Cid bowed slightly, hands behind his back. “Your satisfaction is my foremost duty, Master Roswaal.”

Roswaal sipped the wine leisurely, then let out a quiet hum. His two-tone eyes flicked to Cid, glinting with curiosity.

“You knooow,” Roswaal began in that lilting, playful tone of his, “you’ve always been quite the mystery, haven’t you? A butler with poise, precision, and enough old-world charm to make even the nooobility blush.”

He twirled the wine glass slowly, watching the liquid swirl. “And yet... you walk the halls as if you belooong here, but your eyes...” His smile widened faintly. “Your eyes tell me you’re a long way from home.”

Ah, he’s sizing me up to see if I’m worth a raise. Cute.

Cid’s calm demeanour didn’t waver, though a faint glint passed through his gaze.

Roswaal leaned forward slightly, resting an elbow on the armrest. “I wonder, Lucien... just what seeecrets are you tucking away behind that flawless butler mask?” His voice dropped to a smooth, teasing whisper. “Care to indulge your Maaaster, hmm?”

The room seemed to grow quieter, the fire’s soft crackle the only sound between them.

Bro, in any other situation, this would 100% look like he’s flirting, but gotta keep my game strong and play it cool.

Cid simply closed his eyes and gave the faintest smile, his reply crisp and unshaken.

“A butler must always know when to serve... and when to stay silent.”

Roswaal chuckled, clearly entertained. “Oho... delightful. I do love a gaaame, Lucien.”

The playful air between them grew heavier as Roswaal, still wearing that enigmatic smile, reached beneath the table. With a flick of his wrist, he produced a thick, leather-bound black tome.

He placed it gently on the table between them and slowly flipped it open.

Cid’s eyes flickered with the faintest trace of surprise as he gazed at the open pages.

Wait, isn’t that book like the one the purple-haired guy had? Pretty sure it was tied to some sketchy group, right?

Roswaal’s grin widened as he lazily tapped a finger on the page. “Fas-cinaaating, isn’t it? Let’s just saaay,” he began in a singsong tone, “that this little treasure of mine has the uncanny ability to record the future as it happens. The moments yet to be.”

He leaned back, eyes sharp and amused as he swirled his wine. “It knows who will arrive... and who will depart. It knows who will stumble into the mansion’s halls, who will breathe their last in the snow, who will triumph and who will fall.”

Roswaal’s gaze locked onto Cid like a cat sizing up a particularly interesting mouse.

He’s out here claiming this book’s a legit crystal ball. Nah, I'd spot a scammer from a mile away. Nice try, though.

Cid, ever composed, placed one hand neatly behind his back and gave a courteous bow. “Truly a rare artefact, Master Roswaal. I can only imagine the burden of such knowledge.”

Roswaal let out a pleased hum, clearly enjoying Cid’s tactful response. Then, with a soft chuckle, he flipped a few more pages of the book, scanning them idly before speaking again, voice dipped in velvet curiosity.

“And yet... what a curiooous thing.”

He tilted his head, locking eyes with Cid. “For all the pages it pens, all the stories it weaves... this mysterious tome has never once mentioned you, Lucien.”

Roswaal’s grin grew sharper, eyes glinting dangerously. “Not a whisper, not a name, not even the brush of a shaaadow.”

He leaned forward conspiratorially, voice now low and laced with amusement. “An anomaaaly... wouldn’t you say?”

The room grew still, the firelight casting dancing shadows across Cid’s composed face.

Ah, so this is the "boss plotting a classy exit strategy for an employee" situation, huh?  But I didn’t do anything wrong, though.

After a long moment, Cid replied smoothly, voice as calm as ever.

“Even the finest script may miss a stray blot of ink,” he said, bowing ever so slightly. “Or perhaps, Master Roswaal, I am but a simple servant... too minor a detail for such a grand design.”

Roswaal’s laughter filled the room, echoing off the ornate walls. “Ohoho... modesty and mystery. A daaangerous blend.”

Roswaal’s grin gradually faded, replaced by a chilling edge. His playful tone turned sharp.

“Well now...” he began softly, swirling his wine one last time before setting the glass aside. His voice lowered, carrying a dangerous undertone. “Whatever little game you’re playing, Lucien... as long as it does not stray across the path I have so carefully paved...” His mismatched eyes narrowed, their gleam predatory. “Then, and only then, will you enjoy the luxury of drawing breath beneath my roof.”

The crackle of the fire deepened the ominous silence.

Damn, things went 0 to 100 real quick. Sounds like he’s pulling the whole “nice guy with a secret evil masterplan” vibe.

Roswaal leaned forward, resting both arms on the table, eyes now laced with cruel amusement. “But—” he purred, voice colder than the winds outside, “if you fancy yourself a wanderer... if you intend to stray... then perhaps, my dear Lucien, you should consider being on your way.”

The words lingered like poison in the air.

Classic villain move: dude plans everything, acts all smug, no one outsmarts him... until the hero shows up with the ol' "power of friendship" nonsense and wins. Every. Time.

For a long, quiet moment, Cid remained motionless. Then... the corner of his lips tugged upward, curling into a faint smirk. It spread into a chuckle. Low at first, smooth, controlled.

Then, it swelled.

What if someone’s not just another sheep?

What if they see through the villain’s game?

What if the villain sweats, realizing there’s a bigger predator in the jungle?

A deep, unsettling laugh, laced with something far more ancient and terrifying, filled the room—cold, sardonic, and echoing against the walls like the chime of a cursed bell. It wasn’t the laughter of a servant. It was the laughter of something far darker.

Roswaal's expression shifted subtly—his usual confidence flickering as he leaned back, watching with growing fascination.

“Oho,” Roswaal murmured, amused but wary. “Finally revealing yourself, hmm?”

Cid’s laughter faded as swiftly as it began, leaving a suffocating silence in its wake. Slowly, he raised his gaze. His once composed eyes now burned a deep, otherworldly crimson, glowing like embers in a void.

Nah, I’m not playing the clueless pawn to make some villain look slick. I’m rewriting this script—my way.

When he spoke, his voice was stripped of pleasantries, quiet but razor-sharp.

“Roswaal,” Cid murmured, tone cold as death itself. “Step lightly. This world is full of puppets... but I am no string-bound marionette you can dismiss.”

Roswaal’s fingers tightened around the armrest of his chair, though his smile remained, thin and strained. “Ohoho... my, my... quite the threat.”

Leaning forward with a gleam in his eye, Roswaal dared to push further, voice laced with venomous delight. “Tell me, then... just what exactly are you, Lucien?”

The office trembled.

Wish I could pull off Shadow right now, but first gotta let him know the butler’s a bigger disaster than the boss is.

Without warning, the air grew suffocating, thick like tar. The very foundations of the room seemed to shudder as a sharp, violent pressure exploded outward from Cid. The wine in Roswaal’s glass rippled, and then the stem snapped cleanly in two.

Windows splintered and shattered, shards scattering across the floor as an oppressive darkness smothered the flickering firelight. The flames dimmed, nearly extinguished.

Behind Cid, the shadows twisted unnaturally, coalescing into a towering, monstrous shape—an amorphous figure draped in consuming darkness. Eyes, far too large and far too many, gleamed from within the void, each one locking onto Roswaal like a predator eyeing cornered prey.

Roswaal’s grin faltered, lips parting slightly as he instinctively leaned back further into his chair, heart pounding against his ribs. The killing intent seeping from Cid was palpable—thick, ancient, and utterly merciless.

For the first time in many years, Roswaal felt a cold spike of genuine fear.

The crimson glow in Cid’s eyes intensified as he took a single step forward, the monstrous shadow behind him following in perfect unison. His voice dropped to a chilling whisper.

“You’re the one who should consider being on your way.”

The silence afterwards was deafening, save for the subtle hum of power vibrating through the ruined office.

The door to the office suddenly burst open with a loud bang.

“Roswaal-sama!” Ram called out, eyes narrowed as she and Rem stepped in, ready for trouble.

Emilia followed closely behind, looking worried. “We felt something—what happened in here?!”

Subaru was last, scanning the shattered windows and the broken wine glass with wide, panicked eyes. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Did a bomb go off or something?! What is this?!”

The oppressive atmosphere had vanished in an instant—no shadow, no monstrous presence, and no sign of Cid. Only Roswaal sat there, alone, hands folded in his lap, though faint beads of sweat clung to his temple.

For a fleeting second, his sharp gaze darted across the room, but Cid was nowhere to be seen. Gone. As if he had never been there.

Roswaal’s lips curled into a strained smile as he straightened in his chair and, with forced calm, addressed them.

“My, my... you’re all quite excitable tonight,” he said with a soft chuckle. “I was simply testing a... new speeell.”

Ram’s expression hardened. “A new spell? Then, explain the shattered windows and the nearly collapsed mana pressure that was flooding the mansion.”

Rem looked uneasy but said softly, “I felt it too… it was suffocating.”

Subaru scratched the back of his head, clearly unconvinced. “Man, Roswaal, next time you wanna try new magic, could you at least put up a warning sign? Or, I don’t know, not almost flatten us all?”

Emilia stepped forward, concern still plain in her eyes. “Are you sure you’re alright, Roswaal?”

Roswaal waved a gloved hand dismissively. “Perfectly fine, perfectly fiiine,” he assured them with a gentle tilt of his head, his usual singsong tone returning. “A miiinor miscalculation on my part. Nothing to worry yourselves over.”

He dismissed them with a casual gesture. “Now, now, back to bed, all of you. I’d hate for you to lose sleep over a mere hiccup in my stuuudies.”

Reluctantly, one by one, they began to leave. Emilia gave Roswaal one last, worried glance before stepping out, followed by Subaru and the maids.

As the door clicked shut behind them, the room fell into silence once more.

Roswaal leaned back into his chair, exhaling quietly as he wiped a lingering bead of sweat from his brow. His mismatched eyes stared at the ruined ceiling above, where faint traces of claw-like shadows still clung for just a moment before dissipating fully.

His voice was low and bitter, laced with a dry chuckle.

“I thought I was threatening him with hell...” he muttered under his breath. His eyes narrowed, voice dropping to a cold whisper, “...when all along, I was dealing with the devil himself.”

His gaze lowered to the black tome on the table, now ominously still. Slowly, he reached out, running a finger along its cracked leather cover.

“Teacher...” Roswaal murmured as if speaking to someone unseen. “What should I do now?”

The flames in the fireplace crackled softly in response, casting long, distorted shadows on the ruined walls.

Notes:

Alright, I know a bunch of you were scratching your heads, so let me break it down real quick. Subaru actually experienced his first death while Cid was still hanging around, and starting now, I’m gonna give you short and sweet recaps of what went down in these failed loops—like the chaos in this chapter, for example:

So here’s the deal: Puck took a peek at Cid’s gate, but Cid had sneakily hidden most of his mana. Problem? The half that was hidden wasn't recognised by Od Lagna’s radar, leaving a weird void that made Puck go, “Hmm, that’s sus.”
Cid clocked this immediately, switched into his fast perception mode, whipped up a flawless dummy of himself, and THEN—get this—popped up as Shadow, beheaded his own dummy just to sell the whole “Shadow is terrifying” bit.
Puck became angry. Dude goes full final boss mode and starts throwing hands with Shadow. Meanwhile, Subaru, poor guy, gets caught in the middle of this madness and ends up dead.

Chapter 12: The Butler and the Storm

The sun had barely risen above the horizon when Cid Kageno returned from his morning run, his breath steady and controlled despite the effort. He stepped through the well-tended gardens of Roswaal’s manor, the dew still clinging to the blades of grass.

At the centre of the garden stood Ram, arms crossed, expression sharp as ever. Her pink hair swayed gently in the breeze, but her crimson eyes were fixed on him.

“You’re late,” she said flatly.

Cid arched an eyebrow, feigning confusion with a hint of a smirk. “I was under the impression my shift hasn’t started yet.”

Ram’s glare intensified. “A butler is always on duty.”

Cid rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to be sheepish while inwardly enjoying the little game. “Even so,” he replied with a shrug, “you could at least let me drink some water first.”

Without missing a beat, Ram reached behind her, picked up a nearby bucket, and hurled it at him with alarming precision. Water splashed all over his face and clothes, soaking him from head to toe.

Cid blinked, water dripping from his hair as he stood there, unflinching. “Not exactly how I imagined drinking water,” he said calmly, deadpan.

Ram snorted and turned away. “Then imagine faster next time.”

Cid gave a small sigh as the water dripped from his soaked clothes. Without missing a beat, he reached down and peeled off his drenched shirt, wringing it out tightly as streams of water splattered onto the garden path.

“So,” he began smoothly, voice cool despite the chill clinging to his skin, “what exactly did you need from me this early?”

Ram folded her arms tighter, though a slight twitch in her expression betrayed the faintest trace of fluster. “Change into your uniform. Quickly. We’re heading to Arlam Village.”

Cid tilted his head slightly as he slung the wrung-out shirt over one shoulder, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Arlam Village? Isn’t that Rem and Subaru’s usual territory?”

Ram’s crimson eyes narrowed. “Barusu already left somewhere with Lady Emilia.” She huffed. “And Rem’s schedule is packed today.”

Cid chuckled softly to himself. “I see,” he said, drawing out the words with deliberate flair.

Then, with a sudden flourish, he ran a hand through his wet hair, sending a dramatic spray of droplets into the air as if performing for an invisible audience.

Ram's gaze followed the arc of water, her sharp retort hanging on the tip of her tongue. When her eyes returned to him, there was a thin blush dusting her cheeks—barely noticeable - but there nonetheless.

“Hmph,” she scoffed, looking away sharply. “Such theatrics. A peacock has more subtlety than you.”

 

Inside the dimly lit office, the scent of old parchment and ink filled the air. Roswaal sat behind his grand mahogany desk, fingers steepled beneath his chin as he gazed out the tall window.

A sly, almost whimsical smile curved Roswaal’s lips. His mismatched eyes gleamed with amusement. “So, Lucien is finally heading to Arlam Village with Ram...” he murmured to himself, voice lilting and melodic. “How intriguing.”

He leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers softly on the armrest. “I do look forward to seeing how that unfolds.”

For a long moment, silence reigned, broken only by the ticking of the ornate clock on the far wall. Then Roswaal’s gaze darkened ever so slightly, though the grin never left his face.

“I wonder...” he mused, almost to no one at all, “just how long you’ll be able to keep that carefully crafted facade intact, Lucien... especially in front of Ram.”

His voice lowered, taking on a cryptic edge as if savouring the hidden layers beneath the surface. “Ah, yes. After all, no mask can stay perfect forever, can it?”

With a soft chuckle, Roswaal closed his eyes, leaning further into his chair as if settling in to enjoy the slow unravelling of a game only he could see.

Later on...
The dirt path beneath their feet was quiet, save for the soft crunch of gravel and leaves as Cid and Ram walked side by side through the dense forest road leading to Arlam Village.

Cid, hands casually tucked behind his back, glanced sidelong at Ram. “Say, Lady Ram,” he began smoothly, “hypothetically speaking... if you were walking alone in a forest like this and a massive beast suddenly leapt out at you, what would you do?”

Ram kept her gaze forward, eyes scanning the woods, but her tone was calm and clipped. “Hypothetically speaking... I’d eliminate it before it could blink.”

Cid arched a brow. “So confident,” he said with a chuckle. “I’d have expected at least a hint of hesitation.”

Ram’s lips twitched ever so slightly, but she didn’t turn to him. “When you’ve lived the way I have, there’s no room for hesitation.”

Cid gave a soft hum as if mulling it over, then broke the short silence again. “You’re quieter than usual today.”

That earned him a sideways glance. “And you’re more chatty than usual,” Ram countered. “What’s gotten into you?”

Wow, she's improving!

With a flawless butler’s smile, Cid inclined his head slightly. “Simply performing my duties, Lady Ram. I thought it wise to better understand my esteemed supervisor.”

Ram’s eyes narrowed at him. “Hmph.” Without warning, she stopped in her tracks and handed him a bundle of supplies—baskets, satchels, and a few folded linens.

Cid barely managed to catch them all, and soon, his arms were full to the point where he could hardly see the path ahead. Only a sliver of road peeked out from between the baskets stacked high.

From behind the pile, Cid’s voice came, slightly muffled. “Lady Ram, perhaps this is... a tad excessive?”

Ram smirked faintly as she resumed walking ahead of him, hands now free. “Consider it training. Since you’re so eager to learn more about me, start by learning how I delegate.”

Cid sighed dramatically, but deep down, he couldn’t help but enjoy the back-and-forth.

Inside the village...
The village square was lively with morning bustle as Ram and Cid entered Arlam Village. Merchants were setting up their stalls, children darted between buildings, and the faint smell of fresh bread wafted through the air. Villagers offered polite nods as Ram strode confidently ahead, Cid trailing behind her with the precarious pile of supplies.

Ram stopped near the centre of the square and turned to him. “I’ll be handling a request from the village elders regarding the protective barrier,” she explained, folding her arms. “Some of the magic wards need reinforcement.”

Guess it’s time to butler up and make a name for myself. Pass the tea, please.

Cid raised a brow, lowering the stack of supplies onto the ground with a relieved sigh. “And what about me?” he asked, brushing off his hands and flashing her his usual playful grin.

Ram’s crimson eyes gleamed with a mischievous spark. “Since you’re so curious,” she began, producing a small parchment from her sleeve and unfolding it deliberately, “you’ll be assisting the villagers with these.”

She handed it to him, and as Cid’s eyes scanned the contents, his expression barely twitched—years of self-control in full force. “That’s... quite the list,” he remarked smoothly, eyes darting over the dozens of tasks scribbled in neat handwriting.

“Let’s see,” Ram continued nonchalantly, tapping a finger to her chin, “chopping firewood, repairing the eastern fences, cleaning the town’s well, assisting the baker with deliveries, helping repair the mill wheel, sweeping the paths—oh, and tending to the livestock pens.”

This ain’t even butler duties, this is straight-up slave labour.

Cid let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he folded the list and tucked it into his pocket. “You sure enjoy making my life difficult, don’t you?”

Ram’s lips curled into a smirk. “A butler thrives under pressure.” Then she turned, voice lilting ever so slightly. “Besides, you’re surprisingly entertaining when flustered.”

Before Cid could fire back a witty retort, an elderly voice called out. “Oh my, Miss Ram, how nice to see you again.”

An older woman, clad in simple but well-kept garments, approached with a warm smile. Her silver hair was tied back in a modest bun, and her kind eyes held the wisdom of many seasons.

Ram nodded respectfully. “Good morning, Lady Milde.”

Milde’s gaze shifted to Cid, and just as he opened his mouth—no doubt, ready to introduce himself with his usual theatrical flair—Ram cut him off flatly. “This is Lucien. Roswaal’s butler. He’s here to assist the village.”

Wow, rude much? That's, like, Butler 101—step one to fame and glory.

Cid froze for a beat, mouth half-open. Then, recovering with masterful ease, he gave Milde a curt, graceful bow. “A pleasure,” he said simply, his voice smooth but tinged with amusement as he shot a quick glance at Ram from the corner of his eye.

Ram stood beside him, expression calm as ever, but there was a glint of satisfaction hiding behind her gaze.

Milde’s warm smile lingered for a moment before she gave them both a knowing look, her eyes narrowing just slightly in amusement. “Hmph,” she muttered, crossing her arms as if studying a puzzle she’d just solved. “I see what’s going on here.”

Cid and Ram both stiffened, their eyes snapping toward her. “See what?” they said in unison, though Cid’s voice carried playful curiosity while Ram’s was edged with suspicion.

Milde chuckled softly, waving a hand dismissively as she turned away. “Oh, don’t mind me. Good luck on your duties today,” she said with a teasing lilt, stepping away from them. As she moved, her voice softened, though they could still hear her. “Ah, to be young again...”

Cid exhaled through his nose, fighting back a grin as he straightened. “Well,” he said, brushing imaginary dust from his uniform, “time to fulfil my duties.”

Ram gave him a sidelong glance, arms still crossed. “Hmph, just don’t slack off and disappear halfway through.” Then, with a slight smirk, she added, “Good luck… Lulu.”

Cid sighed dramatically. “It’s Lucien,” he corrected, but Ram was already walking away, not bothering to acknowledge the correction.

As she disappeared into the crowd, Cid watched her go for a moment, then pulled the parchment from his pocket. He stared at the long list, letting out a small huff of amusement.

No matter how you look at it,

He muttered to himself, folding it back up,

This could be my golden ticket to a raise if I pull it off perfectly.

Later that afternoon...
The afternoon sun cast a warm glow over Arlam Village as Cid strolled leisurely through the cobblestone streets, wiping the sweat from his brow with an elegant, embroidered handkerchief. His dark vest clung snugly to his frame, and despite the hard labour he had performed all day, his posture remained as impeccable as ever.

“Phew,” he exhaled, folding the handkerchief neatly before tucking it into his pocket. A sly smile crept onto his face. “Every single task... flawlessly executed.”

He stopped for a moment, staring at the bustling square as villagers bustled about with satisfied expressions—fresh firewood stacked near homes, children playing beside the now-clean well, repaired fences standing sturdy along the edges of the village.

As he adjusted his cuffs with a flourish, his eyes drifted to a rustic tavern ahead, tucked between two larger buildings. Its wooden sign creaked softly in the breeze.

“Hmm,” Cid mused, glancing left and right, “no sign of Ram.” He smirked to himself. “Well, surely even a loyal butler is allowed a brief respite.”

Without another word, he pushed open the tavern door. The familiar creak echoed inside as he stepped through.

Conversation ceased.

Check out my debut as a butler—strolling through the tavern like a boss, all eyes on me.

The tavern’s patrons—grizzled farmers, stout hunters, and rugged travelers—turned in unison, their chatter fading to silence as they eyed the sharply dressed outsider. A bulky man with a scar running down his cheek set his tankard down mid-sip. A wiry merchant polished his spectacles nervously. Even a pair of old men at a corner table paused mid-card game, one raising an eyebrow.

Unperturbed, Cid’s grin widened as he adjusted his vest, walking confidently past them all. His polished shoes made soft, deliberate taps on the wooden floor as he made his way to the bar.

Sliding smoothly onto a stool at the counter, he crossed one leg over the other and rested an elbow on the bartop. His sharp gaze met the wide-eyed bartender—a thin, nervous fellow wringing a rag between his hands.

In Western flicks, they’d stroll in, drop a “the usual,” and boom—instant cool, zero effort.

Cid exhaled through his nose, offering a cool smile. “The usual,” he said, voice low and steady.

The bartender blinked. “Uh... but—”

Cid’s hand shot up, index finger raised just so, his tone smooth but commanding. “A butler only speaks once.”

The room seemed to exhale all at once as the bartender quickly straightened and gave a hurried nod. Without another word, he grabbed a simple glass, filled it to the brim from a pitcher, and slid it across the polished counter.

This shit is just water!

Cid caught it effortlessly, swirling the clear liquid inside with an approving nod. “Exquisite,” he murmured as if savouring a rare vintage.

All around him, the tavern slowly returned to life, though several pairs of eyes still watched him with a mixture of curiosity and mild awe.

Guess I'll pretend I'm sipping top-shelf stuff for now.

Taking a deliberate sip of the water, Cid’s grin never wavered.

Because after all, no one could make drinking water look this dramatic... except him.

Suddenly, the tavern door swung open with a gust of wind, causing the wooden sign outside to creak louder. Conversation died once more, every head turning to look at the new arrival.

Except for Cid.

Wait, seriously?! This was my time to shine, look all cool and confident.

Please don’t say this new client’s some shadowy mercenary or something. Ugh, typical.

He remained perfectly still, still swirling the last of his water as he gazed coolly into his glass, savouring the moment as if unaware of the tense shift in the room.

From the doorway, a figure stepped inside, draped in a dark, travel-worn robe that obscured their face. Heels clinked faintly as they strode across the tavern with confident, deliberate steps. Without hesitation, the stranger took the empty seat beside Cid at the counter.

A soft but unmistakably feminine voice broke the silence as she addressed the bartender. “One glass of Lugnica’s finest royal-brandy,” she said smoothly, her tone laced with calm authority.

The bartender stiffened, eyes widening slightly at the rare and expensive request. “Y-Yes, right away,” he stammered, hurrying to comply.

Sitting beside me, flexing with pricey orders. Oh, it’s a challenge now? Bet.

Cid, eyes still closed, allowed himself a subtle smirk. His mind ticked as the situation played out—someone daring to steal the spotlight? Right beside him?

Not likely.

Without opening his eyes, he tipped back the rest of his water in one quick motion, the glass hitting the counter with a sharp clink. Then, smoothly rising to his feet, he called out in a voice just loud enough to cut through the murmurs returning to the room.

Watch me show this girl who runs the show around here.

“I’ll have the most potent spirit you have,” he declared, gesturing with two fingers. “That one.”

The bartender froze mid-pour of the brandy, nearly spilling it. “T-The Reid Special?! Sir, that’s—”

Cid raised a hand again, this time with a sharper glint in his eye. “Never doubt a butler.” he said firmly.

The tavern went quiet once more as everyone, including the cloaked woman beside him, turned their full attention to this sudden escalation. A beat passed… then the robed woman chuckled softly beneath her hood, clearly amused.

Cid, still standing tall with that ever-confident smirk, adjusted his cuffs again.

Because if anyone was going to own this tavern’s attention, it would be him.

The bartender nervously wiped his hands on his apron, then slid the filled glass toward Cid. But instead of speaking to him directly, the bartender glanced sideways.

“That’s... from the lady next to you, sir,” he said carefully.

Dang, she really nailed me on this one—totally outplayed.

Cid’s brows rose slightly. He subtly peeked to the side, catching a glimpse of the robed woman’s lips curled into a small, knowing smirk beneath the shadows of her hood. Despite the cloak concealing her features, her aura exuded quiet confidence.

Time to hit back.

Without missing a beat, Cid chuckled, smoothing his vest. “Is that so? In that case, allow me to return the favour.” His tone was laced with charm as he turned slightly toward her. “A lady should never be drinking alone.”

The woman, still smirking, tilted her head slightly. “A gentleman’s offer,” she mused softly, “but women shouldn’t make a habit of abusing strong spirits.” Her voice was smooth yet carried a teasing edge. “I’ll pass.”

No, no, no, drink up, or this place is gonna look like a battlefield. Cheers or chaos, your call.

Cid grinned wider, not one to back down. “I insist,” he said, motioning toward the bartender. “In this establishment, it’d be a crime not to toast with such fine company.”

There was a pause before the woman’s smirk deepened. With a soft chuckle, she relented. “Very well.” She raised her glass toward him. “To charming gentlemen.”

Boom. Victory’s mine.

“To mysterious ladies,” Cid returned with a playful glint, and the two glasses clicked softly together.

But just as Cid lifted his drink toward his lips, the air around him shifted.

The din of the tavern slowed to an unnatural crawl—laughter freezing mid-sound, dust motes suspended mid-air, patrons caught mid-sip and mid-laughter. The clink of tankards and muffled conversations became a low hum, stretched thin as time itself slowed.

Cid’s crimson eyes narrowed faintly.

Fast Perception Mode.

Lowering his glass slightly, he inspected the amber liquid within. “Hmm,” he murmured, voice calm in the stillness. “There’s no way I’d drink this.”

In one swift, calculated motion, he tilted the glass just enough to let the liquid spill into a nearby potted plant, its leaves catching the splash without a sound.

As the last drops vanished into the soil, the room snapped back to normal speed.

With perfect composure, Cid tipped the empty glass back as if savouring every last drop, then set it down with a flourish, a content sigh escaping his lips.

The woman beside him raised an eyebrow, amusement still playing at the edges of her lips. “Impressive,” she commented softly, “most men hesitate.”

Cid grinned, unfazed. “A butler,” he replied smoothly, “never falters.”

The woman let out a soft, genuine laugh, swirling her brandy. “You know,” she said, her tone laced with intrigue, “I’ve never been treated like this by a man before. Not with such… elegance.” She glanced sidelong at him beneath her hood, eyes twinkling faintly. “You’re quite the gentleman.”

Cid’s smirk deepened. “It’s simply in a butler’s nature.”

But before he could continue basking in his own charisma, the woman’s grin shifted—growing sharp, almost wicked. The playful air around her thickened into something darker. “Though…” she purred, voice smooth yet carrying a dangerous undertone, “I must say... I’m quite amused.”

Cid raised a brow, his instincts flaring.

“How much flair you possess,” she continued, her smirk widening, “for someone who’s supposed to be suffering from memory loss.”

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of genuine surprise breaking through his mask.

Memory loss?

He barely had time to process her words when the woman’s robe parted slightly, revealing two ornate black kukri blades flashing under the dim tavern light. In a blur of motion, her hand darted forward—blades slicing through the air.

Ah, so we’re jumping to the assassination attempt bit now?

Hate to ruin this jacket, but gotta sell the "deadly attack" vibe. Butler life demands commitment.

Cid reacted, leaning back and twisting just as the twin blades tore across his midsection. A sharp, burning pain followed as the edge of one blade grazed his abdomen, tearing through his butler’s jacket and the shirt beneath. Blood beaded instantly, but he had avoided a deeper, fatal strike.

“My, my…” he said in a composed voice, ignoring the stunned silence around the tavern. “Your blade work is as refined as your taste in drinks, madam.” He brushed a bit of dust from his sleeve. “But alas, you’ve committed the ultimate crime.”

The woman, now fully grinning as her kukris gleamed menacingly, tilted her head. “Oh?”

Cid’s smirk never wavered, even as a fresh trickle of crimson slid down from the shallow wound on his abdomen. Calmly, he slid his hand to the lapel of his now-slashed jacket and began to shrug it off with theatrical finesse.

Time to channel my inner badass butler—smooth, sharp, and ready to handle chaos with a side of class.

As he neatly folded the garment over his arm, he exhaled with a note of mock sorrow. “A tailored, triple-stitched butler’s jacket,” he began smoothly, as if reciting from a catalogue, “handcrafted by the artisans of Miload Tailory. Reinforced with enchanted silk lining for both form and function.” He turned the jacket slightly, showcasing the damage. “Market value... approximately 8,000 gold coins.”

The tavern collectively winced. Even the scarred man at the far end gave a low whistle.

Cid’s crimson eyes slid back toward the robed woman, glinting with cool amusement. “And yet,” he mused, voice dropping a note lower, “here we are.”

The woman arched a brow, smirking. “You do realize,” she purred, her voice playful yet edged with malice, “that you’re bleeding.”

Cid glanced down at the shallow cut, then casually produced his embroidered handkerchief and dabbed at the blood as though wiping away an ink stain. “A butler,” he replied in a velvety tone, “is accustomed to handling sharp situations.”

In the very next instant, faster than the eye could track, he flicked his wrist—and held up the very robe she had been wearing just moments ago, dangling it between two fingers like a trophy.

The tavern gasped. The woman’s eyes widened as she instinctively glanced down to find herself bare-shouldered, her dark, provocative outfit now fully exposed beneath the lamplight. Her long, wavy black hair was braided into a single thick tail draped over her left shoulder, reaching all the way to her hip. A beauty mark adorned her cheek just beneath her left eye.

Her sharp, violet eyes snapped back to Cid, mouth curling into a sly but clearly impressed grin. “Well, well...” she chuckled. “To think you could slip it right off me without me even feeling it.” She leaned an elbow on the bar, eyes glinting with dangerous excitement. “That’s a rare trick.”

Cid returned the robe to her with a flick, the garment landing neatly folded on the counter beside her drink. “Madam,” he said coolly, “that robe wouldn’t even compensate for a single button on my jacket.”

What’s with the fit? Can’t tell if she's trying to be seen or stealth-mode in that bold ‘fit.

The woman let out a rich, amused laugh, propping her chin on her hand as she admired him. “Hah... sharp, fast, and charming. You’re something else.” Her tone softened just slightly, though her aura remained predatory. “You may call me Elsa Granhiert.”

Cid’s eyes twinkled, unfazed by the revelation. “Ah, a mercenary,” he replied smoothly, as if commenting on the weather. Then, with a courteous bow and one hand placed over his heart, he grinned. “Lucien, butler extraordinaire.” His tone dripped with charm as he finished, “At your service.”

Elsa calmly cracked her neck to one side, then the other, the sound sharp in the tense quiet of the tavern. Her violet eyes narrowed slightly, playful yet laced with danger. “I imagine,” she purred, voice dropping to a sultry menace, “you already know why I’m paying you a visit tonight.”

Cid, utterly composed, adjusted the cuff of his shirt where the jacket had been torn away, then offered a razor-sharp grin. “A lady as graceful as you?” he replied, eyes gleaming. “Surely it’s for a dance.”

In the blink of an eye, Elsa's kukri blades flashed again—one, two, three rapid slashes aimed at his chest, neck, and abdomen. But Cid moved like flowing silk, weaving effortlessly between each strike. His shoes barely tapped the wooden floor as he sidestepped and leaned out of reach, leaving Elsa swiping at air.

As the final slash missed, Elsa gave a slow, impressed hum. “Hmm… sharp reflexes,” she whispered. In an instant, she vanished and reappeared behind him, her presence chilling against his back. “But you have a blind spot,” she whispered into his ear, voice honeyed and lethal.

Before her blade could taste flesh, Cid calmly reached back and stopped the kukri between two gloved fingers, halting the strike mid-air with casual finesse. “A butler,” he said, voice smooth as ever, “sees in every direction.”

Elsa’s eyes widened slightly, caught off-guard. “Tch—” Without hesitation, she swung with her other blade toward his ribs—only to find her hand sliced through empty air. Her eyes darted down. The weapon was missing. “What—?”

Cid smoothly raised his free hand, revealing the missing kukri held delicately between two fingers like a stolen trinket. His grin widened as he met her stunned gaze. “Looking for this?”

Elsa blinked, then let out a low, breathy laugh. “Hah... you’re dangerous.”

Then Elsa’s playful grin faltered, her instincts flaring as she swiftly leapt back, landing gracefully a few paces away. She crouched low, her remaining kukri blade poised in front of her, eyes sharp and focused. “They did warn me you weren’t an easy target,” she muttered, violet eyes narrowing. “But no one said it’d be to this extent.”

Tough nut to crack, huh? Guess I was already famous without even trying.

Without missing a beat, Cid twirled the kukri he’d stolen between his fingers and, with a flick of his wrist, sent it sailing through the air. The blade spun cleanly, sharp edge catching the tavern light, but Elsa’s reflexes were just as sharp—she snatched it mid-air, smoothly rearming herself.

Cid’s smirk deepened. “A butler,” he said coolly, brushing back a stray lock of hair, “always returns lost property.”

Elsa’s grip on her blades tightened, but curiosity flickered beneath her guarded expression. “Why?” she asked, her voice calmer but edged with suspicion. “You had a perfect opportunity... why didn’t you finish me?”

Now’s the time to slot in the next piece and craft the masterpiece that is Lucien.

Cid adjusted his cufflink with lazy precision, crimson eyes gleaming with an unreadable light. “Because,” he replied smoothly, “you’re in luck tonight.” He turned slightly toward her, his tone growing laced with quiet gravity. “It appears… I’ve just remembered something about my past.”

Elsa’s eyebrow arched. “Oh? And what’s that?”

With a subtle sigh, Cid’s playful mask softened into something more resolute. “That I once pledged,” he said, voice like velvet steel, “never to raise a hand in violence... no matter the opponent.”

Elsa scoffed, stepping out of her crouch but keeping her blades ready. “Hah,” she sneered lightly, though the intrigue remained in her tone, “sounds less like a vow and more like the setup to your obituary.”

Cid chuckled softly, then turned to the bartender, who stood frozen in place. “My apologies,” Cid said, his voice polite yet carrying an undeniable authority. “Would you kindly ensure everyone vacates the premises?” His crimson gaze swept over the wide-eyed patrons. “I’m afraid the atmosphere here is about to become… most unbecoming for a tavern.”

Without needing further convincing, the bartender frantically nodded, waving everyone out. Chairs scraped, mugs clattered, and within moments, the tavern was cleared in a panicked exodus.

As the last patron stumbled out the door, Cid noticed Elsa was nowhere to be seen. His smirk returned as he slowly turned his head toward the darkest corner of the room. “Disappearing act, is it?” he mused aloud.

His sharp gaze flicked to the side—clang—his hand shot out, catching a blade mid-air between fingers just inches from his neck. The metal vibrated faintly in his grip.

“Sloppy,” he murmured smoothly, eyes locking directly onto the shadows where Elsa had vanished. “A butler never leaves loose ends unattended.”

Hidden within the tavern’s shadows, Elsa moved with silent grace, her figure blending seamlessly into the dark recesses of the room. Her violet eyes glinted faintly as she whispered to herself, voice barely audible.

“Suspicious...” she mused, narrowing her gaze at Cid’s calm posture by the counter. “No matter where I move... he always leaves just one blind spot.”

Her lips curled into a thin smile. “It’s like he’s guiding me.”

Without further hesitation, Elsa lunged from the shadows, her blades flashing toward Cid’s exposed side. But with fluid precision, Cid spun and blocked the strike with the kukri he had caught earlier, stopping the blow cold.

Their faces were now mere inches apart, tension crackling between them.

Elsa pushed forward, testing his grip, her voice low and edged with curiosity. “You’re baiting me,” she accused with a smirk. “Luring me exactly where you want by leaving that one blind spot open.”

Cid’s grin never faltered, even as the strain between them grew. “Sharp as your blades,” he complimented smoothly. “They must be paying you handsomely to eliminate someone like me.”

Gotta be top-tier on that bounty list, or we’ve got problems.

Elsa chuckled, pressing harder against him. “Oh, I’m being paid well enough…” she purred, “but after tonight, I might ask for a little extra.” Her grin widened. “I clearly underestimated you.”

Damn, looks like we’re talking serious money here.

Cid gave a soft laugh, adjusting his stance without ever breaking eye contact. “I see,” he replied. Then, with a sudden shift in tone, he added with calm precision, “In that case, might I interest you in a bargain?”

Elsa blinked, her push slowing as her eyes widened just a touch. “A bargain?” she echoed, caught off-guard. “What do you mean?”

Now’s the perfect moment to snag a little cash for myself.

Cid’s grin sharpened as he leaned in, voice lowering to a conspiratorial murmur. “I simply propose this—” he said, velvet-smooth, “I disappear from the world. No trace, no questions. Everyone will assume you successfully assassinated me.” He chuckled softly. “In return… you share half the bounty.”

He raised a gloved hand, fingers poised in a polite butler’s gesture. “All conducted, of course, in the most… professional manner.”

For a long beat, Elsa stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. Then, a breathless laugh escaped her lips as she eased off, lowering her blade.

“Ha...” she exhaled, shaking her head with amusement. “Your sense of humour is twisted,” she remarked, eyes gleaming with something between wariness and admiration. “I can’t tell if you’re insane… or a genius.”

I'm being real here, you know....

Suddenly, the tavern door exploded inward with a thunderous crash, splinters flying through the smoky air. Before Elsa could so much as flinch, a sharp voice pierced the chaos.

“El Fura!”

Blades of compressed wind howled through the tavern, slicing through the air with vicious speed. Elsa barely managed to twist her body as the storm-like attack barreled toward her, but it still clipped her shoulder, sending her crashing through the weakened wall behind the bar. Debris rained down as the tavern shook.

Cid’s crimson eyes flicked to the source of the outburst, where Ram stood framed in the doorway, breathing hard, eyes sharp with worry. Without hesitation, she rushed toward him.

Looks like we’re entering the “save-the-day” phase now.

“Are you okay?!” she asked, voice laced with tension.

Cid gave a soft, wry chuckle despite the blood seeping through his shirt. “I’m perfectly fine,” he replied, ever composed, brushing dust from his sleeve.

Ram’s sharp gaze scanned his wound, unimpressed. “You’re literally bleeding out, you fool,” she snapped in her own blunt way, her cheeks puffed in frustration. “Surprising you’re not dead yet, honestly.”

Cid smiled faintly, adjusting the ruined cuff of his shirt. “My duty,” he said smoothly, “is to remain standing until the job is done.” He gave her a subtle bow. “But I am grateful for your… concern, mademoiselle.”

Before Ram could retort, a chilling laugh echoed from the hole in the wall. Elsa emerged, stepping out of the rubble, brushing plaster dust from her bare shoulders. Her wounds, to Ram’s shock, were knitting themselves shut, muscles and skin repairing with unnatural ease.

“Oh my,” Elsa said with a wicked smile, violet eyes gleaming. “A little wind won’t put me down that easily.”

Ram instinctively stepped in front of Cid, shielding him with her smaller frame as magical energy crackled at her fingertips. “Get out of here,” she said without turning her head, voice cold and resolute. “I’ll handle her.”

Elsa licked her lips, kukri blades glinting as she tilted her head. “How adorable,” she purred. “The butler has a cute little protector now.”

Ram’s eye twitched, a sharp scowl forming as her temper flared. “Shut it, hag,” she snapped, raising a hand as magic gathered. “El Fura!”

Blades of wind erupted toward Elsa with lethal force. Elsa leapt aside, just barely avoiding being torn apart as the gale ripped through what remained of the wall, scattering debris into the night.

Landing gracefully, Elsa’s grin only widened as she crouched low. “Tch… close,” she chuckled darkly, eyes flashing. “But now… it’s my turn.”

Elsa dashed forward like a shadow, her kukri blades gleaming under the fractured tavern lights as she closed the distance with alarming speed. But Ram stood firm, eyes narrowing as she thrust both palms out toward the approaching assassin.

“Fura!” she roared.

A sudden, deafening roar of wind exploded outward from her hands, forming a colossal barrier of swirling gales. The force was monstrous, ripping through the tavern like a hurricane unleashed. Tables, shattered beams, and fragments of the tavern were torn apart and hurled violently in every direction, leaving the structure barely standing. The sheer intensity of the wind left even Elsa momentarily staggered, forcing her to skid back a few steps.

Now I get what Subaru meant. Ram got the idea and smarts to use her magic, but she can never unleash its full power.

Cid’s crimson eyes glinted with genuine admiration as he steadied himself amidst the storm. “Impressive…” he murmured, watching as the winds carved deep gouges in the walls and floor, leaving devastation in their wake.

But then, Cid’s sharp gaze caught something else—the faint trickle of crimson running down from Ram’s forehead, precisely where her horn should have been. The telltale sign of magic overexertion. Her breath was ragged, her stance wavering, yet she gritted her teeth and remained between Cid and Elsa.

“You stubborn idiot!” Ram barked at him, chest heaving. “Run! Get out of here, useless butler!” Her voice cracked slightly from strain, but the fire in her eyes never dimmed. “You’re just in my way!”

Before Cid could respond, Elsa was suddenly right there—mere inches away from Ram, having effortlessly weaved through the turbulent winds, her kukri aimed straight for Ram’s throat. Ram’s eyes widened in shock, her fatigued body too slow to react.

But in that fleeting instant, Cid moved like lightning.

Looks like it's finally my turn to shine in this scenario.

With a single step, he was between them, catching Elsa’s blade barehanded. The kukri bit into his palm, crimson blood trickling down his fingers, but Cid’s grip was ironclad.

Both Elsa and Ram froze, eyes wide.

Cid’s calm gaze met Elsa’s, a dangerous glint behind his composed smile. “It seems,” he murmured, voice smooth but steely, “you’ll be compensating me for this glove as well.” Blood dripped steadily from his wound, yet he showed no sign of flinching.

Ram’s heart pounded as a flood of emotions surged through her—shock, admiration, and a strange warmth at Cid’s selfless act. Yet she quickly pushed it aside, her instincts kicking back in.

“Fura!” she shouted again.

This time, compressed slashes of wind burst forth with blinding speed, slicing through the air like a storm of blades. Elsa leapt back, but the barrage came relentless, each slash narrowly missing or grazing her as she retreated deeper into the wreckage of the tavern, forced on the defensive.

Cid’s crimson gaze stayed locked on Elsa even as the winds from Ram’s last spell settled. Without looking, he spoke calmly, voice threaded with concern.

I need to find a way to make Ram realize she could totally use a power boost.

“I can tell,” he said quietly, “each spell is draining you more than you let on.” His tone was light, but the sharp edge beneath it was impossible to miss. “You’re forcing your body past its limits.”

Ram, panting hard, wiped the blood at her temple and took a step closer to him, scowling. “Says the idiot who just caught a blade with his bare hand.” Her voice was biting but laced with concern. “You can barely use one hand now.”

Cid allowed himself a chuckle, flexing his bloodied hand as if testing it. “Ah, but one arm is more than enough.” He cast her a sideways glance, smile softening ever so slightly. “Especially when I’ve got a storm standing beside me.”

Ram blinked, cheeks heating faintly before she quickly turned her head, grumbling, “You…Don’t get cocky.”

Before she could berate him further, Elsa’s voice floated toward them, laced with amusement. From the shadows, she rolled her kukri blades between her fingers with idle grace.

“Quite the charmer,” Elsa purred with a smirk, eyes glinting. “You’ve got a talent for impressing every woman in the room.”

Without warning, Elsa flickered like a wraith, vanishing from her spot and appearing directly behind Ram, blade flashing toward her exposed back.

Cid reacted instantly, his hand shooting back to seize Elsa’s forearm mid-strike, stopping the blade inches from Ram’s neck. His eyes were sharp and calculating as he addressed Ram.

“Classic pincer,” he said coolly, tightening his grip on Elsa’s arm. “You focus on ranged pressure—keep her moving. I’ll cut off her momentum every time she closes the distance.”

Ram gave a tight nod, immediately thrusting her hands forward again.
“Fura!” she barked, summoning another wave of cutting wind toward Elsa.

Elsa hissed and disappeared again into the debris as the gusts tore through the space—but the effort cost Ram dearly. She staggered forward, coughing hard as crimson splattered onto her sleeve.

Then—shhk—the glint of steel flashed at Ram’s throat. Elsa reappeared behind her, one kukri pressing lightly against her neck, keeping her frozen in place.

Ram’s eyes widened, and she gritted her teeth in frustration, unable to move without risking a fatal wound. Elsa leaned in, whispering almost sweetly.
“What will it be, butler?” she teased, eyes flickering to Cid. “Break your little pledge and save her? Or stand there and watch as your precious storm is cut down?”

Ah, classic hostage scenario. Looks like the author’s all about that drama life.

Her voice turned cold, dripping with mockery. “So much for tactics.”

Cid’s eyes regarded Elsa with a chilling calm. His expression was unreadable—emotionless—but then, slowly, the corners of his mouth curved upward into a confident grin.

“You’re mistaken,” Cid said, voice calm and almost bored. “You think you’ve won because you have a blade to her throat?”

I’ve noticed this kind of thing would work if I bluff my way through while dropping some not-so-subtle hints to Ram.

Elsa’s grip tightened instinctively. “What are you getting at?” she asked warily.

Cid’s grin widened just slightly, eyes gleaming. “You see…” he began, stepping forward at an unhurried pace, “Ram isn’t someone you can take hostage.”

Elsa blinked, genuinely thrown off. “What—?”

Ram clenched her fists, still frozen, but her voice rang out sharply, cutting through the tension. “Lucien! Don’t be stupid! Run! She’ll kill you if you come closer!”

But Cid didn’t stop. His steps remained slow, deliberate. “No, I won’t,” he replied, eyes fixed on Elsa with unsettling confidence. “In fact, the moment you pressed that blade to her neck… you signed your own death warrant.”

Elsa’s smile faltered as her instincts screamed danger. “What’s that supposed to mean?!”

Cid’s voice turned smooth as silk, dripping with amusement. “Because Ram… is far too powerful to be anyone’s mere hostage.”

Ram’s breath hitched—but before she could respond, a voice echoed softly inside her mind, deep and layered with an ominous resonance.

“You’ve been struggling, haven’t you… little storm?”

Ram’s eyes widened. It was the same voice from her dreams—the one cloaked in darkness, always whispering from the shadows.

“Standing alone, burdened by limits... how frustrating.”

Ram’s heart pounded. Who…?

"I am Shadow, the one who has watched your storms rage,” the voice said, gentle yet commanding. “And I offer you a path beyond weakness.”

Ram grit her teeth, swallowing thickly. Why now? Why here?

“Because,” the voice answered as if reading her thoughts, “in this moment, your desire screams louder than ever.”

Ram trembled, sweat mixing with blood on her forehead. Her lips parted, whispering back inside her thoughts. I… I’ve always fought alone… not strong enough… just barely keeping up...

“And what do you want?” the voice asked, tone softer now, more inviting. “Power? Purpose? Or… freedom?”

Ram closed her eyes, pain and anger flashing behind her mind’s eye. I want to protect them… Lucien, Rem, my people… but on my terms.

The voice chuckled darkly, yet with a strange warmth. “Then swear yourself to me.”

Ram’s eyes opened, determination burning within. Only if you swear never to harm them… from Lucien to Roswaal… they are mine to judge. I will have the final say.

A pause—and then, the voice rumbled with approval.

“A storm with boundaries… I accept.”

The voice shifted into something more ominous yet welcoming. “Come, child of the wind, and claim the storm you were meant to be.”

Suddenly—power exploded inside her.

Elsa recoiled, instincts screaming as she leapt back from Ram, who now trembled as immense energy coursed through her veins. Cid, still calmly watching, smirked knowingly.

And now it’s her time to shine.

Let’s just hope it doesn’t take three or four episodes for her to finally transform.

Elsa’s eyes narrowed, sensing the shift. “What... what’s happening to her?!”

Ram gasped as the power overtook her, then gritted her teeth as a sharp crack echoed through the air. A new horn sprouted from her forehead, unlike the shattered stump from before—this one burned with pulsing purple energy, arcs of magic crackling like lightning around her.

Ram slowly lifted her head, and when her glowing eyes locked with Elsa’s, there was no fear—only raw, controlled fury.

Elsa’s lips parted in awe and wariness. “Impossible… your horn… it’s powerful… and that aura… it’s like nothing I’ve felt before.”

Ram took a step forward, her voice a low growl. “You had your fun,” she said darkly. “Now it’s my turn.”

Cid stepped closer, crimson eyes narrowed as he watched the raw power radiating from Ram. “Ram…” he murmured, voice cautious but steady, “what… is this? What’s happening to you?”

Now it’s my turn to do the side character thing where I’m just standing here, jaw dropped, watching the MC level up like it’s the most epic thing I’ve ever seen.

Without tearing her glowing eyes from Elsa, Ram lifted one hand and passed it over Cid’s body. A gentle warmth surged through him as tendrils of magic swirled delicately, sealing his wounds, mending flesh and bone alike. His torn glove remained, but the cuts beneath were now gone.

Elsa, still standing at a distance with eyes narrowed, scoffed as she flipped her kukri between her fingers. “Hmph… since when did Roswaal’s little servants rival Gusteko’s Temple Knights?”

Ram’s expression didn’t waver. “Since today.”

Then, without sparing Cid a glance, she ordered flatly, “Stay down.”

Cid arched a brow. “What exactly do you—”

“STAY DOWN!” Ram snapped, her voice sharp and commanding, leaving no room for argument.

Cid instinctively lowered his head just as a faint shnk rang out, a single strand of his hair severed by an unseen blade of wind.

"Ul Fura!"

In the next heartbeat, an explosion of violent gales erupted outward from Ram. The sheer force obliterated what remained of the tavern, levelling it entirely. A massive crater formed in the earth, wind scars carved deep into the ground. The only untouched space was a narrow circle around Ram and Cid, the eye of the storm.

That was straight-up fire. Honestly, I have no regrets at all making her this badass.

As the dust settled, Ram exhaled, stepping forward with a fierce smirk. “Guess I’m not just the backup maid anymore,” she muttered, voice tinged with quiet pride.

Elsa’s form flickered deeper into the shadows, her breathing uneven. “Tch… how unfortunate,” she murmured. “I’ve overstayed my welcome.” Her voice dripped with annoyance, but also caution. “You’ve both become far more troublesome than I anticipated.”

Then, with a swirl of her cloak, Elsa vanished into the shadows.

Ram immediately made to pursue, taking one step before a firm grip caught her wrist. She turned to see Cid, still calm but resolute.

She’s new to the scene and has no idea she’s supposed to hit pause right here to keep this week’s episode at a solid 10/10.

“If you chase her now,” he said softly, “you might tear the whole village apart.”

Ram paused, frowning. “I can control it,” she insisted, voice steady. “This magic… it’s mine now.”

Cid’s gaze remained gentle but firm. “And as Roswaal’s head maid, you know your duty is to protect the people, not endanger them.”

Ram’s breath caught. She stared at him for a long moment before, slowly, the swirling magic dissipated. The purple glow faded from her horn until it vanished entirely, leaving her normal self behind.

Cid, still acting unfazed, tilted his head. “And here I thought you’d always kept such power hidden. How secretive of you.”

Ram’s eyes narrowed, but before she could retort, Cid swayed slightly on his feet, then collapsed forward.

Alright, time to wrap up my act too because, honestly, I’m not about to answer a million questions like, “How did you even end up in this mess?” “Why was she gunning for you?” and a bunch of other nonsense.

Better act like I'm fainting here than faint from Subaru’s numerous questions.

“Lucien!” Ram gasped, catching him against her chest.

Cid, eyes fluttering half-shut, gave her a lazy grin. “I think I’ll… let you handle the cleanup,” he murmured before fully going limp in her arms.

Ram’s face flushed as she held him close, biting back the sudden surge of emotion. “…Idiot,” she whispered fondly.

Ram sighed heavily, cradling him for a moment longer before muttering, “Always pushing yourself too far… even when you’re pretending to be cool.”

Cid gave no response, completely out cold, which only made her cheeks burn brighter. After a beat, she carefully adjusted him in her arms, grumbling under her breath.

“Tch… and now I have to carry you, too?”

Then, with one last glance at the ruined landscape around them, Ram huffed and began walking back toward the village, Cid resting peacefully against her shoulder.

As the night wind carried away the remnants of battle, Ram whispered with quiet resolve, “Next time… I’ll protect you before you fall.”

And somewhere in the distance, the storm gently settled.

Notes:

Hello everyone, huge thanks for all the love and support so far!

Big news: starting next chapter, we’re officially diving into Arc 3 of Re:Zero—and trust me, it’s about to get crazier.

Chapter 13: A Ghost from the Past

Cid slowly blinked awake, staring at the ornate ceiling above him. A yawn escaped his lips as he stretched his arms, feeling surprisingly well-rested.

“Huh… I guess I actually went for a nap instead of just acting like I fainted.” He muttered to himself, amused.

With a sigh, he got up and shuffled toward the bathroom. As he stood before the mirror, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, something caught his attention—a faint lipstick mark on his forehead.

“…Huh?” He leaned closer, inspecting it with narrowed eyes. He rubbed his forehead, but the mark remained. “That’s strange… This is real lipstick.”

His expression remained neutral, but inside, his mind was already running through possibilities. After a moment, he turned on the faucet and began washing his face.

“Could probably be Puck trying to pull some weird prank on me,” he mused as the warm water ran down his skin.

Once he finished showering and dressing, he returned to his room. However, he immediately noticed someone standing there.

Ram.

The pink-haired maid stood with her arms crossed, her usual calm and slightly haughty expression in place. But as Cid met her gaze, she quickly averted her eyes and let out a small huff.

“You finally woke up, Lucien,” she greeted in her usual tone, though there was a slight hesitation to it.

Cid gave her a small smile and bowed slightly, playing the part of a proper butler. “Good morning, Lady Ram.”

For some reason, Ram’s cheeks turned faintly pink, but she quickly schooled her expression and held out something toward him. It was his jacket—the one that had been torn yesterday.

“…Here.”

Cid took it, immediately noticing the careful stitching. It wasn’t just repaired—it was done with meticulous care, as if she had put in extra effort to make sure it looked as good as new. But as his gaze lowered slightly, he caught sight of her hands. Bandages wrapped around her fingertips.

Realization dawned on him.

Pretty sure she could just magic those fingers healed. But nah, she’s gotta guilt-trip me with bandages.

“…Did you sew this for me?” He asked, his voice quieter than usual.

Ram tensed slightly, her grip tightening on the edges of her skirt. “It’s only natural for a maid to repair a butler’s uniform,” she muttered, clearly struggling with her words. “Don’t misunderstand.”

Cid looked at her for a moment before he smiled and placed a hand over his chest, bowing slightly.

“I am deeply grateful for your kindness, Lady Ram.”

Her face instantly turned red.

She looked away. “…Just take care of it properly, idiot butler.”

Cid nodded. “Of course.”

As Ram stood there, flustered and fidgeting slightly, Cid couldn’t help but find the whole situation amusing. Still, he kept up his composed butler act.

Wonder what she's thinking about yesterday's mess.

“…About yesterday,” he started, his voice calm but firm. “The incident with Elsa—”

“I already informed the others,” Ram interrupted smoothly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Roswaal and the others are aware of what happened.”

Cid blinked at her sudden interjection before nodding. “I see.”

A brief silence settled between them. Ram stared at him, her crimson eyes sharp and observant, as if trying to piece together a puzzle she wasn’t sure she wanted to solve.

“…I still don’t know why you were targeted by such a deadly mercenary,” she admitted, narrowing her gaze slightly. “And the fact that you were able to hold your own against her only makes things more suspicious.”

Cid let out a small, awkward chuckle, rubbing the back of his head. “Well… It might have something to do with my past. The one I can’t remember.”

Ram’s expression remained unreadable, though her eyes flickered with a brief emotion he couldn’t quite place.

“As for holding my own,” he continued, his tone slightly self-deprecating, “if that were really true, then the outcome would’ve been a lot better than what actually happened.”

He looked back at her, intending to say something else, but before he could, Ram spoke first—as if she had already anticipated his next words.

“…I haven’t told anyone that my horn is back.”

Cid’s expression stilled for a fraction of a second before his usual composed mask returned. He studied her carefully, noting the way she held herself—calm, firm, but beneath it all, there was something else.

Ah, I see her game—delicate flower by day, boss woman by night. Totally respect that.

After a moment, he let out a quiet breath and smiled faintly. “…I see.”

Ram let out a slow breath, her arms still crossed as she looked at Cid. There was a rare moment of hesitation in her usually sharp gaze, as if she was still sorting through her thoughts.

“…To be honest, I still haven’t fully processed everything that happened yesterday,” she admitted, her voice quieter than before. “It was… overwhelming.”

Cid stayed silent, listening attentively.

“But,” Ram continued, her crimson eyes flickering with determination, “I know what I should do with this power.” She placed a hand on her chest. “I will use it to protect what’s important.”

Cid studied her for a moment before giving a small nod. “That’s a wise decision,” he said, his voice calm yet warm. “Keeping your power a secret is smart. You never know who might try to take advantage of it.”

Ram hummed in agreement, but before she could say anything else, Cid smirked slightly. “And of course, you also have your own personal desires, don’t you?”

Gotta remind her where she stands with Shadow.

Her expression faltered, and a faint pink hue crept onto her cheeks. “Wh-What are you implying?” she asked, voice just a little higher than usual.

Cid simply shrugged, his smirk deepening. “Who knows? Maybe you want to use it for something besides protecting the manor. Maybe for someone—”

Before he could finish, Ram suddenly stepped forward and grabbed his ear, tugging it sharply.

“You really are an idiot butler,” she huffed, her face now fully red. “I should have left you unconscious.”

“Ow, ow—Lady Ram, mercy!” Cid chuckled despite the slight pain, finding her reaction amusing.

Ram let go with a small ‘hmph’ and straightened her posture. “Enough wasting time. Get up already. An emissary from the Royal Capital is visiting the manor as we speak.”

Cid blinked. “…Wait, right now?”

“Yes. Right now.”

“…And you only decided to tell me now?”

Ram smirked slightly. “You were sleeping. It was tempting to let you miss it and deal with the consequences.”

Later on...
Cid adjusted the cuffs of his butler uniform as he walked down the grand hallway of the Roswaal Manor, his polished shoes clicking softly against the pristine floor. His mind was already racing with plans.

“An emissary from the Royal Capital, huh? This might be the perfect opportunity to impress the guests with my skills.”

He smirked to himself, already imagining the dignified bow, the seamless etiquette, the refined service—yes, this was his moment to shine. If he could make a strong impression, he could cement his place as the greatest butler around. Maybe even—

But then, something caught his eye.

From a large window overlooking the manor’s entrance, Cid noticed a carriage parked outside. Subaru stood near it, talking to an older man in a butler’s uniform. The man had an air of experience—his posture - impeccable, his presence exuding authority.

Cid’s smirk immediately faded.

“Wait… wait… wait…” His voice grew increasingly alarmed as his brain pieced together the worst possible scenario.

Had Roswaal gotten fed up with him? No—had Roswaal got scared because of that little… incident a few days ago? The one where Cid had threatened him?

“No way. No way. Did that clown actually decide to replace me?!”

His hands clenched into fists as dread settled in.

“This is a disaster.”

In front of the manor...
The sun cast a warm glow over the entrance of Roswaal Manor. A gentle breeze rustled the trees as Subaru stood near the carriage, engaged in conversation with an older man dressed in an impeccable butler’s uniform. The man carried an air of experience—his posture upright - movements deliberate, and demeanour calm. Despite his apparent age, there was not a single wasted motion.

The old butler’s eyes momentarily flickering toward the manor. Just then—

Click. Click. Click.

The rhythmic sound of polished shoes striking the pristine stone floor echoed through the entrance. A figure approached, his stride measured and precise, his butler’s uniform immaculate. His expression remained neutral, yet his gaze carried the weight of silent scrutiny.

Gotta teach this old-timer who's the top-tier butler in this joint.

Stopping at a perfect distance, Cid bowed smoothly, his right hand over his chest, his movements flawless.

“Good afternoon, esteemed guests,” Cid greeted in a composed tone. “Welcome to Roswaal Manor. My name is Lucien, a butler of this household. It is an honour to receive you.”

Subaru blinked in surprise before grinning. “Oh, hey, Lucy! Didn’t expect you to show up so quickly.” He gestured toward the old man. “This guy here is a super high-level butler from the Royal Capital. He came along with the emissary.”

At the mention of himself, the old man slowly placed his teacup onto its matching saucer and turned his gaze toward Cid.

Cid did the same.

For a moment, an invisible tension filled the air.

The two butlers stood in silence, their gazes locking onto each other like two swordsmen meeting for the first time.

The old man's sharp eyes traced every minute detail of Cid’s posture. He saw no wasted movement—no unnecessary gestures. Cid’s stance had no openings. His breathing was steady, his presence controlled.

"…Impressive." The old man thought to himself. "A composed young butler with such poise is a rarity. To maintain such a flawless stance means he is no ordinary servant… perhaps even more than just a butler."

Meanwhile, Cid was making his own observations.

Whoa. This geezer's got flawless form—zero openings, zero fear. Uh-oh. Is he one of those stupidly OP old man tropes?

Despite the relaxed demeanour, Cid could feel an overwhelming sense of refinement and discipline emanating from the old man. There was no arrogance in his posture, no wasted movements—even the way he sipped his tea had a level of precision that was borderline terrifying.

For the first time in a while, Cid felt admiration for another person.

Subaru blinked, feeling the air between Cid and the old butler grow heavier with each passing second. He glanced between them, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple.

“Uh… hey, guys?” He forced a chuckle, waving a hand between them. “What’s with the intense staring contest? I mean, I get that butlers have their own secret society or something, but this is kinda freaky.”

Neither Cid nor the old man moved. The tension was practically palpable.

Subaru sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “Seriously, you’re giving me secondhand pressure here.”

At that moment, Cid’s lips curled into a smirk.

I went in to roast this dude, but honestly? Old man's kinda rad. Taking notes for when I'm his age.

With an effortless grace, he extended his gloved hand toward the old butler. “I see now… Such poise, such precision. You are not simply a man of service but a master of his craft.” He tilted his head slightly. “To stand before one with such presence—it is nothing short of an honour.”

The old man’s eyes glinted with understanding. After a brief pause, he smirked as well and reached out, firmly shaking Cid’s hand.

Hey, why’s some of my mana chillin’ in this man?

“You are quite remarkable yourself, young man,” the old man said in a refined yet powerful tone. “Rarely does one encounter a man who truly embodies the essence of the art. Your presence speaks volumes.”

He then released the handshake and straightened his posture.

“My name is Wilhelm van Astrea,” he introduced himself. “I serve under Lady Crusch.”

Subaru’s eyes widened. “Wait. Wait. Wait. Hold on a second.” He raised both hands in confusion. “I literally have no idea what just went on here. Did you guys just have a full conversation with your brains? Is this some kind of butler telepathy?”

Cid slowly closed his eyes, crossing his arms behind his back.

“Words are but a mere formality,” he said cryptically. “In the world of true refinement, those who walk the path of service need not speak to understand.”

Wilhelm nodded solemnly. “Indeed. A true man does not simply serve—he exists, he observes, and in doing so, he comprehends.”

Subaru’s jaw dropped. “Nope. Nope. That’s it. I’m done trying to understand this. You guys are on a whole different plane of existence.”

As the tension between Cid and Wilhelm reached an unspoken understanding, a playful voice suddenly interrupted them.

“My, my, what’s going on here, nyan~? Did I just stumble into a secret butler battle or something?”

A familiar, teasing lilt cut through the air.

Oh no, why's the neko cosplay dude here??

The three turned to see Ferris standing nearby, his cat-like ears twitching with curiosity. He had his hands on his hips, his golden eyes glinting mischievously as he tilted his head.

Wilhelm, ever composed, turned to face Ferris and spoke in his usual refined tone. “We were merely sharing a conversation."

Ferris pouted playfully, his tail swishing behind him. “Ohhh? Is that what they call it these days, nyan~? ‘Cause from over there, it totally looked like you two were about to have a dramatic duel or something.”

His eyes then shifted toward Cid, scanning him up and down. But the moment Ferris got a proper look at him, his teasing demeanour froze.

His pupils dilated. His ears twitched once, then twice.

“…No way.”

Cid blinked.

Shit, is he recognizing me? We only hung out for like an hour that day.

Ferris kept staring.

Cid, trying to maintain his butler composure, placed a hand over his chest and gave a polite nod. “Is something the matter?”

But Ferris didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, stepping forward. He slowly began circling Cid, his gaze scrutinizing every inch of him.

Then—without warning—Ferris leaned in and sniffed.

Cid twitched. “Excuse me?”

Ferris ignored him, stepping back with a frown. His tail flicked in agitation, and he thought to himself.

"The resemblance… It’s way too uncanny." His expression darkened as his thoughts ran wild. "But it can’t be. There’s no way. That person—Fourier’s friend—he died a few years ago."

Cid’s breath hitched for a fraction of a second.

He masked it immediately, keeping his posture upright, but inside, his mind was racing.

Should I turbo-perceive and bolt? Nah, that’d just crank up the chaos.

Ferris was sharp. Too sharp.

He was one of the few people who met Cid in the past. Before he had faked his death. Before he had time-traveled into the present.

And now, Ferris was staring at him with the suspicion of someone who had just seen a ghost.

“…Nyan?” Ferris suddenly spoke up again, this time more cautiously. “You… who are you, really?”

Cid smiled. His butler mask held firm.

Time to slap on that flawless Lucien mask—my moment’s here.

“I am merely Lucien, a humble butler in service to Roswaal Manor,” he answered smoothly. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

Ferris didn’t look convinced. His tail flicked again, his sharp eyes searching Cid’s expression for any cracks.

"Lucien, huh?" he mused internally. "That much is true. And if Fourier’s friend were somehow still alive, he’d definitely be older than this guy."

His sharp gaze lingered on Cid for a few more moments, but then—just like that—his entire demeanour shifted. His signature playful grin returned, and he extended his hand toward Cid with a teasing glint in his golden eyes.

“Well, whatever, nyan~! You sure got me curious for a second there, but it’s no big deal, right? A cute butler like you? You can’t be hiding anything too crazy, right~?” Ferris cooed, his voice dripping with mischief.

Cid remained unshaken. With elegant poise, he placed a gloved hand over his chest and accepted Ferris’s handshake with practised grace.

“The curiosity of one as keen as you is most understandable,” Cid replied smoothly.

The oldest trick in the book—dude's totally scanning me with this handshake. Since I was in 'background character' mode back then, better crank up the mana to keep Lucien and Cid separate, but the blood part should be up to luck this time.

But in that moment—just as their hands touched—Ferris’s eyes flashed.

A faint, near-invisible shimmer of healing magic pulsed from his fingertips, a technique refined through years of experience. While it seemed like nothing more than a casual touch, Ferris was analyzing Cid’s body—his blood, his composition, his very essence.

And then—Ferris’s breath hitched. His pupils constricted.

"This is…!"

He quickly withdrew his hand, masking his shock with an exaggerated laugh. But inside, his mind was spinning.

"His blood—it's way too similar. Similar to Cid's."

Ferris had no doubt about it. His healing magic allowed him to sense even the tiniest details of a person’s body, and Lucien’s blood was similar to the man he once knew as Cid.

But that wasn’t what shocked him the most.

Ferris steadied his breathing, extending his senses further. If he had overlooked something once, he wouldn’t do so again.

And then—he felt it.

Mana.

Lucien had mana. But it wasn’t just any mana.

It was completely different from Cid’s.

"Cid had no mana at all. He was a weak guy. But Lucien… his mana is something else entirely."

A cold chill ran down Ferris’s spine. He had spent years honing his ability to analyze mana, and what he was feeling now was impossible to ignore.

"This mana… It feels familiar."

His tail stiffened, his thoughts racing. Mana had distinct qualities, inherited traits that were often passed down through bloodlines. A child would naturally carry traces of their parents' mana, no matter how diluted.

And yet—Lucien’s mana…

It felt the same as Wilhelm’s.

Ferris’s ears twitched. His fingers clenched at his sides.

"There’s no mistaking it. Lucien and Wilhelm… their mana is nearly identical."

The weight of that realization nearly made Ferris dizzy.

"But how? Why? What does this even mean?"

Theories flooded his mind, but there was one question—one possibility—that terrified him the most.

Could Lucien and Cid actually be stepbrothers?

Could Wilhelm, in one way or another, be Lucien’s father?

Ferris swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep up his usual playful facade. But deep inside, he knew he had just stumbled upon something far more complicated than he had ever expected.

Wilhelm glanced at the sky, noting the time. With a firm nod, he turned toward Ferris.

"It is about time we take our leave," Wilhelm said in his usual refined yet commanding tone.

Ferris, who had been deep in thought, blinked before snapping back to his usual teasing self. "Ah, right, right, nyan~! Wouldn’t want to keep the capital waiting~!"

With a playful wink, Ferris hopped into the carriage. "See you in the capital, nyan~!"

Wilhelm gave Cid and Subaru a final nod before stepping onto the driver’s seat. With a flick of the reins, the carriage began to move, heading toward the capital.

As the dust settled, Subaru let out a breath and placed a hand on Cid’s shoulder. "Alright, Lucy. You know what our next operation is, right?"

Cid arched a brow, caught off guard. "Pardon? What would that be?"

Subaru’s grin widened. "We’re heading to the capital."

Later on...
Inside Roswaal Manor, Subaru stood before Emilia, his hands clasped together in a pleading gesture.

"Emilia-tan, please, please, please take us with you to the capital!" he begged.

Emilia tilted her head in confusion. "Eh? Why so suddenly?"

Subaru cleared his throat, trying to sound more composed. "Well, I was thinking… There were some guys who really helped me out when I first met you, and I never got the chance to properly thank them." He folded his arms, giving her a sincere look. "I kinda owe them, you know?"

Emilia blinked. "Oh… well, that is a good reason, but…" She hesitated, unsure.

At that moment, Cid stepped forward, his butler demeanour flawless. He placed a hand over his chest and bowed slightly. "If I may, Lady Emilia… This may also be an opportunity for me. If I visit the capital, I may remember something about my past." His tone was calm and respectful, but there was an unspoken depth in his words.

I'm going there just to snag a fancy new butler gig with better pay.

Subaru immediately jumped in, slinging an arm around Cid’s shoulder. "See? Lucy has a legit reason, too! Helping him out is basically helping me out—so, it’s a win-win, right?" He gave Emilia his best ‘trust me’ grin.

Before Emilia could respond, a voice from across the room cut in.

"Hmm~" Roswaal hummed from his seat on the couch, resting his chin on his hand. "Well, as long as you two aren’t up to any trooouble, I see no harm in letting you come alooong." His ever-present smirk remained, but there was a glint of amusement in his mismatched eyes.

Both Subaru and Cid straightened up in perfect butler fashion and bowed slightly.

"We are most grateful," they said in unison.

Roswaal chuckled. "Ohhh, how very butler-liiike of you~."

In the capital...
The streets of the royal capital bustled with life, merchants calling out their wares as the scent of fresh bread and roasted meat filled the air. Among the crowd, three figures strolled leisurely—Subaru, Emilia, and Cid.

Subaru was holding a bag of apples in one hand, his other hand firmly clasped with Emilia’s. A goofy grin stretched across his face, but beads of sweat were forming on his forehead.

“Ugh, my hand is so sweaty,” Subaru groaned, trying to subtly wipe it against his clothes while still holding onto Emilia’s.

Emilia glanced at him, her violet eyes unwavering. “No,” she said simply.

Subaru blinked. “Huh?”

“I won’t let go,” she repeated, tightening her grip slightly. “Because if I do, you’ll definitely find trouble again.”

Subaru gasped, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “What kind of criminal do you take me for, Emilia-tan?! That’s so unfair! You’re acting like I have a talent for getting into danger or something!”

Cid, who had been quietly observing, let out a soft chuckle.

“Oh, come on,” Subaru huffed before pointing at Cid. “How come you trust him to walk freely when he’s the one with amnesia? He could wander off at any moment and get lost forever!”

Emilia glanced at Cid, then back at Subaru, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Hmm… Even if Lucien is still remembering things, he’s more careful than you, Subaru.”

Cid placed a gloved hand over his chest and bowed slightly. “Lady Emilia, I deeply appreciate your faith in my sense of caution.”

Before Subaru could argue further, a small figure suddenly appeared in front of them.

The girl, no taller than Subaru’s waist, had short, silver hair and bright, curious eyes. She gazed up at them before her lips curled into a warm smile. “Wow… you’re really pretty,” she said, her voice soft and sweet as she stared at Emilia.

Emilia immediately flushed, her cheeks turning a light pink. “O-Oh! Um, thank you…” she murmured, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Subaru’s eyes widened in betrayal. “Oi, oi, oi! Hold on a second! How come you’re getting all shy now?! When I compliment you, you just brush it off like it’s nothing!”

Emilia, still flustered, looked away. “T-That’s different!”

The little girl giggled before reaching into her pockets, rummaging around for something. After a moment, she pulled out a small, gleaming gemstone—no bigger than a coin.

“This would look really pretty on you,” the girl said cheerfully, holding out the gem toward Emilia.

Emilia smiled gently and reached out to accept the gift. “That’s so sweet of you—”

Before she could take another step, a gloved hand abruptly blocked her path.

Cid had moved in front of her in an instant, his posture rigid, his eyes sharp.

Wait, I know this one! Tiny girl offers a 'gift,' then—BAM—monster. Classic.

Emilia and Subaru froze, both taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanour.

“Lucien…?” Emilia blinked, confused.

Subaru frowned. “Oi, what’s the big deal? She’s just a kid.”

Cid remained silent, his piercing gaze locked onto the small girl. Without warning, he stepped forward and, in a swift, precise motion, slapped the gemstone from her hand. The tiny gem clattered onto the cobblestone street, spinning a few times before coming to a stop.

The girl’s eyes widened in shock as she stared at her now-empty palm.

Cid straightened, adjusting his pristine gloves with cold precision. His voice, when he spoke, was void of warmth—crisp, professional, and utterly merciless.

Perfect time to shine as a butler.

“That pathetic trinket does not deserve to be anywhere near Lady Emilia’s radiance,” he stated, his tone laced with disdain. “It is a mere pebble compared to her beauty. To offer something so unworthy is nothing short of an insult.”

The girl’s lips trembled. Tears welled up in her eyes, her small hands balling into fists at her sides. “Y-You’re mean…!” she choked out, her voice breaking as tears spilt down her cheeks.

With a sniffle, she turned on her heel and bolted down the street, her tiny sobs fading into the bustling crowd.

Subaru’s jaw hung open, his entire body frozen in disbelief. “Oi… Did that just happen? You made a little girl cry.”

Emilia, also stunned, took a step toward Cid. “Lucien, that was… too harsh.” Her voice was gentle, but there was unmistakable concern in her eyes. “She was just a child. She wasn’t trying to be rude.”

Cid remained composed, his expression unchanging. He placed a hand over his chest and bowed slightly. “Forgive me, Lady Emilia, but I was merely exercising caution. A stranger approaching you with an unknown object is not something to be taken lightly.”

Subaru pinched the bridge of his nose. “C’mon, man, she was just a kid! What was she gonna do, assassinate Emilia with a shiny rock?”

Emilia sighed, still feeling bad about the little girl. “Lucien, I appreciate that you’re looking out for me, but next time… maybe try to be a little kinder?”

Cid inclined his head slightly. “As you wish, my lady.” But there was no regret in his tone—only a butler’s unwavering resolve.

 

As they continued walking through the bustling streets, Cid’s eyes wandered across the cityscape

Emilia, still holding onto Subaru’s hand, hummed in thought before perking up. "If we want to find Reinhard, we should probably head to the guard station in front of the noble district. He’s often there when he’s not on duty elsewhere."

The second the name Reinhard left her lips, Cid came to an abrupt stop. His entire posture tensed, his gloved hand clenching slightly at his side.

Subaru, noticing this, raised an eyebrow. "Oi, what’s up with you?"

Cid didn’t answer immediately. He lowered his gaze, his expression shadowed as if he were processing something deeply unsettling. Then, in a low voice, he spoke.

"... Are you talking about the Sword Saint?"

Emilia blinked at him in surprise before nodding. "Yes, Reinhard van Astrea. He’s the current Sword Saint and one of the strongest knights in Lugnica."

Cid’s eyes flickered with something unreadable—recognition, doubt. But in an instant, he masked it with a composed smile. "I see. Thank you for telling me."

Ain't no way in hell I'm meeting that ginger dude right now.

Before Subaru could prod him any further, Cid suddenly turned on his heel. "I’ll see you both later," he said, his tone calm yet oddly distant.

Subaru’s mouth hung open in disbelief. "Hah?! Where are you going all of a sudden? You were just standing there looking all dramatic, and now you’re walking off? What kind of weird mystery man act is this?!"

Cid merely lifted a hand in a slight wave without turning back. "I just need to check something," he said simply before disappearing into the crowd.

Subaru groaned, rubbing his temples. "Unbelievable. First, he’s all serious, then he leaves without explaining anything?"

Emilia, watching Cid’s fading figure, exhaled softly. "It’s fine. Lucien should be able to handle himself for now."

Subaru shot her a sceptical look. "Should be?"

Emilia smiled reassuringly. "We’ll just have to trust him."

Later on...
As Cid walked alone through the streets of the capital, his expression remained composed, but his mind was elsewhere. The moment Emilia mentioned Reinhard’s name, something deep within him had stirred—an instinctive caution, a quiet alarm.

Meeting Reinhard there would bring too much unnecessary trouble,

He thought to himself.

It’s best if I avoid him for now.

He adjusted his gloves, exhaling softly. For someone in his position, unnecessary attention was the last thing he needed.

Just as he was about to change direction, a sharp voice caught his attention.

“I told you, this isn’t even close to genuine drake leather! The grain is completely wrong!”

Cid turned his head slightly toward the source of the argument.

A petite woman stood in front of a merchant’s stall, her long, wavy purple hair cascading down her back, swaying slightly as she gestured in frustration. She was dressed elegantly in a long white dress with fur lining, her blue-green eyes narrowed as she pointed accusingly at the merchant’s wares.

Oh ho, she looks rich. Maybe my chance to snag a sweet gig as a killer butler.

“I don’t know what kind of customers you usually deal with, but if you think you can scam me with this second-rate material, you must take me for a fool,” she continued, her irritation growing.

The merchant, an older man with a nervous smile, raised his hands. “Now, now, miss, I assure you this is the finest—”

“Oh, spare me the excuses,” she huffed, crossing her arms.

Cid smirked.

This was getting interesting.

Who knew Gamma's random leather facts would actually come in handy one day? Not me.

With practised ease, he stepped forward, his posture impeccable, his presence immediately commanding attention. He cleared his throat, then spoke in an even, refined tone:

"A common misconception in leather craftsmanship is that surface uniformity equates to quality. However, true high-grade drake leather possesses micro-imperfections formed during the beast’s natural growth. Mass-produced counterfeits, such as the one presented here, often lack this organic variance due to synthetic processing."

The air around them fell silent.

The woman blinked, momentarily caught off guard. The merchant’s face turned pale.

The woman’s expression shifted as she regarded Cid with newfound interest. Her blue-green eyes gleamed with amusement, and a small, approving smile tugged at her lips.

“Well, well… You certainly know what you’re talking about,” she said, placing a hand on her hip. “Most people wouldn’t be able to tell at a glance, let alone explain it so smoothly.”

Cid, ever the picture of grace, placed a hand over his chest and gave a slight bow. “It is merely my duty to discern quality from deception, my lady."

Things are going smoothly.

She chuckled softly, turning her gaze back to the merchant, who was now visibly sweating. Seeing no escape from the situation, the man let out a nervous sigh and raised his hands in surrender.

“You should be ashamed. Scamming customers with cheap counterfeits won’t get you far.” She crossed her arms. “Do you want me to report you?”

The merchant’s face paled even further. “N-No, please! I—I’ll stop, I swear! I’ll be more honest with my sales from now on!”

The woman studied him for a moment before sighing and shaking her head. “I’m not here to ruin your business, but you’d best not try this again. There are plenty of people who wouldn’t be as forgiving.”

The merchant nodded furiously, hastily gathering his goods before scurrying away.

With the ordeal settled, the woman turned her attention back to Cid, a playful glint in her eyes. “I suppose I should introduce myself.” She placed a delicate hand on her chest and smiled. “Anastasia Hoshin. Merchant, Great Businesswoman, and someone who has no patience for swindlers.”

Cid gave a courteous nod. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Anastasia. You may call me Lucien.”

Anastasia tilted her head slightly, her curiosity growing. “Lucien, huh? Tell me, how exactly does a man like you have such deep knowledge of leather craftsmanship?”

Cid, ever composed, adjusted his gloves before responding smoothly. “A proper attendant must be well-versed in a variety of subjects to serve with excellence."

Anastasia narrowed her eyes slightly, intrigued by his answer. “Interesting… Then let’s put that knowledge to the test.” A knowing smirk graced her lips as she asked, “If you were to invest in high-demand materials, would you prioritize stable suppliers with moderate returns or take calculated risks with rare, high-yield import”

Zero fucking idea what she’s saying, but time to drop some nerdy jargon and fake it.

Cid’s lips curled into the faintest smirk. “A calculated risk is preferable, provided one possesses both foresight and the means to influence the market in their favor.”

Anastasia’s eyes lit up with amusement. “Hah! You really do know your stuff. I was half-expecting you to bluff your way through it, but you answered like a true trader.” She let out a small laugh. “It’s a relief to find someone who shares the same views on these kinds of matters.”

Cid, ever the gentleman, responded with a refined bow. “I am honored to be of like mind with such an esteemed merchant, Lady Anastasia.”

Anastasia studied him for a moment longer before asking, “So then, Lucien… Who do you work for?”

Cid’s expression remained composed as he responded in his usual, polished tone. “For now, I am in the service of Lord Roswaal.”

YES,YES,YES! New job, more cash—finally!

Anastasia hummed, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “So, you’re with Emilia’s camp, huh?” She sighed, shaking her head with an exaggerated pout. “That’s a real shame. A capable man like you would’ve been a perfect fit in my service. I could use someone with your sharp eye and eloquence.”

Cid placed a hand over his chest. “My lady flatters me. However, as any proper servant should be, I am always open to negotiation—provided the terms are agreeable, of course.” His words were delivered smoothly, his tone unwaveringly polite.

Anastasia raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh-ho? Tempting, tempting. But I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. After all, I’m a royal candidate myself.” She placed a hand on her hip, tilting her head. “If I were to take you in now, it’d look like I was just trying to snoop on Emilia’s camp for intel. Wouldn’t want to stir up unnecessary suspicion, now would I?”

Damn, she’s right—should’ve gone full spy instead of butler.

Cid nodded in agreement, his composure never faltering. “A most prudent decision, Lady Anastasia.”

Before Anastasia could respond, a sudden movement from above caught her attention.

In an instant, a small figure leaped through the air, landing effortlessly on Anastasia’s shoulder. The woman stiffened, startled, as a pair of tiny hands clung onto her.

“Milady~!” a cheerful voice chirped.

Anastasia quickly turned her head to see a petite girl with long orange hair, tied into two playful twin tails. Her bright aqua-green eyes sparkled with mischief, and a pair of fluffy orange cat ears twitched atop her head. A matching tail swayed behind her as she clung onto Anastasia with ease, as if this were a regular occurrence. She wore a simple yet elegant white robe, the fabric flowing with her movements.

Yet another fluffy cash grab for the merch the author’s making.

Anastasia let out a sigh, though there was clear relief in her tone. “Mimi! Where in the world have you been? I’ve been looking all over the market for you!”

Mimi grinned, her ears twitching. “Mimi was nappin’!” She pointed toward a statue a short distance away. “Right over there! Had a quick snooze by that statue. It kinda looks like that guy!”

She turned her gaze toward Cid, blinking curiously as she examined him. Then, with a bright laugh, she tilted her head. “Yep! You totally look like the statue guy! But you don’t look as grumpy.”

Cid turned his gaze toward the statue Mimi had pointed at, expecting some generic noble or famed merchant immortalized in stone. But the moment his eyes fell on the sculpture, his breath hitched.

What the heck...

There, standing tall in the middle of the merchant district square, was him.

Or rather, his background character persona.

The stone figure was sculpted with an air of quiet dignity—broad shoulders, simple yet refined attire, and a proud, unwavering gaze directed toward the sky. The likeness was uncanny, down to the slightly ruffled hairstyle he always ensured looked “unremarkably average.” His nondescript, inconspicuous alias now loomed over the bustling district in full heroic grandeur.

Cid’s mind went blank.

Wait, this has to be a joke... right? If not, my NPC era is officially over.

His sharp eyes zeroed in on the plaque at the statue’s base, the engraved words making his stomach sink further:

"In honour of Cid Kagenou, a great man who gave his life to protect the Fourth Prince of Lugnica, Fourier Lugnica. A citizen of honour of the Kingdom of Lugnica.”

Silence.

Of course, he hadn't actually died. But according to the Kingdom of Lugnica, his background character alias had perished heroically, cementing his legacy in history.

Notes:

And that’s a wrap on the first chapter of Arc 3! Trust me, things are only going to get wilder for Cid from here.

As for Ferris not recognizing him right away—come on, they barely spent an hour together years ago. The guy’s memory was bound to be a little fuzzy.

Oh, and by the way, a certain hidden villain made a sneaky appearance in this chapter... but nope, no spoilers from me!

Have a nice day, y'all!

Chapter 14: The Crimson Invitation

Anastasia took a step forward, gazing up at the statue with a thoughtful hum. Her blue-green eyes flickered between the stone-carved features and the man beside her. A knowing smirk formed on her lips as she tilted her head.

“You know… The resemblance is real,” she mused, tapping her chin.

Mimi, still perched on Anastasia’s shoulder, leaned in with a bright grin. “Yeah, yeah! Super real! It’s like someone saw him and went, ‘Hey, let’s make a big rock guy that looks just like this, fella!’”

Cid let out a soft chuckle and adjusted his gloves. “An amusing coincidence, my lady. However, it is hardly unusual for sculptors to follow similar artistic trends. A refined yet unassuming visage such as mine is likely a common template among distinguished statues.”

Anastasia blinked at him, then let out a small, amused laugh. “Hah, now that’s a stretch. But hey, I suppose stranger things have happened.” She shook her head with a playful sigh. “What are the chances, huh?”

As Cid nodded in agreement, Mimi suddenly leaned closer, her nose twitching. Her twin tails swayed as she tilted her head.

“Hmm…” she mumbled, her eyes locked on him. Then, without hesitation, she sniffed.

Cid stiffened.

Mimi’s ears perked up, her face lighting up. “Ohh! You smell super good! Like fancy soap and somethin’ nice! Mimi wants to hang out with you more!”

Anastasia’s eyes widened slightly before she let out a sigh, lightly flicking Mimi’s forehead. “Mimi, what did I say about sniffing people without warning?”

Mimi pouted, rubbing her forehead. “But Anaaa, he smells nice! Like, ‘expensive-tea-and-secretly-kinda-cool’ nice!”

Anastasia rolled her eyes before turning her gaze back to Cid. A smirk played on her lips as she folded her arms. “Well, Lucien, since you’re such a well-mannered gentleman, how about a walk? No ulterior motives, of course.”

Ugh, no point in sticking around her anymore, but I’m already in too deep.

Cid placed a hand over his chest, offering a deep and graceful bow. “It would be my utmost honour to accompany you, Lady Anastasia.”

Anastasia chuckled. “Well then, let’s get going. And Mimi?”

Mimi grinned. “Yeah?”

“No more sniffing.”

“No promises!”

As the trio walked leisurely through the merchant district, a sudden voice rang out, clear and authoritative.

“Lady Anastasia, I have been searching for you.”

Anastasia and Mimi both turned at the same time to see a tall, elegant man approaching. His regal bearing and his indigo hair neatly kept, and his sharp golden eyes focused entirely on Anastasia. He moved with an effortless grace, exuding the refined aura of a true knight.

Julius Juukulius halted before them and placed a hand over his chest in a formal greeting. “It is good to see you well, Lady Anastasia.”

Anastasia smirked, placing a hand on her hip. “Oh, Julius. I was just having a pleasant chat with my new acquaintance here.” She gestured toward Cid. “Lucien here is quite the gentleman. Sharp, eloquent, and knows his way around quality goods. A rare find, don’t you think?”

Cid, who had been keeping his cool up until now, stiffened the moment Julius turned to face him. His golden gaze assessed him carefully, unreadable yet keen.

Shit, now the otome dude popped up, too. Great.

Then, to Cid’s surprise, Julius smiled faintly and offered a polite bow. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Lucien. Any man who earns Lady Anastasia’s praise must certainly be someone of worth.”

With a perfectly measured movement, Cid placed a hand over his chest and executed a flawless bow. “The honour is mine, Sir Julius. A servant must always strive to meet the expectations of those he serves.”

Ofc he wouldn't remember me—too busy flirting to notice my NPC energy back then.

Mimi, still perched on Anastasia’s shoulder, looked between the two men before puffing out her cheeks. “Mimi feels like this is too fancy for her to handle…” She wiggled her twin tails, her ears twitching in mild distress.

Anastasia chuckled, shaking her head in amusement. “Oh, Mimi, you’ll get used to it.” She then turned to Cid, her blue-green eyes gleaming with playfulness. “You know, Lucien, I’ve got a feeling we’re all going to get along just fine.”

Julius nodded, his expression composed. “Indeed.”

Cid adjusted his gloves and nodded as well. “Indeed.”

Ain't no way I'm hangin' near this dude.

Their voices overlapped perfectly, their tones matching in an eerie unison.

A brief silence followed.

Mimi blinked, then burst out laughing. “Pfft—Hah! That was weird! You two sound like fancy twins!”

Anastasia chuckled, shaking her head. “Now that’s a sight to see.”

Julius gave a polite nod, his golden eyes gleaming with quiet interest. “Sir Lucien, I must say, I would love to spend more time in your company. However, Lady Anastasia has somewhere to be at this moment.”

Anastasia blinked before letting out a small, amused sigh. “Ah, right. Almost forgot about that.”

Mimi giggled from her perch. “You always forget when you’re in the merchant district, Ana! You get all distracted by shiny things and interesting people!”

Anastasia rolled her eyes with a smirk. “I wouldn’t call it forgetting. More like… prioritizing.”

Julius let out a soft chuckle, but he didn’t press the matter further.

Turning back to Cid, Anastasia’s smirk softened into something more thoughtful. She stepped closer, tilting her head slightly as she regarded him. “Lucien, I’d love to meet again. And since you’re part of Emilia’s camp… I’m sure we will.”

Cid, ever composed, placed a hand over his chest and bowed deeply. “The privilege would be mine, Lady Anastasia. A jewel of your calibre graces any gathering with brilliance.”

Anastasia chuckled, shaking her head. “Now that’s a butler’s way of saying something nice.”

Straightening, Cid gave a small, knowing smile. “It is simply the truth, my lady. Until we meet again.”

With that, he took a step back, allowing Julius and Anastasia to proceed.

Mimi waved enthusiastically. “Bye-bye, fancy butler guy! Mimi’s gonna remember your smell!”

Cid merely chuckled, watching as the trio disappeared into the bustling streets.

Later on...
Subaru sat on a bench in front of the guard station, a bag of apples resting in his lap. He tossed one up, caught it, and let out a sigh.

“What’s the deal with that purple-haired narcissistic knight?” he muttered. “Seriously, guy walks around acting like he’s the main character or something.”

Before he could continue his grumbling, his hand suddenly felt lighter. He blinked.

Crunch.

Subaru turned his head, eyes widening in disbelief.

“Hi,” Cid greeted casually, already halfway through an apple he had just taken from Subaru’s bag.

“Oi! Since when were you here?!” Subaru exclaimed.

Cid, completely unfazed, took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. “I was simply admiring the city, that’s all.”

Just heard rich people chill here. So... here I am.

Subaru narrowed his eyes. “So… You were just marvelling around?”

Cid nodded. “Precisely.”

Subaru scoffed, shaking his head. “Man, you really are something else. But I gotta admit, that’s kinda cool in its own way.” He smirked and held out the bag. “Fine, since you’ve already stolen one, might as well take another. Bros don’t count apples, after all.”

Cid chuckled and graciously accepted another. “A generous sentiment.”

Just as Subaru was about to launch into another complaint about knights with perfect hair, something in the corner of his eye made him freeze. A girl was being pulled into a dark alleyway, her muffled voice barely audible over the street’s chatter.

“Oi, oi… That’s not good,” Subaru muttered, his expression tightening. He shot a look at Cid. “You saw that, right?”

Ah yes, the classic ‘nice guy swoops in to save some random damsel’ trope.

Cid looked with a calm expression. “Lady Emilia explicitly advised us against unnecessary conflict.”

Subaru gawked at him. “Oh, come on! We’re just supposed to ignore that?!”

Cid remained silent for a moment before Subaru scoffed, getting to his feet.

“Fine, if you’re too busy playing the perfect butler, I’ll go by myself.”

Cid sighed as if already knowing where this was going. He straightened his cuffs and gave a slight bow.

Subaru's totally holding back his power—perfect chance to sneak a peek at what he's really packing.

“Very well.”

And just like that, the two rushed toward the alley, ready to intervene.

In the dark alleyway...
The three thugs loomed over the girl, their postures exuding false confidence as they sneered down at her.

The tallest of the group grinned menacingly. “Oi, oi, what’s a fancy lady like you doing in a place like this? Lost your way from your noble tower?”

The shortest of the trio, wiry and twitchy, chuckled as he rubbed his hands together. “Would be a shame if something happened to a delicate flower like you.”

The last simply smirked. “We’d be more than happy to… escort you somewhere safer.”

Yet, despite their intimidation tactics, the girl did not flinch. Her crimson eyes flickered with something between amusement and boredom as she studied them. With a slow, deliberate motion, she adjusted the barrette in her flowing orange hair.

“My, my,” she mused, her tone dripping with condescension. “It seems I’ve stumbled upon three particularly wretched examples of humanity. Tell me, do you all take turns making fools of yourselves, or is this a synchronized performance of idiocy?”

The big thug’s grin faltered. “What did you just say?”

The girl sighed, tilting her head slightly. “Ah, I see. A lack of wit and comprehension as well. How unfortunate. Truly, the world is unkind to those of such little substance.”

The wiry thug scowled. “Why, you—!”

Before he could take a step forward, a voice cut through the alleyway.

“Oi, oi,” Subaru called out, casually cracking his knuckles. “This situation’s looking a little one-sided, don’t you think?”

The three thugs turned to see him standing at the entrance of the alley, a confident smirk on his face.

Beside him, Cid adjusted his cuffs and nodded. “Indeed. This particular scenario appears to require intervention.”

Damn, came here for a crybaby, but girl’s not even flinch in front of three thugs. Wild.

Subaru grinned and stepped forward, positioning himself in front of the girl. “Alright, lady, leave these guys to me. I—”

Then he noticed something strange.

Cid didn’t take a fighting stance next to him. Instead, he stepped to the opposite side—his back facing the thugs entirely.

The alleyway fell into silence.

The thugs blinked in confusion. The girl raised an eyebrow. Subaru’s grin faded into a look of pure bewilderment.

“…Oi.” Subaru pointed at Cid. “What the hell are you doing?”

Cid gave a small, polite nod. “But of course, I am simply standing on the side of the victims.”

What's Subaru thinking? Dude should realize this lady could wipe the floor with those guys.

Subaru’s eye twitched. “The victims?!” He threw out his arms in frustration. “There’s a woman surrounded by three thugs in a dark alleyway, and you’re calling them the victims?!”

Wait wait wait—what if he tricked me into picking the weak guys side, knowing I would, while he took the girl’s side like a normal person? Ugh, he outplayed me at my own game!

One of the thugs, emboldened by the apparent mockery, stepped forward with a sneer. “Heh, listen to this guy. What, too scared to fight, fancy boy? Or are you just so dumb you can’t tell who’s in trouble here?”

Cid’s lips curled into an amused grin, a gloved hand adjusting his tie. “Ah, a reasonable assumption. However—” his gaze flickered toward the woman, his tone effortlessly smooth—“the lady in question could bring down the lot of us without breaking a sweat.”

Subaru, your ‘totally normal human’ act is legit inspiring.

Subaru groaned, running a hand down his face. “If you’re messing around—”

But before he could finish, a sudden, hearty laugh rang through the alleyway.

Subaru snapped his head toward the source, eyes widening as the woman stood there, her arms crossed, shoulders shaking with laughter. Her crimson eyes gleamed with interest as she turned to Cid.

“My, my…” She stepped forward, her heels clicking softly against the stone pavement. As she passed Subaru, she barely spared him a glance before stopping in front of Cid. Tilting her head up, she studied him curiously.

“If you truly believe I’m stronger than you,” she mused, smirking slightly, “then why, pray tell, did you take the wrong side?”

Cid’s smirk remained as he placed a hand over his chest and bowed slightly.

Lost to Subaru already, but gotta wow, this fancy lady—she looks loaded with money.

“My lady,” he said smoothly, “a humble servant does not take sides—he merely positions himself where the spectacle is most amusing.”

The woman chuckled, amusement dancing in her crimson eyes. She took a step closer to Cid, tapping a manicured finger against her cheek. “You’re an odd one, aren’t you?” she mused, her lips curving into an intrigued smirk. “Sharp eyes, a silver tongue, and the presence of someone who knows more than he lets on. I rather like that.”

Cid simply smiled, dipping his head slightly in acknowledgement. “A most gracious compliment, my lady.”

Meanwhile, the thugs looked between the two of them, their expressions growing increasingly confused.

The tallest one scratched his head. “Oi, what’s even happening anymore?”

The wiry one frowned. “I dunno, but it feels like we’re not part of this conversation.”

The last thug took a step back, waving a hand. “Yeah, yeah, this is gettin’ weird. I say we cut our losses and scram.”

Without waiting for a response, the trio turned on their heels and bolted out of the alley, disappearing into the bustling streets.

Subaru, still catching up with the situation, walked over with a bewildered expression. “Oi, oi, hold on a second. What just happened? Weren’t we supposed to be fighting those guys?”

The woman, who had been standing comfortably close to Cid, turned to Subaru and regarded him with clear disdain. She said nothing, simply staring at him as though he weren’t even worth addressing.

The silence stretched.

Look at him fumbling his aura in front of her—peak NPC behaviour.

Cid sighed lightly before stepping in. “My apologies, my lady. My friend can be… somewhat lacking in refinement.”

At that, the woman gave him a considering look before nodding in acceptance. “Mm. Very well, since you have the sense to apologize on his behalf, I’ll overlook it.” She then turned back to Subaru, her gaze now calmer, though still laced with mild amusement.

Subaru huffed, crossing his arms. “Man, this feels like I got scolded, and I don’t even know what for.” He then exhaled, shaking his head before glancing at Cid with a lopsided grin. “Still… I guess I owe you big time for this one.”

Cid smirked slightly. “Think nothing of it.”

Just as the alleyway settled into silence, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the dimly lit space.

"Well, well," a rough yet oddly amused voice spoke up. "Looks like we've finally found who we're searching for."

Subaru and Cid turned toward the entrance of the alley, their gazes landing on two new arrivals.

Standing there was none other than Emilia. And beside her, a man with a ragged yet distinctive presence. His attire was far from refined—sand-colored trousers, a green vest lined with fur, a mantle draped loosely over his shoulders, and most notably, a missing arm wrapped in bandages. His green split-toe sandals barely made a sound as he took another step forward, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Cid.

What’s up with his look? Did he hit ‘randomize’ in character creation or what?

The moment Subaru recognized them, his face lit up. "Emilia-tan!" He rushed over to her, grinning wide. "Man, you have no idea how glad I am to see you!"

Emilia’s eyes softened, and she smiled. "Subaru, what are you doing here? Are you alright?"

As Subaru quickly reassured her, Cid elegantly gave Emilia a bow. "Lady Emilia, it is a pleasure to see you in good health."

The one-armed man, who had been quietly observing the situation, let out a small chuckle. "Well, now that we've all found each other, I’d say our business here is done." His gaze flickered toward the orange-haired woman. "Shall we?"

But just as he turned to leave with her, the woman suddenly raised a delicate ornate fan and pointed it directly at Cid.

"You," she said with an air of finality. "You're coming with me."

A brief silence fell over the group.

Wait—is that noise I hear? Oh, money coming.

Subaru blinked. "Huh?"

Emilia’s expression immediately hardened, her friendly demeanour shifting into something more guarded.

"Wait a second," Subaru interjected, stepping forward. "He's Roswaal’s servant. You can't just—"

The woman barely spared him a glance before cutting him off. "I wasn’t talking to you." Her smirk returned as she locked eyes with Cid. "I’m speaking to him."

Cid, who had remained unbothered throughout the entire ordeal, simply tilted his head slightly, his usual unreadable smile never wavering.

Subaru glanced back at Emilia, noting how she seemed less than pleased with this woman’s presence. That alone made him even more suspicious.

The woman took a step closer, her crimson eyes gleaming with intrigue. "So? What will it be, dear butler?"

YES! YES! YES! YES!

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, with a single fluid movement, Cid stepped toward her, placing a hand over his chest in a practised butler’s bow.

"As you wish, my lady."

Subaru’s jaw dropped. "Oi! Oi! What do you mean, 'as you wish'?! You’re seriously just going with her?!"

The one-armed man sighed, rubbing his temple. "Look, Princess, you can’t just take someone else’s worker like that. It’s bad manners."

The woman gave an amused hum, snapping her fan shut with a flick of her wrist. "Manners, you say? It’s not as if I’m abducting him. He’s simply accepting my invitation."

She turned back to Cid, an intrigued smirk playing on her lips. "Come now, we have much to discuss."

Later on...
The carriage rolled to a smooth stop in front of an extravagant manor, its intricate golden embellishments glinting under the afternoon sun. The servants waiting at the entrance moved with practised precision, opening the carriage door for their mistress.

The woman stepped out with an air of absolute confidence, her flowing orange hair catching the light as she descended onto the stone path leading inside. She barely acknowledged the presence of those around her, her attention solely focused on her own whims. Without a word, she entered the manor, the heavy doors closing behind her with an air of finality.

Cid exited the carriage soon after, his composed butler’s demeanour intact. He turned to the man who had accompanied them, the one-armed warrior who had introduced himself as Al. The two began walking along the garden pathway that stretched beside the manor.

Ooooh, she knows where to drop that cash.

Al cast a sideways glance at Cid, his expression unreadable. "So, buddy, you got any clue who you just got yourself involved with?"

Cid maintained his perfect posture, his hands neatly folded behind his back. "I must admit, I do not know the full extent of the lady’s identity, but regardless, I hold her in the highest regard."

Al let out a short chuckle, shaking his head. "Heh. You’re either the most oblivious guy I’ve ever met, or you’ve got nerves of steel. There ain’t a single person in this country who wouldn’t recognize Priscilla Barielle. And let me tell ya, catching her interest that fast? That ain’t normal."

Seen this movie before—dude’s scared I’m stealing his girl. Classic.

Cid, unfazed, gave a polite nod. "A most intriguing revelation, indeed. However—"

Before he could finish, a cold sensation pressed against his throat.

A gleaming liuyedao blade rested just below his jawline, its curved steel shimmering under the sunlight. Al’s usual carefree tone was replaced with something much colder.

"I don’t know what your game is, but I’ve seen men with ulterior motives before. And let me tell ya, I don’t trust you." His voice was low, threatening. "If you’re thinking of using Priscilla for your own ends, you’re in for a world of hurt."

Uh oh...should I warn her this guy’s totally yandere?

Cid remained perfectly still, his smile unfaltering despite the weapon at his throat. "I assure you, Sir Al, you are mistaken. My only intent is to serve where I am needed."

Al narrowed his eye, scrutinizing Cid’s expression for any hint of deception. After a long moment, he scoffed and pulled the blade away, sheathing it with a swift motion.

"Tch. You’d better hope that’s true. ‘Cause if you so much as breathe wrong around her, I’ll make sure you regret it."

Cid inclined his head slightly, his demeanour as composed as ever. "Your concern for Lady Priscilla’s well-being is most admirable."

Al clicked his tongue, turning away. "Whatever. Just don’t get cocky."

"Poor dude’s clueless—Priscilla totally invited him just to roast him for fun."

As they walked in silence, the tension in the air remained. But despite Al’s warning, Cid’s enigmatic smile never wavered.

Inside the manor...
The opulent chamber exuded an air of royalty, its grand decor bathed in the golden hues of the afternoon sun. In the heart of the room, sprawled across an elegant couch adorned with silken cushions, sat Priscilla Barielle.

She was draped in a small, tailored coat, a black bow neatly tied at its centre. A black hair clip rested in her fiery orange locks, which were swept into a high ponytail. A pair of black studs adorned her ears, subtly enhancing her already regal aura. With effortless poise, she gazed at the man before her.

Cid stood with perfect composure, presenting a delicate porcelain cup upon a silver tray. The tea’s rich aroma filled the air as he gracefully set it before her. With a measured movement, Priscilla lifted the cup to her lips and took a small sip.

Poured some magic into that tea just to blow her mind. No big deal.

For a brief moment, there was silence. Then, her crimson eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

“Hmph,” she mused, swirling the tea slightly. “At the very least, you weren’t all talk.”

Cid inclined his head slightly. “I am honoured that my humble service has met your expectations, my lady.”

Priscilla took another sip, this time letting the warmth linger before lowering her cup. Her gaze, sharp yet laced with curiosity, settled on him. “Lucien, was it? Where are you from?”

Alright, interrogation phase—hit me with it.

A brief pause followed before Cid responded with his usual, unwavering politeness. “Regrettably, my lady, I suffer from amnesia. My past remains shrouded in mystery. The only certainty I possess is my name.”

Priscilla regarded him with a thoughtful expression, her fingers lazily tracing the rim of her cup. “Is that so?” A smirk tugged at her lips. “How very convenient.”

Cid remained still, betraying no reaction beyond a courteous smile. Priscilla, however, wasn’t so easily fooled. She leaned back, her gaze drifting to the far window.

“Judging by your appearance and manner, it’s clear you’re no native of Lugunica.”

Cid nodded slightly. “That may very well be the case, my lady.”

Before he could finish, Priscilla cut in, her voice laced with deliberate amusement. “The Vollachia Empire?”

For the first time, Cid’s composure wavered—just barely. A flicker of something passed through his eyes, vanishing as quickly as it came. Priscilla caught it. She chuckled, setting her cup down upon the saucer.

Wait, I know that name... Did I hear it while scrubbing Roswaal's manor toilets with Subaru or something?

“Oh? Did that name stir something within you?” Her smirk widened, eyes glinting with knowing amusement. “Perhaps I have jogged a memory or two?”

Cid, ever the perfect butler, quickly regained his composure. With a measured tone, he responded, “An interesting proposition, my lady. Though, if it did, I fear it remains elusive.”

Priscilla let out a soft hum, watching him closely. “Hmph. How intriguing.”

She studied Cid with a sharp, calculating gaze, the silence stretching between them. Then, tilting her head slightly, she spoke, her voice smooth yet edged with amusement.

"Tell me, Lucien. Do you understand just how delicate your position is right now?" Her crimson eyes gleamed with challenge, daring him to give an answer that might entertain her.

Ooooh, is that a job offer I smell?

Cid, unfazed, placed a hand over his chest in a respectful bow. "My lady, a butler's position is always precarious, much like a lone chess piece manoeuvring across a board of kings and queens. However—" he lifted his gaze, his usual composed smile unwavering—"the most dangerous positions often yield the most intriguing opportunities."

Priscilla chuckled, clearly pleased by his response. "Oh? You do know how to amuse me."

With a calculated, teasing smirk, she leaned back against the sofa, her body language inviting yet aloof. She nonchalantly let the edge of her small tailcoat slide off her delicate shoulders, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her pale skin. Her hand, slender and soft, gently cradled the fullness of her chest. The fabric pulled taut, drawing attention to the generous curves beneath. Her gaze, sharp and mischievous, never left Cid's, her smirk growing wider.

With those proportions, Epsilon would 100% make an enemy outta her on sight.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" she murmured, her voice dripping with playful provocation.

Cid nodded with impeccable grace. "If I may inquire, my lady, what is it that you desire?"

Priscilla’s smirk deepened. Her eyes burned with amusement as she leaned forward ever so slightly, her exposed shoulder glistening under the golden light of the chamber.

Pretty girl tries to flirt, but this guy's only eyeing the money bag.

"You tell me," she challenged, her tone sultry yet commanding.

For the briefest of moments, Cid's grin sharpened. He straightened, a gloved hand adjusting his cuff as he exhaled in mock surrender. "Very well, my lady."

To everyone who made it this far—no, I’m not a clueless harem MC, I’ve just got better things to do right now.

With practised elegance, he stepped behind her, his movements smooth and deliberate. Just as the anticipation reached its peak, Priscilla snapped her fingers.

A rustle of movement followed. From the shadows emerged a small figure—a boy, barely reaching Priscilla’s waist. His large, glistening red eyes gleamed with an almost eerie radiance, his medium-length, fluffy, peach-pink curls bouncing slightly as he stepped forward. Without hesitation, he extended his hands toward Cid, palms facing upward.

Cid arched an eyebrow ever so slightly, a rare sign of visible confusion. He glanced at Priscilla, silently questioning the sudden arrival of this peculiar child.

Priscilla let out an amused hum, shifting in her seat. "Surely, Lucien, you didn't intend to touch me with those filthy gloves of yours, did you?" Her smirk widened, savouring the moment.

Cid's smirk was subtle, yet unmistakably present, as he lifted his hands, displaying the pristine white gloves that adorned them. With the precision of a seasoned butler, he flexed his fingers slightly, letting the material catch the light.

"My lady," he mused, his voice velvety smooth, "a butler’s gloves are an extension of his discipline, a symbol of unwavering service. To part with them so carelessly—to place them in the hands of an unfamiliar party—would be nothing short of negligence."

Priscilla raised an eyebrow, the corner of her lips twitching upward. "Oh? Discipline, you say? Hah! And here I thought they were simply to hide whatever unsightly hands lie beneath." Her smirk widened, eyes dancing with amusement. "Perhaps you fear that without them, your delicate little fingers might crumble at the mere touch of nobility?"

Unfazed by her jabs, Cid merely chuckled. Then, with a practised motion, he slid one glove off his hand, holding it between his fingers. Without a word, he let it fall.

The instant it touched the polished tile beneath them, a deafening crack resounded through the chamber. The pristine white marble shattered upon impact, sending jagged fissures sprawling outward. A chunk of the floor caved in, the remains reduced to dust and rubble.

Priscilla’s eyes widened in shock, her usual composed smirk momentarily faltering. The boy beside her took a reflexive step back, his crimson eyes locked onto the devastation left behind by a single discarded glove.

Always dreamed of pulling off the 'plain clothes but secretly heavy as hell' vibe.

A beat of silence hung in the air before Priscilla let out an amused chuckle, shaking her head in disbelief. "Hah… truly, you are full of surprises, aren’t you?"

Before she could utter another word, the sensation of firm, deft fingers pressing against her shoulders sent a jolt through her body.

"Eeep!" The involuntary, utterly undignified yelp escaped her lips before she could stop it. She spun her head toward him, crimson eyes blazing with indignation. "You little—!"

But before she could unleash her wrath, something strange happened. The pressure of his hands was deliberate, yet precise—his movements fluid and knowing. A slow, rolling sensation spread across her shoulders as Cid's fingers worked their way along the tension knots she hadn't even realized were there.

How's it feel, my lady, finally admitting I'm worth every penny?

Priscilla's irritation faltered. She blinked, her body betraying her before her mind could catch up. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Narrowing her eyes, she scoffed, masking her momentary lapse with a sharp glare. "And who, pray tell, informed you that I desired a massage?"

Cid, ever composed, responded with a small bow of his head. "My lady, if you had wished for something else, I would have been most happy to oblige." His tone was as smooth as ever, laced with the perfect amount of respectful deference.

Priscilla studied him for a long moment before exhaling through her nose, her lips curling upward in satisfaction. "Hmph. Well played."

As Cid continued his ministrations, Priscilla leaned back slightly, allowing herself to indulge in the moment. Yet, behind the veil of amusement, a calculating glint shone in her crimson gaze.

"Hah… don’t think for a second that I took you in out of goodwill, Lucien," she mused to herself. "No, no… this is merely an elaborate game. A means to strip you bare, to unravel the mysteries surrounding you, to expose whatever secrets you hold."

Her smirk deepened. "And if, along the way, I get to watch one of Emilia’s dear servants wallow in humiliation? Well, that’s just a delightful bonus."

Priscilla was a proud woman, one who rarely found herself impressed by others. She had long since accepted that most people were dull, predictable creatures—mere commoners in her eyes. Yet, the few who managed to catch her interest, those who carried themselves with poise and composure, were the ones she truly found amusing.

For Priscilla, life was a stage, and she played the role of the merciless audience. She delighted in watching these so-called "unshakable" individuals crumble before her, their carefully crafted facades peeling away under the weight of her presence. It wasn’t malice that drove her—no, it was simply the thrill of the game. A means of entertainment in a world that so often bored her.

And now, standing before her was Lucien—Cid. A man who had, in mere moments, secured himself a place among the "interesting." The way he carried himself, the effortless grace in his every movement, the unwavering confidence in his gaze—it was all so terribly fascinating. He was a puzzle, one that demanded to be solved.

She smirked, her provocative gestures and words laced with mockery, waiting—expecting—the first crack in his composure. But what Priscilla failed to realize was that she had just met the worst possible opponent for her little game...

Priscilla tilted her head slightly, her fiery locks shifting as she cast a glance over her shoulder. Her sharp crimson eyes locked onto Cid, who had just pulled his hands away, his work on her shoulders complete. For a moment, she simply observed him, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Hmph… I must admit, you have quite the skilled touch, Lucien." She reached up, brushing her fingers lightly against her shoulder as if to confirm the absence of tension. Then, her gaze darkened with amusement as she leaned into her words, her voice dripping with playful provocation. "Tell me… what else can those hands of yours do?"

So we were finally moving to the next stage of this exam.

Cid's expression remained impeccably composed, but a knowing glint flickered in his eyes. "My lady, I assure you, these hands are well-trained in all matters of service. Should you desire, I could pleasure you in a multitude of ways."

Priscilla chuckled, her smirk widening. She rose from her seat in one fluid motion. With deliberate grace, she stepped forward, closing the distance between them until she stood nearly chest to chest with him. The scent of her perfume—a blend of exotic spices and delicate florals—lingered between them as she peered up at him, her expression a mixture of amusement and challenge.

"Oh? Is that so?" she murmured, her voice low and teasing. "Then… go on. Show me."

For the briefest of moments, a smirk tugged at Cid’s lips, an unspoken understanding passing between them. With the utmost composure, he gave a small, approving nod. "As you wish, my lady."

Later on...
Cid sat before the grand piano, its polished surface reflecting the dim glow of the chandelier above. The room exuded luxury, its vintage charm evident in the intricate carvings along the mahogany frame.

Across from him, Priscilla stood with an unimpressed expression, her arms crossed and a perfectly arched brow lifted in challenge. A bored sigh escaped her lips as she shifted her weight, tilting her head slightly. "Tell me, Lucien… is this your most amazing attempt to impress me? Because if so, I must say, I expected a bit more spectacle."

Cid merely smiled, the corners of his lips curling in that ever-composed, knowing way. He lifted his hands, encased in pristine white gloves, and flexed his fingers. One by one, the crisp sound of his knuckles cracking filled the air, precise and deliberate. Then, in that rich, velvety tone of his, he spoke.

"My lady," he said smoothly, dipping his head slightly, "this is, without a doubt, one of my finest hand skills."

Nothing says ‘mysterious vibe’ like a dude casually shredding the piano—total crowd-stopper.

Priscilla let out a sharp, amused laugh, shaking her head. "Oh, truly? How utterly dramatic—"

Her words cut short the moment Cid’s fingers met the keys. The first note resonated through the grand hall, rich and profound, carrying an elegance that silenced the very air around them. And then, the melody unfolded—each note weaving seamlessly into the next, delicate yet powerful, as if spun from something beyond mortal reach.

Priscilla's breath caught in her throat. She had heard many compositions in her time, indulging in countless performances from the most esteemed musicians of different nations. Yet… this piece? She had never heard anything like it before. It was hauntingly beautiful, a melody that stirred something deep within her, something unspoken.

How’s it feel to get slapped by Chopin, roasted by Liszt, and flexed on by Rachmaninoff?

Before Priscilla realized it, her feet carried her closer. Her hands lowered from her hips, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of the piano as she leaned in ever so slightly. "Where did you learn this?" she murmured, crimson eyes searching his profile, watching for any sign of recognition.

But he did not answer.

His gaze was locked onto the keys, his expression calm, focused—lost in the music. It was as though the world around him had ceased to exist, as if nothing beyond this moment mattered. Priscilla found herself unable to blame him. Even she, with all her poise and pride, was drawn in by the sheer beauty of the melody, its ebb, and flow like waves against the shore.

For the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to simply listen.

A rare smile ghosted her lips as she rested lightly against the piano, her eyes fluttering shut for just a moment, surrendering to the music.

The final note lingered in the air, a fading echo of something both haunting and exquisite. Cid’s fingers slowly lifted from the keys, the grand piano resting in silence once more. For a moment, all was still. Then, his gaze shifted towards Priscilla, whose expression had softened, her crimson eyes alight with something rare—genuine admiration.

A delicate, almost imperceptible smile played upon her lips. Realizing it, she let out a soft huff and straightened, crossing her arms. “Hah. I must admit, Lucien… I did not expect you to be this skilled.” Her voice carried its usual haughty amusement, yet there was an undertone—an acknowledgement she seldom bestowed upon others.

Cid dipped his head slightly, his tone rich with practised humility. “My lady, it is merely my duty to serve with excellence in all matters. If my performance has pleased you, then I am most honoured.”

If this keeps up, my butler salary might outshine the PMs!

Priscilla arched a brow, her smirk returning. “Hmm… quite the refined response.” Her fingers tapped lightly against the polished surface of the piano as she eyed him curiously. “Yet, I must say, I have never heard that piece in my entire life. Tell me… what is its name?”

For the first time, Cid allowed himself a small, knowing grin. He turned his gaze to her, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable. Then, in a voice deep and shadowed with something almost ominous, he spoke.

“Shadow.”

Priscilla’s amusement flickered into something else—caution. Her crimson eyes narrowed as she regarded him carefully. “Shadow,” she repeated, the name rolling off her tongue with a weight far heavier than mere curiosity. “As in… the Archbishop of Pride?”

Totally faked that name, but she knows Shadow. Guess it’s time to hear my own hype—gotta feed the ego a little.

Cid gave the smallest nod of approval.

A breath of laughter slipped from Priscilla’s lips, soft yet edged with intrigue. She shook her head slightly. “Hah… fitting. That melody—dark, elusive, unfathomable—it holds an eerie majesty. A piece that twists between the haunting unknown and an overwhelming, almost suffocating grandeur. Mysterious. Terrifying.”

She leaned in slightly, tilting her head. “Tell me, Lucien… do you truly know who Shadow is? Or are you merely familiar with his name and title?”

Cid exhaled lightly, his expression unreadable as he responded in his ever-faithful butler tone. “My lady, my knowledge is… incomplete. My memories, fragmented. I know of the name, the title, yet beyond that… my understanding is but a shadow itself.”

Priscilla studied him for a long moment before exhaling through her nose, her smirk widening. “Hmph. How poetic. No one truly knows much about Shadow either. But one thing is certain…” Her gaze darkened with something almost wicked. “He has been declared the number one enemy of the Kingdom of Lugnica who still roams freely.”

Wait, I'm enemy #1 of a whole kingdom? That’s ridiculously cool.

Cid’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of intrigue passing through them. “An enemy of the kingdom? My lady, if I may ask… why?”

Priscilla chuckled, the sound laced with both amusement and something almost conspiratorial. She leaned back against the piano, her fingers tracing idle patterns on its polished surface. “Because, my dear Lucien… Shadow is the only person who, in times of peace, managed to appear right beside the King’s throne—and threatened him.”

Cid’s brows lifted ever so slightly, but his composure remained intact. “How… remarkable.”

“Oh, it gets better,” Priscilla mused, her voice practically purring with amusement. “He is also the only man who has ever managed to get past the renowned Sword Saint.”

Cid let out a thoughtful hum, his mind briefly turning over the implications. “Such a feat would suggest a power beyond conventional understanding.”

Priscilla’s smirk deepened. “Indeed. And yet, that was not the end of it.” She turned her gaze towards the dim glow of the chandelier above, a flicker of something almost amused in her eyes. “A few years later, the entire royal bloodline perished by a mysterious plague.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then, Priscilla chuckled—a slow, knowing sound. “Now, tell me, Lucien… does that sound like mere coincidence to you?”

Notes:

Hello everyone!!!

Thank you for your continued support—I truly appreciate it.

I wanted to clarify something and provide additional context regarding the story: During the demi-human war, Shadow introduced himself as the Archbishop of Pride. However, years later at the Royal Palace, he presented himself simply as Shadow.

You might be wondering how the kingdom connected the two identities. The answer is straightforward—Bordeaux witnessed both appearances and was likely the one who spread the idea linking Shadow to the turmoil within the royal family.

Chapter 15: Where Loyalty and Deception Meet

The carriage swayed gently as it rolled along the cobbled road. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken words. Cid sat beside Priscilla, who idly waved her ornate fan. Across from them, Al sat with his arms crossed, occasionally glancing between the two.

Breaking the silence, Al let out a chuckle and tilted his head. “Man, I dunno what happened last night, but you seem pretty pleased to have this guy around, Princess.” His tone was casual, but there was clear curiosity in his voice.

Priscilla smirked behind her fan, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Hmph. It is only natural for one of my stature to surround herself with those who can provide some measure of entertainment. This man, Lucien, possesses many skills… and with such a person by my side, boredom dares not approach me.”

Cid lowered his head slightly in acknowledgement. “It is my greatest honour to serve, my lady. If my humble talents can provide even a fraction of amusement to your esteemed self, then I have fulfilled my duty.”

Al whistled, shaking his head. “Man, you two have got a real thing goin’ here. It’s like watching a noble lady and her ever-loyal, over-the-top attendant. Kinda surreal, y’know?”

Priscilla merely chuckled while Lucien remained ever composed, a mysterious glint in his eye.

The carriage continued its smooth yet rhythmic sway until Priscilla suddenly raised her fan, her sharp gaze flicking to the passing scenery beyond the window. With an air of command, she spoke, her voice carrying effortlessly over the soft clatter of wheels on cobblestone.

“Stop the carriage.”

The driver reacted immediately, pulling on the reins, and the vehicle slowed to a halt. Al frowned, leaning forward slightly. “Huh? What’s up, Princess?”

Priscilla didn’t answer right away. Instead, she flicked her fan shut and turned her gaze toward a lone figure standing just outside.

Cid’s brows furrowed slightly as he peered out, only for his expression to shift in mild surprise.

“Hey, what’re you doing here?” Subaru called out, his tone carrying its usual energy.

Al snorted, rubbing the back of his head. “That’s what I should be askin’ you, bro. Where’re you headin’?”

Subaru was confused. “Royal Palace. Got some business there...”

Wait, was Subaru tailing me? Dude’s not even with Emilia—why’s he here?

Al exchanged a glance with Priscilla before waving a hand. “Well, hop in, man. No sense in walking all the way there when we’ve got a ride.”

The carriage resumed its steady journey, the rhythmic clatter of wheels against the cobblestone filling the silence. Inside, the atmosphere had shifted—still thick with unspoken thoughts, but now with an added layer of quiet tension.

Subaru stood beside Al, arms loosely crossed, his gaze flicking between the two seated figures in front of him. Priscilla remained poised, her chin slightly lifted as she stared out the window, her expression unreadable. The glow of the sun cast a soft light against her crimson eyes, yet there was no indication of what occupied her thoughts.

Cid, on the other hand, sat composed, his posture relaxed yet disciplined. His gaze was fixed elsewhere, as if disinterested in the moment, though Subaru couldn’t shake the feeling that the man was always aware—watching without looking.

Later on...
The grand doors of the Royal Palace loomed ahead, their intricate gold engravings shimmering under the midday sun. As the carriage came to a halt, the footman promptly opened the door, allowing Priscilla to step out with regal grace. Al followed, his hands resting lazily behind his head. Behind them, Cid and Subaru disembarked, falling into step as they approached the grand entrance.

The marble floors gleamed beneath their feet as they passed through the towering archway, their steps echoing through the vast Great Hall. Priscilla led the way, her presence commanding as always, while Al casually trailed beside her. Cid walked with his usual composed air, while Subaru, arms crossed, inched closer to him.

With a sidelong glance, Subaru leaned in, keeping his voice low. "Oi, what happened last night?"

Cid, caught slightly off guard, turned to Subaru with a raised brow. "I did all I could to pleasure Lady Priscilla."

Should I tell him he's about to be my ex-coworker?

Subaru nearly tripped over his own feet, his face contorting in embarrassment. "Dude, what the hell?! You can’t just say it like that!"

Cid blinked at him, tilting his head. "Should I not be direct with you?"

Subaru exhaled sharply, waving a hand. "Alright, alright. Just—just let me say this straight, man. You… went after Priscilla only because of her, didn’t you?"

Cid’s brows furrowed slightly. "Because of her?"

Subaru nodded vigorously. "Yeah, yeah! Because of her—" he gestured dramatically before groaning and slapping his forehead. "—her BIG CHEST!"

Cid’s mind reeled, images flashing through his head—not of what Subaru meant, but of a lavish, jewel-encrusted chest he had seen in Priscilla’s manor the night before. The intricate carvings, the overflowing rubies, the golden locks securing treasures beyond imagination—it all made sense now!

Whoa, this dude's got X-ray vision. He's reading me like a cheap paperback.

“How did you know?” Cid asked, his voice calm but laced with a hint of genuine curiosity.

Subaru blinked, caught off guard. “Huh?”

Subaru groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Lucy, buddy, pal—come on, man. You don’t need to be a genius to figure that out. Any guy with working eyes would be immediately drawn to that.”

Cid remained silent, his mind still replaying the memory of the exquisite, jewel-encrusted chest he had seen in Priscilla’s manor. The way it gleamed under the candlelight, the gold trim catching the flickering glow—truly, a sight to behold.

Ah, got it. If he read me that quick, he’s definitely a money-principles guy, too.

Meanwhile, Subaru cleared his throat, crossing his arms in defiance. “B-but! Not that it matters to me! Because unlike certain weak-willed men, my body, heart, and soul belong only to Emilia-tan!” His dramatic declaration echoed briefly through the great hall.

Cid, however, had barely processed Subaru’s words as he continued, his voice carrying an air of reverence. “Indeed… the size alone was enough to command attention. And the craftsmanship, simply flawless. Every curve, every detail carefully designed to captivate. And when I laid my hands upon it—firm, yet enticingly smooth—I could scarcely believe its splendour.”

Subaru’s brain short-circuited. His face turned a deep shade of red as he reeled back. “WH-WHA—?! DUDE, YOU CAN’T JUST—”

Cid went on, oblivious. “And the weight… far greater than I expected. A true testament to its value. The moment I saw it, I knew—it was a treasure beyond compare.”

Subaru’s soul practically left his body. “YOU’RE JUST SAYING THAT OUT LOUD?! WITH THAT LOOK ON YOUR FACE?!”

A snort came from the side. Al, having tuned in halfway, raised a brow. “Man, you two are real chatty over there. What’s got you so worked up?”

Subaru whipped around like he had been caught committing a crime. “NOTHING! NOTHING AT ALL! JUST NORMAL, TOTALLY WHOLESOME CONVERSATION!”

Al narrowed his eyes. “Yeah? ‘Cause it kinda sounded like you two were having a pretty deep discussion about—”

“NOPE! NOPE! NOPE!” Subaru interjected, waving his arms like a madman. “DON’T NEED TO KNOW! DON’T WANNA KNOW! JUST—MOVING ON! MOVING FORWARD! NOTHING TO SEE HERE!”

Al smirked. “Uh-huh.”

Priscilla, who had been silent this whole time, finally let out an amused chuckle. She turned slightly, her crimson eyes gleaming. “Hmph. How utterly foolish you all are.”

As she led the party forward, a fully armoured soldier standing before the door stepped forth and saluted her with his sword. Removing his great helm, he regarded Priscilla and her companions with a measured, intellectual gaze.

“We have been expecting you, Lady Priscilla.”

The man appeared to be in his forties, his expression stern rather than harsh—a face as unyielding as stone, bearing the marks of countless battles. Priscilla acknowledged his salute with a regal nod before tilting her head slightly toward Subaru, Cid, and Al.

“They are with me. One is my knight, the other my butler, and the last…” She paused, her lips curling into a faint smirk. “…my apple boy.”

“Hey—!” Subaru began to protest but swiftly bit back his words, remembering the impropriety of such an outburst in these halls. The knight’s expression remained impassive.

“—Apple boy, is it?”

“Indeed,” Priscilla replied, her tone laced with amusement. “Consider him a harmless jester, entrusted with the noble task of procuring red, bittersweet apples for my pleasure. Surely you have no objections?”

She’s treating Subaru like some NPC, but little does she know—it’s all part of his 4D chess move.

The knight did not dignify her imperiousness with a response. Instead, his sharp blue eyes flickered as he assessed Subaru, Cid, and Al.

“I detect no dangerous magic. That sword is your only weapon, Sir Knight?”

“……Oh, you mean me?” Al replied after a beat. “Yeah, yeah, that’s right. If any shady, mustache-twirling villains come skulking around, I’ll slice ’em clean in half—one-handed, even.”

“Should trouble arise,” the knight said, dismissing Al’s jest, “focus on protecting your mistress. Leave the rest to us.”

With a half-hearted shrug, Al muttered, “Sure thing.” The armoured man gave a curt nod before turning toward the massive doors, which groaned open with deliberate grandeur.

Priscilla stepped through the door, entirely self-absorbed, her presence still holding the room’s attention. Without hesitation, Al followed close behind. Seeing this, Subaru steeled himself and entered as well. Meanwhile, Cid’s gaze wandered over the opulent surroundings, a flicker of recognition passing through his mind.

As his vision adjusted, the grandeur of the chamber unfolded before him—a vast room draped in crimson, its floor adorned with an expansive red carpet. The walls glittered with ornate embellishments, bathed in the glow of extravagant chandeliers suspended from the vaulted ceiling. Despite the room’s immense size, seating was sparse, save for a small set of steps leading to a row of chairs at the far end.

Five seats stood in solemn arrangement, but one commanded immediate attention—the central throne. Carved into the likeness of a mighty dragon, it rested against the wall as if its occupant bore the weight of the beast upon his back, shielded by its power in return.

This was unmistakably a royal throne room—the heart of Lugunica’s palace—and that seat could belong to none other than the king himself.

Hey, been here before—way livelier last time.

Cid’s eyes swept across the assembly. Rows of elite soldiers stood at attention, clad in pristine white uniforms, their knightly swords gleaming at their hips—the Royal Guard. Beyond them, a gathering of high-ranking officials, distinguished by their ceremonial robes and dignified bearing, reinforced the chamber’s solemnity.

And at the centre of it all, set apart from the knights and nobles, stood a small group of figures, lined up as if awaiting judgment—or destiny.

Ah, the classic 'meet the squad' moment—where we meet the key characters, all with their own ~quirks~, who'll definitely save (or ruin) everything later.

Emilia stood poised among the candidates, her silver hair glistening under the grand chandeliers. Yet, her calm expression faltered the moment she noticed the new arrivals.

Her violet eyes widened as she recognized both Subaru and Cid. Without hesitation, she stepped forward, breaking away from her group. "Subaru? Lucien? What are you two doing here?" she asked, surprise evident in her voice.

Subaru, caught off guard, stumbled over his words. "Eh—uh—w-we were just—uh…!" His arms flailed slightly as he struggled to come up with a coherent explanation, his face tinged with embarrassment.

Before he could make a bigger fool of himself, Cid smoothly stepped forward, bowing his head with the grace befitting a butler. "My lady, we merely wished to see you shine and witness you show the Kingdom what you are truly made of."

Subaru, recovering from his earlier struggle, quickly nodded in agreement. "Yeah, exactly! Lucy put it perfectly! We know you’ll do amazing, Emilia-tan!" His enthusiasm earned him a small, grateful smile from her.

However, before the moment could settle, Priscilla approached with an air of supreme confidence, her crimson eyes flickering with amusement. She stopped just beside the two men, tilting her head slightly at Emilia. "Tell me, half-elf," she said, her voice dripping with condescension, "why are you staring so intently at my servants? Has your foolishness finally reached a new height?"

Subaru’s mood soured instantly. His brow twitched as he turned to glare at Priscilla. "Oi, do you always have to say things like that? Can’t you just talk like a normal person for once?"

Priscilla smirked, clearly enjoying his reaction. "Oh? And this is how you repay the one who granted you the privilege of standing in this hall? How dreadfully ungrateful you are, commoner."

Before Subaru could retort, Priscilla’s next action sent a jolt through him. With deliberate ease, she reached for Cid’s arm and pressed herself against it, her ample chest settling firmly against him. The smug smile on her lips grew as she turned her gaze toward him. "Now, Lucien," she purred, "who is in the right here? Surely, a man of your refined nature would not side with this buffoon?"

Without hesitation, Cid remained composed and responded. "But of course, my lady, you are always in the right."

Sorry Emilia, but you're on Roswaal's payroll while Priscilla’s out here making boss moves.

Before Priscilla could respond, a voice—smooth, sing-song, and laced with amusement—drifted through the hall.

"My, oh myyy~. Lady Priscilla, I must offer my deepest apologies~."

Subaru and Cid stiffened at the all-too-familiar voice, their heads snapping to the side. Standing beside them as if he'd been there the whole time was Roswaal L. Mathers, clad not in his usual flamboyant garb but in a formal uniform adorned with a maple emblem—one that bore no connection to his title as the Court Magician.

His ever-present smile carried a sly edge as he placed a hand over his chest in mock remorse. "It seems my house’s servants have caused you some distress. And yet, you took it upon yourself to look after deeear Subaru when he got lost in the castle~. Such boundless generosity! Oh-ho-ho, please, do forgive this terrible ruuudeness."

Subaru scowled. "I wasn’t lost, damn it—!"

Roswaal ignored him, his heterochromatic eyes shifting toward Cid.

"But as for this one, Lady Priscilla… surely you have realized by now how—hmm—remarkaaable he is?"

Priscilla’s lips curled in interest as she regarded Cid once more. "Oh? So you, too, see his worth?"

Roswaal chuckled. "Oh-ho, how could I not? A man of such taaalent is rather difficult to overlook~."

Cid, ever composed, simply smiled and bowed his head slightly. "You flatter me, Lord Roswaal."

Roswaal’s out here playing matchmaker, trying to pawn me off as Priscilla’s butler. Not mad about it, but… this clown is definitely scheming something.

Subaru, meanwhile, was feeling increasingly out of the loop. "Oi, why does it sound like you're talking about something else here…?"

Priscilla let out an amused chuckle at Roswaal’s words, tilting her head slightly as her crimson eyes gleamed with arrogance. “Apologize? Hah. You should do so not for their ‘distress’ but for the sheer incompetence that led them to my feet in the first place.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and strode forward, her regal presence parting the gathered nobles and knights like a blade through silk. The soft click of her heels against the polished floor echoed through the chamber as she approached the centre of the room, where the other candidates stood.

Emilia, standing among them, instinctively stiffened as Priscilla neared. However, the orange-haired woman walked past her without even the slightest acknowledgement, her gaze fixed ahead as if Emilia did not exist. As Priscilla took her place, Emilia hesitated, then slumped her shoulders, visibly deflating at the cold dismissal. After a moment, she turned back toward Subaru with a slightly forlorn expression.

Meanwhile, Roswaal shifted his attention back to Subaru and Cid, his ever-present smile sharpening with mischief. “But I must saaaay,” he drawled, “that Subaru was found by Lady Priscilla along the way… Your jinx is truly quiiite something. I do wonder what might have haaappened to you, dear Subaru, if she had not been the one to find you.”

Subaru’s brow twitched in irritation. “Oi, you’re not actually trying to tell me that peacock over there is famous for her vast benevolence and compassion, are you?”

Roswaal smirked, his eyes glinting. “Oh, nooo,” he mused. “I simply thought that the others might have haaad you imprisoned or cut down then and theeere. In that sense, Lady Priscilla gave you equal odds of survival… depending upon her mood.”

Subaru let out a huff before breaking into a cocky grin. “Yeah? Well, if that happened, Lucy and I would’ve definitely found a way out. No doubt about it.”

As if reminded of something, Subaru suddenly turned toward Cid. “Speaking of Lucy, this guy spent the whole night at Priscilla’s manor.”

Roswaal’s gaze sharpened slightly as he turned to Cid, his expression unreadable, but his eyes filled with curiosity. “Oh? Is that sooo?”

Then, without another word, he moved past Cid, his usual playful demeanour giving way to something far more deliberate. As he did, he leaned in ever so slightly and spoke in a hushed tone that only Cid could hear. “Whatever incident unfolds today… I shall assume you will be the culprit, of course.”

Bruh... spoiler alert much?

Before Cid could respond, Roswaal was already gone, his presence dissipating like mist as he rejoined the gathering.

Cid turned his gaze toward Subaru, who was currently on the receiving end of a rather firm scolding from Emilia.

Before Cid could dwell on the exchange any further, a commanding voice rang through the vast chamber, cutting through the murmurs and small discussions.

“All have been assembled. The Council of Wise Men may enter.”

The great doors at the far end of the chamber groaned open once more, their sheer weight making the air itself feel heavier. The knight stationed at the entrance stepped aside, standing at rigid attention as a group of elderly men slowly filed into the room. Miklotov McMahon, Bordeaux Zergev, and others were draped in ceremonial robes of varying colors, denoting their respective positions and authority within the kingdom’s governing body.

Why’s it always some dusty Dumbledore lookin’ dude?

As the Council took their positions at the front of the hall, a hushed reverence settled over the gathered individuals. Then, from the side, Al approached Cid and Subaru, leaning in slightly as he motioned with his chin toward a section where the Royal Guard was neatly lined up.

“It’s time, guys,” he murmured. “We need to line up over there, not over here.”

Cid and Subaru followed his gesture, noticing how the room had naturally organized itself. Knights and military officers stood to the left, their disciplined stances emphasizing their martial presence. On the right, nobles and civil officials formed a contrasting group, their ornate clothing, and composed demeanour signifying the bureaucratic side of the kingdom’s affairs.

Before they could move, however, Emilia took a step forward, a slight frown on her face. “Wait, I don’t think you should—”

Her protest was swiftly intercepted by Roswaal, who chuckled lightly as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Now, now, dear Emilia~. There is no harm in them observing from where they belong, is there? Surely, we would not want them to disrupt the delicate order of this moment~.”

Subaru and Cid exchanged a glance before nodding silently to one another. With Al leading the way, they moved across the chamber, falling into formation among the assembled knights.

Cid found an open space amidst the neatly assembled knights and stood still, his posture impeccable, hands resting lightly in front of him. Despite the tension in the room, his demeanour remained as composed as ever, exuding the grace of a well-trained butler.

Just as he adjusted his stance, a playful voice chimed from behind him.

"Myaa~ what’s this? I didn’t know we had butlers in the Royal Guard now~!"

Cid turned slightly, meeting the golden eyes of Ferris, who was grinning mischievously.

Bro, this Neko guy's gotta be rigging the popularity polls—no way the author shoves him into every event otherwise. Dude's omnipresent.

Subaru, who had been scanning the room, blinked in surprise as he finally noticed Ferris standing behind them. "Oi, Ferris?! Since when were you here?"

Ferris giggled, tapping a finger against his cheek. "Since before, you two got lost and wandered over here, of course! What are you two even doing in this section~?"

Cid gave a polite bow. "Merely fulfilling our duty by observing the proceedings with the appropriate decorum, as expected of our station."

Ferris tilted his head playfully. "Oh-ho? Very proper~! But I gotta say, Lucien, you look like someone who knows how to swing a sword~. Not too sure about Subaru, though, myaa~."

Subaru immediately frowned. "Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?! I’ll have you know, I’m pretty good with a sword when I need to be!"

Ferris chuckled, waving a hand. "Oh sure, sure~. Maybe if it’s a wooden practice sword, nya?"

Before Subaru could launch into a full rebuttal, another voice—smooth yet firm—cut through the conversation.

"Subaru, what are you doing here?"

Subaru tensed, recognizing that voice instantly. He turned to see Reinhard standing a few steps away, his striking blue eyes filled with mild confusion.

Fuck!

Trying to play it cool, Subaru shrugged. "Oh, you know, just standing here, being awesome, blending in with the knights. Pretty convincing, right?"

Reinhard studied him for a moment before sighing lightly. "That depends. Are you supposed to be here?"

Subaru opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Ferris let out a teasing hum. "Nyaa~ I think someone’s about to get scolded~."

He felt himself backed into a corner. He could practically feel the weight of Reinhard’s expectant gaze pressing down on him. Knowing that any attempt to bluff his way through would be futile, he quickly searched for an escape—anything to divert attention from himself. His eyes landed on Cid.

“Oh! Right, uh, speaking of knights and all that… Reinhard, have you met my good friend here? This is—”

Subaru’s words abruptly cut off as his gaze locked onto something unusual.

“…Wait. Hold on a second.” He squinted, leaning in slightly. “When did you put that on?”

Cid, who had been standing with perfect composure, now wore a luxurious monocle over his right eye. The ornate frame gleamed under the chamber’s grand chandeliers, giving him the appearance of a distinguished noble—or perhaps an eccentric scholar.

Can’t escape, so gotta hit Reinhard with the classic ‘glasses = new person’ glitch.

Without missing a beat, Cid adjusted the monocle slightly and responded in his usual composed manner.

“A gentleman must always be prepared, my dear friend. Proper presentation is a reflection of one’s discipline, and thus, I deemed it appropriate to refine my appearance in accordance with the grandeur of this assembly.”

Subaru blinked. “That doesn’t answer anything.”

Reinhard, meanwhile, looked between Subaru and Cid before tilting his head slightly. “Subaru, do you know him?”

Cid took a step forward, placing a hand over his chest and offering a deep, elegant bow. His movements were fluid, refined—practically rehearsed to perfection.

“Sir Reinhard van Astrea, it is an honour. I am Lucien, a humble observer of these grand proceedings. Though I may not possess the esteemed lineage of those gathered here, I strive nonetheless to conduct myself with the dignity befitting such an occasion.”

Reinhard studied him carefully, his expression remaining neutral but thoughtful. “Lucien… I can’t shake the feeling that we’ve met somewhere before.”

Subaru groaned, rubbing his temple. “Oh, great, here we go again. Everyone keeps saying that about Lucy! I’m telling you, it’s because he’s got that ‘perfectly average’ face. You see him, forget about him, and then later, when you meet him again, you think, ‘Huh, where have I seen this guy before?’”

Subaru, you knew this would escalate and still played peacekeeper—absolute legend. I owe you one.

Reinhard chuckled softly, the tension in his expression easing. “Perhaps you’re right.” He turned back to Cid and offered a polite nod. “Regardless, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lucien. I am Reinhard van Astrea, knight of the Royal Guard and the Sword Saint of Lugnica."

Reinhard extended his hand toward Cid, his grip firm yet polite. As he did so, he silently resolved to analyze Cid upon contact—just in case. There was something about the man’s presence that intrigued him, and it was always best to be cautious.

Cid, ever composed, accepted the handshake with a graceful motion. Their hands met, but Reinhard’s eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise. His ability to assess a person’s physical condition, strength, and latent potential upon touch—an Divine Blessing that had never once failed him—yielded nothing.

A flicker of confusion passed through Reinhard’s otherwise composed expression before his gaze dropped to Cid’s hands. His gloves. They weren’t just ordinary fabric. There was something about them, something that shielded their wearer from his perception.

"Those are some rather heavy gloves you’re wearing," Reinhard remarked, his voice calm but inquisitive.

Cid responded with an amused glint in his eye, adjusting his monocle slightly before offering a refined smile. "Ah, Sir Reinhard, a knight of your calibre possesses a keen eye indeed. These gloves, you see, are not merely for warmth or ornamentation.To wield even the simplest attire with purpose is the mark of one who values decorum. Would you not agree?"

He's clueless what this glove's even made of—or how.

Before Reinhard could respond, a polite yet distinct cough interrupted their exchange. Cid turned slightly to see Julius Juukulius standing nearby, his composed yet sharp gaze fixed on him.

"I apologize for the interruption," Julius said, his tone measured and formal. "But I believe you are currently occupying my designated position."

Subaru, who had been watching the exchange, immediately scowled. "Oh great, it’s this guy again. You’re really going to pull rank over a standing spot?"

Julius ignored Subaru’s irritation, instead keeping his focus on Cid. "This assembly follows a particular order, and as a knight, I am expected to stand here. I trust a gentleman such as yourself would understand the importance of proper station."

Cid studied Julius for a brief moment before offering a courteous nod. "Ah, I see. A most reasonable request, Sir Julius."

With the same fluid grace that had characterized all his movements thus far, Cid stepped aside, vacating the position without protest. Julius nodded in appreciation before taking his place.

Subaru, however, crossed his arms with a huff. "Man, Lucy, you’re way too smooth about all this. You should at least give the guy some pushback."

Cid simply adjusted his monocle again, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "There is an art in yielding just as there is in standing firm."

Marcus, Captain of the Knights of the Royal Guard, stepped forward, his voice resolute.

"The Council of Wise Men and the candidates have assembled. With your permission, I, Marcus, shall oversee these proceedings."

Seated at the head of the chamber, Miklotov—arms crossed—gave a faint nod.

"Mmmm… Very well. Proceed."

Accepting the acknowledgement with a solemn bow, Marcus turned to address the gathered dignitaries.

"I have summoned the Council of Wise Men and called you all to the palace for a matter of grave importance—the royal selection. Today, we gather to determine the candidates for the next ruler of our kingdom."

Though Marcus’s voice was not particularly loud, it carried a resonant weight that filled the throne room, ensuring every ear could hear him.

Of course, the lore-dump guy. Could you at least throw in a comfy chair while you info-barf my ears off? Thanks.

“Half a year ago,” Marcus began, “starting with the late king, the royal family began to perish in rapid succession. A kingdom without a king is always in crisis, but for the Dragonfriend Kingdom of Lugunica—a land deeply bound by the Covenant—this tragedy is especially dire.”

The Covenant. It was said to be the sacred pact between the kingdom and Volcanica.

Marcus’s gaze swept across the room as he recounted the ancient bond. "Centuries ago, His Highness Farsale Lugunica forged this covenant with Volcanica. Since then, the Dragon has intervened time and again, shielding our kingdom from ruin and securing its prosperity."

"Volcanica is unwavering in his devotion, bound by duty across generations. Even now, from beyond the distant Great Waterfall, his protection endures."

As Marcus spoke, Miklotov stroked his beard thoughtfully, nodding in solemn agreement.

A grave pause followed before he spoke again. "Mmmm. Furthermore, the continuance of the royal family is deeply tied to the Covenant’s preservation. The loss of every royal bloodline member to plague is not merely tragic—it is a crisis that demands immediate remedy. A Dragon Maiden must be chosen without delay to herald the next era."

He clasped his hands, his voice lowering with solemnity. "The Covenant’s renewal hinges upon the Dragonfriend Ceremony—a sacred communion between the Dragon and a maiden who meets its exacting criteria. For generations, this duty fell to the royal family. Now, we must find another worthy of bearing it."

His hand rested lightly against his chest as he addressed the solemn figures seated upon the dais.

"By the decree of the Council of Wise Men, we, the Knights of the Royal Guard, have fulfilled our duty—to seek out the maidens chosen by the light of the Dragon Jewels."

With deliberate motion, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a gemstone, its surface etched with a familiar emblem—one that Cid had seen many times before. It was the mark of those deemed worthy to stand in the royal selection.

"Now," Marcus commanded, "present your Dragon Jewels."

Dragon Balls???

One by one, the maidens raised their own insignias. In an instant, the throne room erupted in a cascade of radiant hues—each jewel blazing with its own vivid light. Emilia’s stone burned a deep crimson, while the others shimmered in dazzling, distinct colours.

A murmur of awe passed through the knights. Even the stern, time-worn faces of the Council softened—just slightly—with quiet relief.

Cid glanced around the grand chamber, noting how utterly absorbed everyone was in the unfolding spectacle.

Ugh, these events. Skip, skip, SKIP. If I have to sit through another boring cutscene, I will pass out.

With an exaggerated stretch, Cid raised his arms above his head, letting out a deep, languid yawn. The sound, though not particularly loud, stood out in the otherwise solemn atmosphere.

A few heads turned his way, but he paid them no mind. Instead, he adjusted his cuffs with the smooth, effortless grace befitting a man of refined station. Then, in a fluid motion, he inclined his head, exuding an air of dignified patience.

Subaru, ever quick to pounce on any sign of pretence, snorted. “Oh great, now you’re playing the ‘mysterious butler’ role?”

Ferris, standing nearby, let out a playful giggle, tail swishing in amusement. “Nyaa~ I dunno, Subaru-kyun. I think it suits him. I mean, look at that perfect posture, that graceful air. Maybe he’s secretly royalty himself~?”

Reinhard, rather than joining in the teasing, simply gave a small nod of acknowledgement. “You do carry yourself with a certain… distinction.”

Cid merely smiled, giving a slight bow of appreciation before turning on his heel. Without another word, he strode toward the exit, leaving the grand proceedings behind.

—

The large hall beyond the throne room was eerily quiet, its vast marble expanse stretching into dimly lit corridors. Cid’s footsteps echoed softly as he walked, hands tucked casually into his coat pockets.

He glanced up at the towering stained-glass windows, their intricate depictions of Lugunica’s history casting muted colors along the polished floor. His gaze lingered on a regal figure—a past king, no doubt—before he hummed to himself.

“So, the royal family is supposed to be dead, huh?” he mused aloud. “That’s some intriguing plot setup.”

He came to a slow stop, tapping a finger against his chin. “But… the real plot twist would be if someone from the bloodline survived.”

A smirk crept onto his lips as his mind replayed a certain memory—Fourier Lugunica, exuding the kind of aura that just didn’t fit the role of an unseen casualty

“After all,” Cid muttered, continuing his stroll, “there’s no way someone with that much protagonist energy got off-screened like that.”

Cid’s leisurely stroll through the grand hall was interrupted by the sharp sound of armoured boots clicking against the polished marble floor.

“Halt.” The guard’s voice was laced with authority. “This area is restricted. State your business.”

Should I go full scary Shadow and scare the crap outta this dude, or keep it chill as Lucien the smooth-talking butler?

Cid paused, his expression unreadable as he regarded the knight before him. Then, with a graceful dip of his head and a hand placed lightly over his chest, he adopted the impeccable mannerisms of a well-trained butler.

“My most sincere apologies, good sir,” Cid said smoothly, his voice carrying an air of composed humility. “I was merely tasked with delivering an item on behalf of my master. Regrettably, it appears I have taken a wrong turn.”

The guard narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Cid for a long moment before giving a curt nod. “This area is strictly off-limits. Turn back at once.”

Cid bowed slightly, his every movement a masterclass in refinement. “Of course, I shall take my leave immediately. Thank you for your patience.”

Once he was a safe distance from the guard’s watchful gaze, his fingers dipped into his coat pocket. A smirk flickered across his lips as he withdrew a small ring of keys—gleaming, official, and unmistakably belonging to the very guard who had stopped him.

“Now,” Cid mused, letting the keys dangle from his fingers, “I can roam a little more freely. Who knows? I might stumble upon something truly valuable.”

Later on...
Cid strolled through the dimly lit corridors of the castle, a golden coin flicking effortlessly between his fingers. Each lazy toss sent it spinning into the air before landing with a faint clink against his palm. In his other hand, he casually hefted a small velvet bag—one that bulged ever so slightly with the weight of its glittering contents.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he peeked inside, the dim candlelight glinting off the assortment of fine jewellery, rings, and other trinkets.

“Ahh… I would’ve loved to take a bit more,” he mused aloud, his voice barely above a whisper, “but with the Sword Saint around, best not to push my luck.”

With one final flick, he caught the golden coin between two fingers and tucked it away, his smirk never fading. “Alright, better get back before anyone starts thinking I’m plotting some grand act of terrorism in here.”

Cid made his way back to the grand chamber. The moment he stepped inside, he was greeted by the unmistakable sound of a commotion.

At the centre of attention stood Subaru, his arms waving dramatically as he verbally tore into Julius with all the flair of a seasoned performer. The knight, ever composed, endured the onslaught with only the occasional twitch of his brow betraying his irritation.

Subaru had declared himself a knight—a proclamation meant to signal his unwavering support for Emilia. To her rival candidates, to the assembled knights, to the Council of Wise Men, and to all those invested in the royal selection, he made his stance clear: he was the one who held her above all else.

"I… I want to make Lady Emilia king. No—I will make her king."

"Do you possess the resolve—and the strength—to see this through?"

"Resolve alone isn’t enough, and I know I’m still lacking in power. The devotion in my heart may not mirror the loyalty others swear… but my answer remains unchanged."

Watching Subaru embarrass himself this hard makes me think—when he finally drops the act, everyone's gonna lose their damn minds.

Subaru took a deep breath, wet his lips, and steadied himself before stepping forward.

“I’ll make Lady Emilia king. I’ll fulfil her wish.”

A pause. Then, Julius’ voice cut through the air, laced with cold disapproval.

“…Do you not find that an exceptionally arrogant answer?”

Dismay flickered across Julius’ face, as though he were listening to the ramblings of a deluded dreamer.

Wait... is this Subaru's big reveal moment?

Ugh, that'd totally wreck my cash-out exit and steal my Shadow appearance hype. Not cool.

“Do you understand?” he continued, his tone sharpening. “People are bound by their birth—or perhaps it would be more accurate to say, by their inherent capacity. Striving beyond one’s limits yields nothing. And certainly not the title of knight, which you so carelessly invoke.”

Julius drove the scabbard of his sheathed sword into the floor with a resounding thump. As if on command, the knights behind him followed suit, their weapons striking the ground in unison. The sharp, thunderous echo was a declaration—proof that every last one of them stood firmly at his back.

"A knight must possess two things above all else: unwavering loyalty to lord and kingdom, and the strength to defend them by steel and sinew. Without these, the title is meaningless." His voice cut through the silence like a blade. "So I ask you—do you still believe you have the will? The power? The resolve?"

Cid’s voice rang out, clear and precise, cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Ah, but Sir Julius, is it not the duty of a knight to uphold not just strength but conviction? To deny one’s right to strive beyond their limits is to deny the very essence of knighthood itself. And by that logic, are we to discard all who lack power rather than recognize their potential?"

All eyes turned to him. With a measured step, Cid strode forward, his every motion exuding an effortless refinement. His dark jacket billowed slightly as he came to a graceful stop beside Subaru.

"Forgive my lack of proper introduction," he continued smoothly, placing a hand over his chest and offering a slight bow. "I am Lucien, a humble butler. We’ve met before, Sir Julius. Though, I suspect our previous encounter was too fleeting to leave a lasting impression."

Gotta ride for Subaru no matter what—keep him from embarrassing himself (and showing his true colours).

Julius narrowed his eyes. Then, after a brief pause, he spoke. "Lucien… Lady Anastasia sees promise in you. And if she does, then I am inclined to listen. Tell me, what do you see in this man?"

Cid turned slightly, gazing at Subaru with an unreadable expression. "Subaru Natsuki is many things—a fool, most certainly. Reckless, beyond a doubt. His approach is flawed, his words brash. But his heart, his resolve… those remain unshaken. That is something even the most seasoned knight can not always claim."

With an elegant turn, Cid faced the Council of Wise Men, his sharp gaze settling upon them. "Tell me, esteemed members of the Council, how many times have you witnessed those born without privilege rise beyond their station? How many of history’s greatest figures were told their limits, only to shatter them through sheer will? And if such ambition is to be dismissed outright, then what hope is there for those who were not gifted by birth?"

A murmur spread among the Council. Miklotov, the oldest among them, stroked his beard thoughtfully before speaking. "You make a compelling argument, young man. The strength of a nation is not merely in its warriors but in the convictions of its people."

Cid inclined his head in acknowledgement before turning back to Julius. His smirk returned, faint yet undeniable. "I understand what you’re doing, Sir Julius. You test him, push him, and challenge him as any knight should. But I must caution you—underestimating this man would be a grave mistake."

Julius’ eyes narrowed slightly. "And why is that?"

Cid’s smirk deepened as he folded his arms behind his back. His voice, calm yet laced with certainty, carried throughout the chamber. "Because Subaru Natsuki possesses more power than you, me, or most individuals within these palace walls. And that… is not an exaggeration."

A deep chuckle echoed through the chamber, and all eyes turned toward Bordeaux as he pushed himself up from his seat. He adjusted his cloak, his expression one of mild amusement mixed with a sharp, scrutinizing edge. His gaze swept across the room before settling on Cid.

"No matter how one looks at it," Bordeaux began, his tone laden with condescension, "it seems you may be threatening all of us right now. To mock the Royal Guard so openly, to stand before the Council and deliver such brazen words—bluffing, aren’t we?" His smirk widened. "Or do you truly believe that guy holds power above most of us?"

Cid, unfazed, placed a hand over his chest and gave a small, elegant bow. "I am ready to swear that none of my words were a lie." His voice remained smooth, his confidence unwavering. "But if swearing an oath is not enough, then perhaps I can prove it in other ways."

At that moment, Subaru took a step closer, his voice barely above a whisper as he murmured to Cid, "We should stop this."

Cid flicked his gaze toward Subaru, his smirk twitching slightly, but before he could respond, a commanding voice cut through the tension like a blade.

"He’s not lying."

A stunned silence followed as every head turned to face Crusch. She sat tall, her green eyes locked onto Cid with a gaze as sharp and cold as steel.

"That man could be saying anything right now," she continued, her voice unwavering, "except lying."

Solid assist, my green-haired queen.

Bordeaux hesitated for a brief moment before sighing and easing back into his seat. "If Miss Crusch says so, then it must be true."

A slow, deliberate clap broke the stillness. Priscilla, lounging with an air of casual superiority, pointed her ornate fan toward Cid, her crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. "Very well, oh so enigmatic one. If you claim to know the depths of that man’s nature, then humour us—tell us, what is Subaru Natsuki truly made of?"

A slow grin stretched across Cid’s lips as he turned his gaze toward Subaru, something sharp and predatory glinting in his dark eyes. The smirk was neither friendly nor reassuring—it was a hunter’s grin, the kind that sent a chill slithering down one’s spine.

Imma focus some of my killing intent on him—stealth mode activated. No one will even notice.

Subaru felt it before he even realized what was happening.

A weight—intangible yet suffocating—descended upon him like an unseen predator sinking its claws into his very being. His breath hitched. The air around him seemed to twist, the candlelight flickering violently as if recoiling from some unseen force.

Bloodlust.

He clenched his teeth, willing his trembling hands to stay still, to resist the primal urge to step back. He wouldn’t show fear. He couldn’t. Not here. Not now.

If you, Subaru, were planning to unveil your plans on your own terms, I’ll have to apologize—because you’ll be doing it on mine.

But then—

A sudden, overwhelming sensation gripped Subaru’s chest, as though invisible fingers had wrapped around his heart and squeezed. His vision blurred, the world around him tilting into an eerie, suffocating abyss.

A voice—her voice—whispered inside his mind, soft and suffused with an aching love.

“I love you.”

His breath caught.

“I will not let you be harmed… not by that anomaly.”

A terrible, bone-chilling cold seeped into his core. It was not just fear—this was something deeper, more profound. A dread that gnawed at his soul, that reminded him of what lurked beyond life itself.

“All because I love you.”

The words echoed once more, heavy with something incomprehensible. A promise? A warning? Subaru could no longer tell. All he knew was that his body had frozen, bound by a force beyond his understanding.

Cid took a slow step forward.

His hands are shaking—but weirdly, not 'cause of me anymore.

What’s going on inside his head?

Subaru’s breathing turned shallow. His body refused to move, his limbs stiff like ice, his heart pounding like a war drum trapped inside his ribs. The sensation around his chest tightened—she was holding him back, keeping him in place.

Cid’s grin widened ever so slightly.

Then—

“Stop this!”

A voice—sharp, commanding, and desperate—sliced through the tension like a blade.

Emilia’s voice.

The pressure vanished in an instant. The suffocating grip around Subaru’s heart was gone. The eerie chill dissipated like a dream upon waking. His knees nearly buckled, but he forced himself to remain standing, his body trembling from the aftershock.

Here’s that one character who derails the hypest moment just so the author can tease the plot.

Emilia’s silver hair shimmering under the flickering candlelight, her violet eyes ablaze with something fierce. Anger? Fear? It didn’t matter.

She took a deep breath, gathering herself before stepping forward. The firelight reflected in her violet eyes, shimmering with determination. She looked from Cid to Subaru, then to the gathered council, her expression resolute.

"Enough of this," she said, her voice clear and unwavering. "We are not enemies here. This is supposed to be a discussion about the future, not a place to test each other’s strength like children playing at war."

Her words carried weight, and the tension that had gripped the chamber began to ease. She turned her gaze directly to Bordeaux, then to Priscilla, and finally to Crusch, addressing them all at once.

"I understand your scepticism. Subaru and Lucien are… unconventional. I won’t deny that. But they are not my enemies, nor should they be yours. Their presence here is not meant to challenge your authority but rather to support a future where we don’t have to fight among ourselves. If we continue to let doubt and suspicion dictate our actions, we will never achieve the peace we claim to seek."

Her declaration silenced the room once more.

Miklotov, who had been quietly observing the entire exchange, finally spoke up, his voice calm yet thoughtful. "Even without a knight by your side, Lady Emilia, it seems that those who stand with you are far more intriguing than mere retainers. To have such individuals willingly place themselves in your service speaks volumes about your character."

Emilia blinked, momentarily taken aback by his words, but quickly regained her composure. "I don’t think of them as my servants or subordinates. They’re my friends. People I trust, just as I hope to trust everyone in this room."

Miklotov nodded, a small smile forming at the corner of his lips. "Then perhaps we should listen a little more closely to what you—and those you trust—have to say."

A hushed silence followed, but this time, it was not out of hostility or tension. It was contemplation. A shift in the atmosphere, subtle yet undeniable. Emilia’s words had reached them.

Priscilla chuckled lightly, waving her ornate fan with a smirk. "Hoh… how amusing. I wonder, just how much more will you surprise us, half-elf?"

Emilia met her gaze with unwavering determination. "As much as I need to."

Later on...
As the grand doors of the council chamber swung shut behind them, Emilia wasted no time.

With a swift motion, she pinched Subaru’s ear and began dragging him down the corridor.

“Waaah! Emilia-tan, mercy! Mercy!” Subaru flailed as he stumbled along, his ear firmly held between Emilia’s fingers.

“Do you have any idea how reckless that was?!” she scolded, her cheeks puffed with irritation. “Letting yourself get caught up in something like that—what were you thinking?! What if something happened to you, Subaru?”

“I—I was doing it for you!” Subaru whined between gritted teeth, squirming in pain. “Everything I do, I do for Emilia-tan! So can you—ow—at least not rip my ear off while appreciating my dedication?”

Emilia let out an exasperated sigh but finally released him, crossing her arms. Just as Subaru was about to breathe a sigh of relief, she turned toward Cid, her violet eyes narrowing.

“And you!” she huffed, pointing at him accusingly. “You didn’t have to make things so intense!"

Cid, who had been watching the whole exchange with an amused smirk, straightened up and gave a deep, elegant bow. “My sincerest apologies, Lady Emilia. I was merely demonstrating the depths of my respect for your dear knight here.”

Emilia pouted. “That’s not how you show respect at all!”

Subaru rubbed his ear with a grumble but couldn’t help but chuckle. He glanced at Cid, his expression softening. “Still… Thanks, man. I don’t know exactly what you were playing at back there, but—” He scratched his cheek awkwardly. “It felt like you had my back in some weird, terrifying way.”

Cid smirked. “Think nothing of it. A true gentleman always ensures his companions leave an impression—preferably one that lingers in their bones.”

Subaru clenched his fist, his gaze turning sharp. “They’re all gonna pay for what they did back there.” His voice held a rare edge, his usual playfulness momentarily replaced with something serious.

Cid suddenly coughed—a sharp, abrupt sound. He turned away, pressing a hand to his mouth.

Wait... this dude's really not messing around? Gotta make my play before he burns the whole capital down.

Subaru blinked. “Huh? What’s up with you?”

Cid cleared his throat, his gaze flickering sideways. “Ah, I just remembered—I have an urgent matter to attend to. Must be going.”

Without another word, he spun on his heel and dashed down the corridor with a swiftness that left both Emilia and Subaru momentarily speechless.

Emilia blinked in disbelief. “Did he just… run away again?”

Subaru groaned, slumping forward. “That’s the second time! What is with that guy?”

Emilia sighed, shaking her head before looking at Subaru with a small, amused smile. “I guess Lucien really is full of surprises…”

Subaru huffed. “Yeah, well, next time, I’m catching him before he pulls another vanishing act.”

Later on...
The wind howled, sharp and relentless, as it cut across the towering heights of the Royal Palace. Perched atop the tallest spire, a lone figure sat, his black coat billowing like the wings of a vulture circling above a battlefield. The midday sun bathed the kingdom in light, yet no warmth could reach him here. He remained shrouded in the cold embrace of the heavens, a spectre watching over the world below.

His hood concealed most of his face, but the glint of his grin shone through the darkness. His fingers tapped idly against the stone, a rhythmic beat that seemed almost mocking. Below, the city bustled with life—unknowing, unprepared.

“The stage is set,” he murmured, his voice carried away by the winds, unheard by all but himself. “All the main players have gathered. It’s almost laughable how fate weaves its threads.”

He exhaled, rising slowly to his feet, his presence towering even against the vast sky. The world stretched endlessly before him, a kingdom ripe with ambition, fear, and secrets waiting to be unravelled. And yet, none of them knew. None of them understood.

His smirk widened as he spoke again, his words laced with a chilling finality.

“The real game is about to begin.”

 

---

 

The one who painted the earth crimson with the blood of thousands of demi-humans, standing alone against an army and leaving none alive.

The one whose wrath redrew the maps of a nation, his destruction so vast that Lugunica scrambled to erase the scars he left behind.

The one who walked into the heart of the Royal Palace, uninvited and unyielding, and stood before the King, his voice a blade pressed against the monarch’s throat.

The one who faced the Sword Saint in a clash that shook the heavens, only to vanish like a ghost, untouched, as if the battle itself was but a fleeting dream.

The one whispered to have plagued an entire royal bloodline into oblivion, his name etched in the annals of history as the harbinger of their end.

The second calamity to strike the Kingdom of Lugunica, a storm of chaos and ruin, eclipsed only by the dread of the Witch of Envy herself.

The embodiment of Pride, an Archbishop of the Witch’s Cult, whose very presence defies the heavens and mocks the earth.

His name is…

Shadow.

Chapter 16: The Shadow of Pride

Notes:

Fun fact: "Lucien" means light in French—total opposite of Cid’s edgy "Shadow" persona.

The wind howled, a relentless wail that echoed across the towering heights of the Royal Palace. Perched atop the tallest spire, a lone figure stood, his black coat billowing like the wings of a vulture against the midday sun. Shadow loomed above the capital, unseen yet all-encompassing, a phantom returned from the depths of legend.

His hood concealed most of his face, but the glint of his smirk was unmistakable. From this vantage point, the kingdom stretched before him—vibrant, ignorant, fragile. His fingers curled, and darkness coiled around his hand, pulsing like a living entity.

"How pitiful," he murmured, his voice barely carried by the wind. "They believed they were safe... that their time of fear had passed."

A low chuckle left his lips, devoid of warmth. Then, without warning, a dark sword materialized in his grasp. The very air trembled around it, a blade not of steel but of abyssal nothingness, hungering for destruction.

Shadow raised the sword.

And with a single, effortless swing—

SHHRRKKK!

The tallest spire of the Royal Palace was cleaved in half. A jagged diagonal line split through the stone as silence gripped the capital.

Then, the world roared to life.

A deafening crack reverberated through the city as the upper half of the spire trembled, tilting. The onlookers in the streets barely had time to process what they saw before—

BOOOOM!

The massive structure collapsed, shattering against the palace grounds in a thunderous eruption of stone and dust. Screams filled the air. People ran, pointing skyward in horror. Soldiers scrambled, their instincts screaming of an attack beyond their comprehension.

Inside the Council Chamber, Miklotov and Bordeaux stood frozen. The two elders could only gape as the once-proud spire crumbled before their very eyes.

Bordeaux gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white. "What in the name of Volcanica —?!"

Miklotov's aged eyes widened in shock.

Then, a voice rang out in the growing chaos.

"Look!"

All eyes turned to Marcus, who stood near the window, arm raised, his finger pointing at the highest surviving peak of the palace.

There, silhouetted against the sky, stood a lone figure.

A cloak darker than the abyss.

A presence heavier than death itself.

Miklotov's breath hitched. He felt his pulse hammer in his chest, a memory clawing its way to the surface—one he had desperately tried to forget. The last time he had seen that shadowed figure, the kingdom started its phase of turmoil.

His lips trembled. His voice cracked. And yet, the name spilt forth, heavy with terror, disbelief, and an unspoken prayer that this was all a nightmare.

"...Shadow."

A hush fell over the chamber.

The fear returned.

The nightmare had begun anew.

Nobles, knights, and commoners alike gathered in a trembling mass, their fear palpable—a suffocating weight pressing against their chests. Murmurs of disbelief rippled through the crowd, some too paralyzed to speak, others whispering frantic prayers to gods who would not answer.

Then, Shadow's piercing gaze swept over them, a predator surveying prey. A slow, cruel smirk curled his lips.

His voice rang out, sharp and unyielding, slicing through the silence like a blade.

"I am the Sin Archbishop of the Witch’s Cult," he declared, his words thick with venom. "The one who represents Pride."

A collective gasp spread like wildfire. Pride—the most elusive, the most feared in Lugunica.

Shadow lifted a gloved hand, and the world dimmed. A massive, writhing shadow spread from his fingertips, slithering across the castle walls, engulfing the trembling masses in its suffocating embrace. Darkness itself seemed to tremble, bending to his will.

"Shadow."

Then—

"ALL ROYAL GUARDS, TO ME!"

Marcus's roar shattered the paralysis that had gripped the soldiers. The Royal Guard sprang into action, weapons drawn, magic circles flickering to life.

But before they could even advance—

Shadow took a single step forward.

And fell.

He plummeted from the spire, his coat whipping violently in the wind. Yet there was no panic, no hesitation—only effortless descent.

Then—

BOOM!

He landed.

The hype is real, man—all I smell is fear, and it’s my favourite aroma.

A shockwave rippled outward, dust exploding into the air. Stone cracked beneath his feet. The sheer impact sent those closest reeling, shielding their faces from the debris.

And then—slowly, deliberately—he walked forward.

Every step a declaration.

Every breath a reminder.

Death had arrived.

He raised his abyssal sword, its very presence distorting the air, and levelled it at Marcus.

"You should all know why I'm here by now."

His voice was casual, almost amused, yet beneath it lay a storm of malice.

Worth a shot—ask nicely for all their gold before things get messy.

Marcus gritted his teeth, his grip tightening on his own blade. Sweat beaded at his temple, but he held firm. "You think you can just walk in here and—"

"Silence."

The command was not shouted, not barked—yet it struck like a hammer. A force not of sound, but of sheer authority.

Then, he spoke again.

"Now then…" His voice slithered through the silence, smooth and commanding, laced with venomous amusement. "Let’s not waste time with pointless bravado." He slowly raised a gloved hand, fingers curling as if grasping something unseen. "Give me what is most precious to you."

The words weren’t a demand.

They were a decree.

A cold, suffocating stillness gripped the battlefield. Those who had drawn their weapons found their grips faltering.

The Royal Candidates.

The realization dawned in an instant, slamming into them like a bolt of lightning. Gasps of horror rippled through the crowd, eyes darting toward the assembled candidates—their future, their hope.

Bruh, they could spare me like half their money stack. Why are they acting like I’m asking for a kidney?

Marcus clenched his jaw. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to move, to resist, to defy.

With sheer force of will, he turned, facing the Royal Candidates and their sworn knights.

"Protect them!" His voice was raw, commanding, filled with the urgency of a man standing on the edge of annihilation. "Get them out of here—NOW! Guard them with your lives!"

But then—

A whisper of movement.

Marcus's blood ran cold.

Before he could react—

A shadow flickered.

Cancel the bag chase. Aura harvest engaged.

And in the blink of an eye—

Shadow stood behind him.

The world seemed to lurch as the darkness-wreathed figure loomed over Marcus's shoulder, his breath like an icy whisper against his ear.

"How disappointing," Shadow murmured, his voice steeped in dark amusement. "This palace… the very heart of the kingdom… the one place meant to be untouchable." He let out a mock sigh, his smirk widening. "And yet, look at it now." His eyes gleamed like dying embers in the dark. "Shattered. Crumbling. Just like your illusions of safety."

Marcus barely had time to turn—

Then Shadow moved.

Not gonna lie, this dude’s built like a tank—he’d be fine if I yeeted him a little.

His leg shot forward in a vicious arc—

CRACK!

The force of the kick was monstrous.

Marcus's body launched through the air like a ragdoll, bones screaming under the sheer impact.

Then—

BOOOOM!

He crashed into the stone wall with a thunderous explosion, the impact spiderwebbing cracks through the ancient palace structure. Dust and rubble cascaded from the rupture as Marcus collapsed to his knees, coughing blood, his vision swimming.

Shadow chuckled, stepping forward, his abyssal blade humming with restrained hunger.

"Now then," he said, voice brimming with satisfaction.

"Shall we continue?"

Time to watch the main cast lose it and swim in my chaotic clout.

Anastasia's breath hitched as she stood frozen in place, her mind refusing to process the terror before her. The mere presence of Shadow was suffocating, an unseen weight pressing against her chest. Her lips parted, but all that came out was a whisper—an unconscious plea, a shuddering exhale of disbelief.

"...This ain't real..."

Before she could even blink, a figure stepped in front of her.

"Lady Anastasia! Get back!"

Julius' blade was already drawn as it stood like an unyielding wall between her and the abyss. His golden eyes locked onto Shadow, scrutinizing him with a mixture of calculated precision and grim realization.

"This is beyond anything we’ve faced before," Julius muttered, tightening his grip on his sword. "An enemy not bound by reason, nor by fear... this is a calamity in human form."

He knows I could clown him in front of his girl with zero effort, right?

From the side, Priscilla’s usual arrogance had melted into cold astonishment. Her ruby eyes widened as she gazed upon the dark figure, the flickering abyss dancing around him like living nightmares.

"Hoh? I always thought the rumours were vastly exaggerated," she mused, her voice uncharacteristically lacking its usual disdain. A slow breath left her lips as her fingers twitched at her fan. "But witnessing it firsthand... there was never an exaggeration to begin with."

"Oi, Princess! Get back!"

A blur of movement, and Al was at her side, his liuyedao already unsheathed. His stance was tense, his muscles coiled like a spring about to snap. Beads of sweat dripped down his face as he kept his eyes locked on the shadowed nightmare before them.

"I don’t know what the hell this guy is," Al gritted his teeth, his knuckles white around his sword. "But just standing here... just breathing the same air as him... I feel my head rolling off my shoulders."

That guy's ugly but clutch—respect.

Ferris, usually playful, was trembling. His cat-like ears twitched, betraying the sheer dread coursing through him. His golden eyes flickered toward Crusch, searching for stability for anything familiar amidst the suffocating terror.

"Lady Crusch..." Ferris’s voice was barely above a whisper. "This... this guy’s presence alone feels like it's slicing through me..."

Crusch Karsten stood firm, though her hands clenched into fists, her knuckles white from the pressure. She swallowed hard, her eyes burning with a mix of fear and rage. Her voice, when it came, was laced with disdain, yet the tremor beneath it was unmistakable.

"So it’s you," she spat, her gaze locking onto Shadow. "The one guilty of plaguing the royal family... the one who stole Fourier from us."

Ah yes, can't have a good plot without that one person who's totally valid for hating me... or are they?

From the side, Emilia’s amethyst eyes trembled as she stared at the abyssal figure. She could feel it—his presence gnawed at her, dug into her skin like cold iron. Her hands clenched at her sides as she fought the instinct to run.

"Who... what is he...?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Then—

"Lia. Get away. Now."

Puck’s voice resonated in her mind, urgent and uncharacteristically serious. "Run, girl. This isn’t something you can fight."

A hand suddenly grasped hers. She turned—

"We need to go!"

Subaru’s voice was desperate, his grip firm as he pulled her back. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind flashing back to the last time he had seen this figure. The destruction. The horror. The screams that still echoed in his nightmares.

"No matter what—don’t look back!" Subaru urged, his voice shaking with something primal. "We’re getting out of here!"

Subaru, still a genius—exiting the scene just to let me shine. Bold move.

A few feet away, Felt stood, her usual brashness stripped away. Her red eyes were wide with raw terror, her mouth opening and closing, yet no words formed. Her entire being screamed at her to run, but her legs refused to move.

"Th-this guy... he ain't human...!" Felt stammered, her voice barely audible. "What the hell is he?!"

Suddenly, she was lifted off the ground. Strong arms wrapped around her.

"R-Reinhard?!"

The Sword Saint held her effortlessly, his arms a shield between her and the nightmare before them.

"Lady Felt, we’re leaving," Reinhard said, his voice calm, yet beneath it, something stirred. Something deeply unsettling.

"Put me down, dammit!" Felt protested, her hands pounding against his chest. "I ain’t gonna—"

"He is no ordinary enemy," Reinhard interrupted, his voice steel, his grip unrelenting. "I will protect you, no matter what."

Felt’s protests died on her lips.

Because she saw it.

Reinhard’s body, firm and unmoving as ever.

But he was slightly trembling.

The Sword Saint was trembling.

Felt looked up at his face, her breath catching in her throat. He wasn’t afraid.

No—

In his sky-blue eyes, she saw something else. A deep, suffocating anxiety, the look of a man who could not afford to lose something precious.

And in the next instant—

Reinhard leapt back, distancing them from Shadow, his grip still firm, his every movement screaming of a man prepared to do the unthinkable to protect what mattered to him most.

Hey, hey! Sprinting off with a young girl in your arms? Not exactly textbook hero material, my dude.

"Ah… so everyone wants to run." Shadow's voice slithered through the air, rich with venomous delight. "How noble, how valiant… how utterly pathetic."

His abyssal sword hummed softly as he tapped its tip against the cracked stone beneath him. The sound echoed through the broken courtyard, a slow, deliberate rhythm.

"You all call yourselves warriors," he continued, his tone like silk laced with poison. "Knights. Protectors. But in the end, when faced with true darkness, you turn your backs and flee. Just like the weak, just like the forgotten."

A sharp inhale from the retreating figures—his words had struck deep.

Then, without another glance, Shadow turned and began his slow march into the palace.

Watch me stroll into the palace like 'sup'—zero effort, all power.

The great doors loomed before him, but before he could step forward—

"STOP RIGHT THERE, YOU MONSTER!"

A cacophony of voices erupted as the Royal Guard surged toward him. Their eyes burned with fury, their grips white-knuckled as they rushed to block his path.

"You think you can waltz in here and defile the sacred halls of the kingdom?" one snarled, blade raised.

"You’ll get no further!" Another barked, magic sigils flaring to life around him.

They formed a wall before the grand entrance, an impenetrable bulwark of steel, magic, and conviction.

Shadow didn’t stop.

He barely even acknowledged them.

Instead, he stepped forward.

"YOU BASTARD—!"

The first knight lunged, a blazing arc of flame trailing his blade.

Shadow shifted.

A single movement—effortless, fluid.

Before the knight could even register it, Shadow’s hand gripped his face.

Then—

THUD.

With an almost casual flick of his wrist, Shadow slammed the knight into the stone floor, face-first. The impact cracked the marble, his armoured body bouncing once before going still. Groaning.

The others hesitated for half a breath—

Too long.

Shadow was already moving.

Another knight swung—a lance imbued with magic. The tip crackled, promising devastation.

Shadow merely turned his head.

The spear passed harmlessly through empty air.

Before the knight could react, Shadow caught the shaft with his fingers.

SNAP.

The enchanted weapon shattered like brittle wood.

The knight's eyes widened in horror—

Before Shadow kicked him square in the chest.

BOOM!

The impact sent him hurtling backwards, crashing through a column with a strangled gasp.

"Too slow," Shadow mused, stepping forward.

Another knight charged from behind, aiming to take advantage of Shadow’s supposed blind spot.

A fatal mistake.

Shadow’s gloved hand reached back without looking—

And caught the blade between two fingers.

The knight gasped.

Shadow turned his head slightly, those crimson-like eyes locking onto him.

Then—

A single twist of his wrist.

SNAP.

The blade shattered into glimmering fragments. The knight stumbled back in shock—

Only for Shadow to grip his collar and hoist him up.

"You should be grateful," he murmured before unceremoniously hurling him into his comrades.

They toppled like dominoes, groaning as they collapsed into a heap of metal and dust.

The remaining knights wavered, their formation breaking. Their bodies trembled. Their resolve cracked.

Shadow continued walking.

Step.

By.

Step.

Then, a mage, desperate, cast a barrier of radiant light, sealing the palace doors.

A wall of divine energy, impenetrable.

Shadow lifted a single gloved hand—

And knocked.

A quiet, polite tap-tap against the glowing surface.

Then—

SHATTER.

The barrier dissolved into dust.

The knight staggered back, horror in his eyes.

Shadow didn’t even spare him a glance.

Not gonna kill 'em—who'd be left to fill the background scenes otherwise?

His pace never changed.

One by one, they fell.

None were dead.

None were even gravely wounded.

But none could stand.

None could fight.

None could stop him.

Shadow stepped over the last groaning knight, dusted off his coat, and pushed the palace doors open.

Inside, Miklotov and Bordeaux stood pale-faced, watching in stunned silence.

Bordeaux’s voice rang out first, sharp with outrage. “You think this is your throne to take?” His grip on the hilt of his sword was tight, knuckles whitening. “This kingdom has stood for generations, built on honour, sacrifice, and duty! You, a nameless spectre in the dark, have no claim here.”

Shadow walked forward without a word, his bootsteps echoing against the polished marble.

Miklotov exhaled slowly, his expression a mixture of dread and resolve. “Shadow… this isn’t how it has to be. If there’s something you seek, something you want, we can—”

Shadow scoffed, a cold, sharp sound. “Negotiate?” He tilted his head slightly as if amused by the thought. “You stand in the wreckage of your own kingdom’s so-called might, trembling before me, and you still believe you have the luxury to bargain?”

He reached the throne’s steps, running a gloved hand along the armrest as he slowly sat down. A deliberate motion. A claim.

Always had 'become the kingdom's villain' on my vision board—casually throne-sitting like it’s my WFH setup.

Miklotov stiffened. Bordeaux’s eyes burned with fury.

“You dare—?!” Bordeaux snapped, his voice rising with unrestrained anger. “You’re nothing but a scourge, a blight upon this land! A throne is meant for a ruler, not some wretched phantom that—”

THOOM.

Shadow drove his sword into the marble floor with a force that sent cracks sprawling like spiderwebs. The deep hum of its abyssal energy filled the room, suffocating, absolute.

Bordeaux froze.

Shadow’s crimson-like eyes flicked up, gleaming with cold amusement. “Mind your tongue.” His voice was lower now, edged with something almost… final. “For you speak before the one who sits upon this throne.”

Silence.

A moment stretched, heavy with unspoken terror.

Then Shadow leaned back against the throne, one leg crossing over the other, his gloved fingers drumming lightly against the armrest. A slow grin unfurled across his lips—wicked, knowing.

“In the end…” he mused, his tone dark, velvety, dripping with cruel amusement. “No matter how much light you cling to, no matter how loud you proclaim your righteousness…”

He chuckled, the sound low and deep, growing into a quiet, sinister laugh.

“The shadows always swallow everything in the end.”

BOOM!

The grand doors burst open with violent force, the sheer impact sending a gust of wind howling through the throne room. The heavy slabs of reinforced wood slammed against the walls, the deafening echo rattling through the vast chamber like a war drum signalling the arrival of something inevitable. The torches flickered, shadows wavered, and the dust of shattered magic still lingered in the air.

Bruh, let me savour this throne for a sec before the hero crashes the party.

A figure stood in the doorway, framed by the dim light of the corridor beyond. His presence was resolute, unshaken by the oppressive aura that loomed over the room. His piercing gaze swept over the fallen knights, the battered remnants of the kingdom’s finest warriors sprawled across the marble floor.

A calm, steady voice cut through the silence.

“…So this is what you call mercy.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Shadow’s lips. Seated upon the throne, he shifted slightly, his elbow resting against the armrest, his gloved fingers curling beneath his chin in a lazy yet unmistakably regal gesture His crimson-like eyes gleamed with amusement.

“Well, well…” he mused, his voice like silk woven with malice. “The hero arrives at last.” His smirk widened as his gaze settled on the newcomer. “Come to bask in the sight of your kingdom crumbling? Or do you still fancy yourself its saviour?”

Time to drop my boss finale—this room’s my solo stage now.

Then Reinhard stepped forward, his movements slow, deliberate. Unshaken by the weight of Shadow’s presence.

“I am not here for spectacle,” Reinhard replied, his voice even, unyielding. “Nor do I seek to revel in ruin.” He stopped a few paces from the steps leading to the throne, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword—not in aggression, but in quiet resolve. His gaze met Shadow’s without fear.

“I am here to end this. Once and for all.”

Shadow exhaled a quiet laugh, his expression darkening with something between amusement and condescension.

“End this?” he echoed, shaking his head slightly. “You’ve tried before. Tell me, Sword Saint, how many times must you fail before you finally kneel?” His voice was laced with prideful arrogance, his smirk deepening. “How many times must I remind you that the light you fight for is nothing but a flickering candle in the abyss?”

Reinhard did not rise to the taunt. Instead, he took another slow step forward, his gaze flickering to the bodies on the floor. A faint breath left his lips.

“…You didn’t kill them.”

Shadow’s smirk didn’t fade. If anything, it sharpened. His fingers tapped idly against the throne’s armrest as he leaned forward ever so slightly, his eyes glinting with something darker—something proud.

“Killing,” he murmured, his tone dripping with contempt, “is the act of those who fear resistance.” He lifted his gaze fully, his presence suffocating, absolute.

“To kill is to fear that they might stand again. That they might one day rise against you.” He let out a quiet chuckle, cold and devoid of warmth. Then his voice dropped, velvet-smooth yet heavy with finality.

“But I do not see it that way.”

His smirk widened, his crimson-like gaze burning into Reinhard’s unwavering blue.

“After all… why fear something that has already fallen?”

Reinhard’s gaze remained steady, unwavering. His grip on his sword’s hilt tightened slightly, but his posture remained composed, a pillar of unshaken resolve against the storm that was Shadow.

“You speak as if strength alone grants you dominion,” Reinhard said, his voice calm, yet edged with quiet defiance. “But a throne built on fear is a throne destined to crumble.”

Shadow chuckled, the sound deep and rich, vibrating through the chamber like a dark melody.

“Ah…” He exhaled, tilting his head, his crimson-like gaze gleaming with amusement. “And there it is. The ever-righteous sermon of the Sword Saint.” His fingers tapped idly against the throne’s armrest. “Tell me… do you truly believe that honour and virtue hold weight in the face of absolute power?”

Reinhard’s expression didn’t waver. “I believe that a ruler is measured not by the strength he wields, but by the will of those who stand beside him. You sit upon that throne, but you stand alone.”

Shadow’s smirk deepened. “Alone?” He exhaled a quiet laugh. “You misunderstand, hero.” His voice lowered, dripping with something vast—something beyond mortal comprehension. “I do not stand alone. I stand above.”

He slowly rose from the throne, his coat shifting like flowing shadows, his presence stretching, filling every corner of the room.

“I am not bound by the frail ideals of men, nor do I cling to their fleeting notions of duty and sacrifice.” He spread his arms wide, an open invitation, a declaration. His voice darkened, laced with something absolute.

“I am the one who sits above all. I am the Archbishop of Pride.”

Shadow’s smirk widened, his crimson gaze locking onto Reinhard’s with an almost mocking amusement.

“Come then, hero,” he murmured, his voice laced with wicked anticipation. He extended a hand, gesturing toward himself. “Stand before me if you dare. Prove your righteousness in battle.”

The challenge was clear, undeniable.

A heavy silence settled.

Then Reinhard closed his eyes briefly, as if in silent prayer. When he opened them again, there was no hesitation, no doubt—only the steady, unshaken resolve of a knight who had sworn an oath greater than himself.

“I have taken a vow,” Reinhard said, his voice firm. “No blade shall be drawn. No blood shall be spilt in this sacred chamber.” His grip loosened on his sword, his stance remaining composed. “I will not break that vow—not even for you.”

For the first time, Shadow was silent.

Ugh, this dude really out here with all the moral high ground and honour crap.

Hey, I just wanna throw hands—keep it simple.

Then, slowly—almost lazily—he tilted his head, his smirk never fading.

“Very well.”

BOOM!

Before the sound even finished echoing, Shadow was gone—vanishing like a phantom.

And then—

CRACK!

In an instant, Reinhard’s world blurred.

A force like a thunderclap slammed into his chest, the impact sending shockwaves rippling through his armour. His breath left him in a violent gasp as his feet left the ground—before he even registered what had happened, he was already airborne, hurtling backwards.

The grand doors EXPLODED open once more, shattered from the sheer force of his ejection.

BOOM!

Reinhard’s body crashed against the marble floor outside, rolling across the stone before finally coming to a skidding halt.

Dust and debris rained down.

Shadow stepped forward, standing at the threshold of the ruined entrance. His expression was unreadable, save for the gleam of amusement in his crimson-like gaze.

He let me punch him just so we could take the beef outside. Big brain move, ngl.

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly.

“Such a shame.”

His voice echoed through the ruined halls, calm and utterly unbothered.

“Honour makes such a fine chain, doesn’t it?”

Somewhere else...
Sunlight streamed through the grand windows of Roswaal’s manor in the capital, painting the lavish room in a deceptive warmth. Subaru paced restlessly, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his mind racing with unease.

“We need to get out of here,” he muttered, his voice low but tense. His eyes darted toward Emilia, who sat gracefully on the couch, concern evident in her violet gaze. “Everything's wrong. I can feel it in my gut. If we stay, we’re sitting ducks.”

Emilia frowned, shifting slightly in her seat. “Subaru, we don’t even know what’s happening yet. Maybe we should—”

“Lord Roswaal strictly ordered us not to leave the manor, Subaru-kun,” Rem interrupted, her voice laced with quiet worry. She stood by the doorway, her hands clasped together in front of her. “No matter what happens.”

Subaru exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, great. Yeah, sure, let’s just stay put like good little guests while the world outside is probably falling apart!” His voice grew louder, frustration spilling over. “That sounds like an excellent plan, doesn’t it?”

A slow, rhythmic clap filled the room.

“Ah, hooow delightful to see you so… spirited, Subaru-kun.”

Roswaal L. Mathers strolled into the room, his ever-present smile stretched wide, mismatched eyes gleaming with their usual amusement. “But you see, the situation outside is… quite beyond what any of you could haaandle.”

Subaru shot him a glare. “Then why don’t you tell us what the hell is going on?”

Roswaal chuckled, his gaze flicking toward the window. “Why, the Sword Saint is already facing the Archbishop of Pride as we speak.”

Subaru stiffened, his breath catching in his throat. “Reinhard is—”

“Ah-ah,” Roswaal interrupted, wagging a finger playfully. “Now, now, Subaru-kun, let me ask you something.” His tone dipped slightly, an eerie edge slipping into his usual theatrics. “If two mighty bulls were to lock horns in front of an anthill… do you think the colony could do anything but tremble?”

Subaru’s fists clenched tighter. He ground his teeth, irritation burning in his chest, but no words came.

Roswaal’s smile deepened. “Yes, yes, that’s what I thought.”

Silence settled over the room, heavy and suffocating.

Then, a flicker of something outside caught Roswaal’s eye. He turned, stepping toward the window with uncharacteristic stillness.

There, beyond the vast cityscape, the sky itself had become a battlefield. Blinding streaks of light clashed at incomprehensible speed, illuminating the heavens in a chaotic dance of destruction. Shadow and Reinhard’s battle raged above the capital, shaking the air with every collision.

Roswaal narrowed his eyes slightly, his amusement tempered by something deeper. He murmured to himself, barely above a whisper:

“There’s no way Lucien could be connected to that terrifying being… Could he?”

In the middle of the capital...
The marble streets cracked beneath Shadow’s slow, deliberate steps. His long coat fluttered with each movement, trailing behind him like the remnants of a nightmare. In his right hand, he carried a dark, jagged blade—its obsidian surface pulsing with an ominous glow, as if it thirsted for more than just blood.

Scattered fragments of Reinhard’s shattered sword lay behind him, gleaming weakly in the sunlight that broke through the damaged rooftops. The once-pristine blade, now lay in ruin—bested by the sheer pressure of Shadow’s overwhelming presence and Reinhard’s sheer power.

Shadow’s smirk curled again, cruel and effortless. His crimson eyes glinted with predatory amusement.

“Two swords, Sword Saint,” he said, his voice like velvet soaked in venom. “And we haven’t even started yet.”

He lazily lifted his dark sword and pointed it toward the Sword Saint. “At this rate, you’ll run out of honour before you run out of blades.”

Reinhard said nothing at first. He adjusted his footing, silent determination radiating from him. But then, his gaze met Shadow’s, and he spoke—calm, composed, and resolute.

“I can not let you dictate the way I fight,” Reinhard said, his voice firm. “If I abandon my principles now... I become what I swore to stand against.”

Shadow chuckled—low and mocking.

“And that’s exactly why you’ll never defeat me,” he replied, eyes narrowing. “You’re shackled by your own morality. You hesitate. You doubt.”

He stepped forward again, the ground cracking beneath him. His presence warped the air itself—like gravity around a black hole.

“I don’t.”

Reinhard’s eyes narrowed.

“That’s our difference.”

Suddenly—

WHOOSH!

Shadow vanished.

Then—BOOM!

A devastating slash tore through the air with such force it sent a shockwave racing across the capital. Reinhard dodged by a hair’s breadth, the edge of Shadow’s blade screaming past him.

SKY-SPLITTING LIGHT!

The slash didn’t stop. It cleaved upward, a black arc of power that soared into the sky—
—and split the clouds clean in two.

Sunlight poured through the breach, casting a divine glow across the capital.

The people looked up in awe and terror.

Reinhard landed on one knee, eyes wide with disbelief as he turned toward the source.

Shadow stood still, dark sword lowered at his side, wreathed in steam and glimmering sparks. His expression was no longer amused—it was cold. Piercing. Like the judgment of a reaper.

Sorry not sorry, but we’re not replaying that previous fight. Readers need drama, not déjà vu.

Shadow looked down at Reinhard, voice low and final:

“Draw your sacred sword, Sword Saint.”

The name struck like thunder.

“Or this city... will become another Aihiya.”

Silence fell—crushing, absolute.

And for a brief moment, it wasn’t the Sword Saint who looked divine—
—it was Shadow, standing tall with the sun blazing behind him, a figure of darkness forged in glory.

Reinhard clenched his teeth, his hands trembling at his sides. Around him, the city was unraveling—screams tore through the air, people scattered in terror, fleeing from the destruction Shadow had wrought. Smoke curled into the sky, the scent of burning wood and shattered stone filling his lungs. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, shutting out the chaos, and in the darkness behind his eyelids—

—A memory surfaced.

He was back in the royal palace, in a dimly lit chamber, standing beside a bed draped in heavy silk. The frail figure of Fourier lay beneath the sheets, his once-vibrant eyes dulled by the sickness that ravaged his body. His breath was shallow, his skin too pale.

Reinhard had been kneeling at his bedside, his head bowed, his voice barely a whisper.

“…It’s my fault,” he had said, his fingers curling into fists. “If I had defeated him that day… If I had been stronger… the royal family wouldn’t be in this state.”

A weak chuckle rasped from Fourier’s throat. Slowly, painfully, he turned his head to look at Reinhard. “You did your best,” he murmured, his voice fragile but kind. “You always do.”

Reinhard shook his head, grief and guilt twisting in his chest. “But I—”

“You’re human too, Reinhard,” Fourier interrupted gently. “Not flawless. Not invincible.” His lips curled into a small, weary smile. “No knight, no matter how strong, can bear the weight of the world alone.”

Reinhard swallowed hard, his throat burning.

Fourier’s gaze softened. “You think shouldering every burden alone makes you noble. But Reinhard…” He exhaled slowly, as if gathering the last of his strength. “A knight’s duty isn’t to be perfect. It’s to rise… even when they fall.”

The words had struck him deeply, but before he could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps had torn him from the moment.

Reinhard had left the chamber in silence. But outside, the whispers awaited him.

“He calls himself the hope of the kingdom?”

“Nonsense. He couldn’t even protect the royal family.”

“The legendary Sword Saint, unable to defeat that monster? How pathetic.”

He had heard every word. He had felt their scorn. And yet—

Another memory surfaced, cutting through the bitterness. A promise. One he had sworn beneath the moonlight.

"No matter what happens—I will protect you, Lady Felt."

His eyes snapped open, reality crashing back in. The city burned. Shadow stood before him, the sun at his back, a figure of darkness wreathed in radiance.

Reinhard exhaled slowly. His voice was calm, unwavering.

“The truth is…” His gaze met Shadow’s, and for the first time, there was something unshakable in his stance. “…From the first moment I met you—”

The wind howled. The ground trembled.

“—The Dragon Sword Reid has been aching to be unsheathed.”

And the reason stood before him now.

Shadow.

A man wreathed in darkness, yet standing tall beneath the golden light of the heavens. A man whose blade had split the sky itself, whose mere presence sent shudders through the very foundation of the whole capital.

Reinhard exhaled, his gaze unwavering. Then, at last, he spoke.

“The Dragon Sword does not acknowledge the unworthy.”

The words rang through the broken city like a solemn hymn. He took a step forward, the weight of destiny settling upon his shoulders.

“And yet… it does not merely accept you.”

He slowly drew the sacred blade from behind his back.

The earth convulsed.

The sky groaned.

A pulse of sheer, unrestrained power rippled outward, shaking buildings to their foundations. The capital itself seemed to recoil in the presence of the sword’s full might.

Ah yes, the classic 'chosen one' moment—pulling some legendary sword. Excalibur? Or just famous 'cause it yeeted a few dragons?

Reinhard’s hair whipped in the roaring winds, his crimson mantle billowing like the banner of a warrior-king. The sacred blade gleamed in the sunlight, an instrument of divine judgment forged for one purpose alone—absolute victory.

“More than worthy,” Reinhard murmured. His voice held no arrogance, no hesitation. Only certainty. “The sword aches to be wielded against you.”

He raised the sword before him, its edge gleaming with an ethereal radiance. His stance shifted, feet planted firm, the weight of his blade resting with ease in his grip. The air around him crackled, charged with the raw force of an impending storm.

Then, with the solemnity of an oath sworn before the gods, he declared:

“Reinhard van Astrea, Sword Saint of Lugnica, shall meet you in battle, Shadow. And by my blade, I shall carve the will of the kingdom upon this field.”

Silence fell.

Then—

A low chuckle.

Shadow smirked, his dark eyes gleaming with something between amusement and exhilaration. He tilted his head slightly, his sword still resting casually at his side.

“You say that,” he mused, voice smooth as a blade’s edge. “But let’s see if you can keep up.”

With a flick of his wrist, Shadow raised his blade, the remnants of black lightning still dancing along its surface. His posture was relaxed—yet the air around him twisted, bending to his will like an extension of his very being.

The battlefield had been set.

The heavens bore witness.

And as the last echoes of his words faded, two figures stood poised between light and shadow.

Notes:

Who’s your favourite Re:Zero guy?

Mine’s Wilhelm—flawed, regret-riddled, and not just another OP grandpa. His backstory is well written.
Vincent’s a close second, but I’ll shut up now lol.

Have a nice day all of u!!!

Chapter 17: Atomic Requiem

Slowly, Shadow shifted his stance—one foot sliding back, knees bent, body loose like a predator ready to pounce. His dark blade tilted slightly, angled forward, still wreathed in the embers of its earlier onslaught. The wind whipped around him, howling like the breath of some unseen titan, and his cloak fluttered behind him in tattered glory.

Then—he spoke, voice low, sharp, and brimming with challenge.

“Come at me, Sword Saint.”

The words were a spark.

In the next instant—CRACK!

The air exploded as Reinhard vanished.

In less than a blink, he was there—in front of Shadow—sacred blade drawn mid-flash.

CLAAAANG!!!

Their swords collided in a titanic crash, the sheer force detonating outward like a miniature supernova. The shockwave shattered the buildings around them—walls crumbled, roofs were torn asunder, glass rained down like glittering shards from the heavens. The street beneath their feet split open, a crater gouged deep into the ground.

They stood locked, blade to blade, inches apart. Eyes locked. Souls clashing harder than steel.

Shadow’s grin hadn’t faded. If anything, it had grown.

“Yes…” he whispered, voice low, reverent, thrilled. “This is what I’ve been waiting for.”

He pushed against Reinhard’s blade, the power coiling in his muscles like thunder restrained. “This… is what our battle was always meant to be.”

Reinhard’s eyes narrowed.

“I didn’t draw this sword so you could enjoy it.”

The ground cracked beneath his boots as his aura surged. “I drew it… to end this.”

With a roar of pure force, Reinhard surged forward—shoving Shadow back with a blinding burst of power.

Shadow was launched through the air, twisting gracefully before landing atop the slanted roof of a nearby house. The tiles beneath his boots shattered from the impact, but he didn’t falter. Smoke and sparks clung to him like a cloak, his silhouette outlined by the rising sun.

He looked down at his blade.

The part that had clashed with Reinhard’s sword… was melting.

Dark steel bubbled and hissed, dripping embers and shadowy liquid like tar dissolving in fire.

Shadow stared at it for a long moment.

Then, slowly… he chuckled.

“So it wasn’t a bluff after all.”

He held the bubbling blade up, admiring the damage like a scar earned in a battle worth bleeding for.

“Now this,” he said, his grin returning, wild and hungry—“is going to be fun.”

He’s a total mana vampire—even his sword’s draining me. The longer I’m near him, the quicker my magic dips. Gotta hit fast and dip faster.

His eyes gleamed beneath the scorched sky. Not with fear. Not with doubt.

But with the unshakable confidence of a man who had walked through worlds—

—and finally found someone worthy to face him.

WHOOSH—

In the time it took for the wind to shift, Shadow vanished.

Reinhard’s eyes flicked upward—

"Above—!"

CRASH!

Shadow descended like a meteor, his corrupted blade screaming through the air—aimed straight for Reinhard’s heart.

But—

CLANG!!!

Reinhard’s sword was already there, his sacred blade intercepting the strike with perfect precision. The force of the impact sent cracks spiderwebbing across the cobbled street, the recoil lifting both men inches off the ground before they repelled each other—each landing with supernatural grace.

Then—

Everything stopped.

A loose shard of stone, flung skyward by the clash, hung suspended midair. Dust particles floated like stars in a frozen galaxy. Even the fire and smoke from the burning buildings moved sluggishly, like molasses dripping through time.

The world slowed—

—but they did not.

A blur. A flicker. A streak of light and shadow colliding in the eye of a storm.

Steel rang out like thunderclaps, each clash faster than thought.

Reinhard’s blade moved with precision, an extension of his will, guided by countless blessings. Every motion was flawless. Every parry, every step, every pivot—perfect.

Shadow was no less a spectacle. His body moved like liquid night, his blade flowing between forms—elegant. His footwork was a dance, his posture never static. No hesitation. No gaps.

No blind spots.

SLASH— a strike aimed for Reinhard’s neck—

DEFLECTED!

THRUST— a counter to Shadow’s ribs—

EVADED!

SWEEP— Reinhard’s momentum shifting with godlike speed—

PARRIED!

DODGE—DODGE—CLASH—STEP—STRIKE—BLOCK—DODGE—SPIN—

A symphony of destruction. Buildings crumbled just from the air pressure of their duel. Every swing sent shockwaves rippling outward, reducing stone and steel to splinters. A bell tower collapsed behind them in slow-motion ruin, caught in the gravitational storm of their battle.

Still—neither could touch the other.

Shadow skidded to a stop, cloak flaring, and let out a sharp breath, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

"I can't land a hit on you.”

He twirled his cracked blade once in his grip, eyes gleaming like coals behind a veil of shadow. “But you’re not doing much better, are you?”

He pointed his sword at Reinhard, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “What’s wrong, Sword Saint? All that divine power, all that righteous fury—yet here we are… just dancing in circles.”

Reinhard didn’t flinch. His blade remained steady, unwavering.

“I’m not here to play games,” he said coldly. “I’m not toying with lives for amusement.”

Shadow raised a brow, then grinned wider—teeth bared, unhinged. “Then kill me.”

Silence fell.

Reinhard’s grip tightened on his hilt, his eyes narrowing.

“Go on,” Shadow said, his voice low, taunting. “If you’re not here to play, then end this. Strike me down, oh blessed hero.”

Reinhard’s reply was a blade of its own.

“You talk like you’re some devil worth fearing—but you’re just a evil person with a death wish.”

Shadow’s grin turned feral.

“And you’re just another self-righteous hypocrite.”

Without warning, he raised his palm toward a house behind Reinhard. Mana surged—a purple glyph spinning into existence in the air, buzzing with unstable power. Then—

THOOM!

A blast of raw, pulsing energy shot from the construct, slamming into the building with a roar. The house cracked, shook—beams snapped, flames erupted.

Reinhard’s eyes widened. “What—?!”

Shadow held up one finger.

“I won’t move,” he said. “One second. That’s all you get. One perfect second to drive that sacred sword of yours straight through my heart.”

He stepped forward, arms outstretched, exposing his chest.

“But if you do—everyone in that house dies.”

Behind him, screams began to rise. Families trapped. Children crying.

Shadow's smile was poisonous. “So what’s it going to be, hero? Kill me—or save them?”

The weight of choice descended like a guillotine.

Reinhard’s jaw clenched. “You’re sick.”

His aura surged again—holy light wrapping around him like divine fire. “You think this makes you clever? This just proves what you are.”

Without another word, Reinhard blurred forward—not toward Shadow, but past him, in a streak of gold. He shot toward the burning house, sword swinging in radiant arcs, slicing through debris, shielding the helpless.

In a second, he reappeared outside with five people—battered, but alive—shielding them with his body.

And that was the moment Shadow moved.

SHRAAAAK!

From above, like a falling star, Shadow dove—his corrupted blade crashing down toward Reinhard’s unprotected back.

CLANG!!

Steel met steel once more, Reinhard having turned just in time, locking blades beneath the shimmer of smoke and ash.

Shadow leaned close, breath ghosting over Reinhard’s face.

“You really are just another hero.”

And he meant it like an insult.

A beat.

Shadow’s eyes gleamed with focused thrill, his movements too fluid, too erratic to be predicted. His cloak fluttered in his wake like smoke trailing a comet.

Those 'Divine Blessings' or whatever he's calling them are straight-up nerfing my damage—nothing’s landing.

Reinhard, ever the immovable bastion, read each attack the instant it formed—his body guided by fate itself. His Divine Blessings reacted before he even thought, elevating him beyond mortal limits.

Shadow's grin widened mid-clash. “Tch… So this is what it takes,” he muttered, twisting mid-air to avoid a downward arc of divine steel. “The perfect hero... backed by the will of heaven.”

He ducked low, twisted into a low slash aimed at Reinhard’s legs—but Reinhard leapt, flipped, and landed behind him. His sword lashed out in a blur—

Shadow caught the blade between two fingers.

SPARK—!! The sheer friction caused a burst of white light.

“You can’t hit what you can’t find,” he murmured, vanishing again—reappearing behind Reinhard this time, upside down in midair, blade inverted in a backhanded strike—

BLOCKED. Reinhard didn’t even turn. His sword came up, catching the blow behind his back.

Shadow’s smile twisted. “Of course,” he muttered, low and reverent. “The Divine Blessings of the hero… they see everything.”

Shadow landed lightly, the echo of the last clash still humming in the air.

He looked down—at his right hand.

The blackened glove that had caught Reinhard’s sacred blade…

…was melting.

The enchanted fabric hissed and peeled away, revealing the scorched skin beneath. Faint wisps of smoke curled from his fingertips. A shallow burn had begun to bloom across his palm—red, raw, and angry.

Whoah, it's like my hand's HP bar just dropped to 1% from touching that blade.

Wild how a piece of metal can hold this much toxic energy—literal debuff machine.

Shadow flexed his hand.

Pain flared up his arm.

He clenched it tighter.

Reinhard’s eyes narrowed, watching. “So… even you bleed.”

Shadow said nothing.

The holy knight took a step forward, his voice calm but laced with steel. “From the moment I saw you, I felt it. Something was off. Something unnatural.”
He glanced at the smouldering glove, now crumbling to ash.

“…But that pain… that burn… you feel it, don’t you?”

Reinhard locked eyes with him, gaze unwavering.

“You’re human. Just like me.”

For a heartbeat, silence hung between them.

Then—
Shadow laughed.

Low and quiet at first.

Then rising.

Not manic. Not wild. But something darker.

Something colder.

“You call me human?” he echoed, his voice like smoke and broken glass. “You still don’t understand.”

With a twitch of his fingers—WHOOM—a new glove reformed from shadows, swirling into place with unnatural smoothness. Black tendrils crawled around his wrist and fused like liquid obsidian, pulsing faintly with dark energy.

Shadow slowly looked up, and his grin was gone.

His eyes glowed dim beneath the shadow of his hood.

“I abandoned being a human the moment I realized its limits,” he said, voice low and thunderous. “Chasing strength requires sacrifice. And the first thing I threw away—was weakness.”

He raised his hand, pointing his blade at Reinhard.

A flicker of anger cut across his face like lightning.

“So don’t you dare put your name in the same sentence as mine.”

The air trembled.

“You… gifted, blessed, chosen—you were handed power wrapped in prayer.”

His voice dropped, cold and venomous.

“I earned mine by struggling.”

He lifted his blade.

It shimmered—then shifted.

Darkness coiled along the edge, twisting and stretching. The sword elongated, the metal bending like it had a will of its own—until it became a black Bō, sleek and elegant.

Shadow spun it once behind his back with a sharp crack of air, then took a low, aggressive stance—one foot forward, staff held across his body like a drawn bowstring.

“That…” he said, eyes locked onto Reinhard like a predator, “…is our fundamental difference.”

The rising sun framed him like a silhouette cut from war itself.

“Now come, blessed hero—
—let’s see if fate can survive against someone who earned every scar.”

I can't touch him, but imma still stunt with these OP weapons while he’s stuck with that sword.

The ground barely had time to quake.

Shadow moved first—his bō a blur, a streak of obsidian fury cleaving through the air with surgical grace. It didn’t hiss. It didn’t scream. It sang—a soft, haunting hymn of momentum and mastery.

Reinhard’s eyes widened—not in fear, but respect.

"He’s faster…"

The staff came in at a shallow angle—deceptive. Reinhard shifted his weight, parrying the strike with the flat of his blade, but the bō didn’t stop. It flowed. The moment of contact became a pivot—Shadow twisted, the staff rebounding like a spring, spinning around his back and whipping upward at Reinhard’s chin.

CLANG—!

Reinhard caught it barely. The force travelled through his arms like a quake through steel.

Then came the real storm.

Shadow’s stance unravelled into movement—hands gliding across the bō’s length in perfect synchrony, feet tapping across the ruined street with dancer’s balance. Each strike was part of a rhythm. A pattern. Not random—but designed.

Thrust. Spin. Sweep. Crack. His body never wasted a single motion. Every rotation of the staff was a coil, every pivot a rebirth of momentum.

A high arc—ducked by Reinhard.

A low sweep—leapt over.

Midair, Shadow flipped, dragging the bō in a brutal crescent that shattered the ground where Reinhard landed just a heartbeat later.

Stone erupted like a geyser.

Reinhard spun his sword into a wide guard, narrowing his eyes.

Shadow’s expression was unreadable—only the gleam in his eyes, the precision in his movements, betrayed the will beneath.

He was testing Reinhard.

Measuring him.

Every strike was a question.

Every deflection, a statement.

And Reinhard?

He was answering.

“Your technique,” Reinhard said, rising slowly, “is not of this world.”

Shadow tilted his head. “It isn’t.”

Reinhard lowered his blade in a rare gesture of admiration. “And yet you don’t fight like a tyrant. You fight like a monk. A master.”

Shadow said nothing.

But he smiled.

A quiet, haunting curve of the lips.

Reinhard’s grip tightened.

“Flattery,” Shadow said, stepping forward, voice as smooth and cold as a falling blade, “will get you nowhere, hero.”

Without warning, his bō shimmered—twisting, fracturing, and collapsing in on itself like a shadow folding in reverse. In its place—two sai, obsidian-black, and glinting with a malevolent sheen appeared in his hands.

Always dreamed of flexing these bad boys—perfect for clapping that sword.

He spun them once—faster than the eye could follow—and dropped into a stance low and coiled, the twin blades poised like fangs.

Then—he struck.

A blur.

A clash.

Metal screamed.

Reinhard moved to parry—but the sai weren’t meant to meet him head-on. One redirected his blade with a flick of the prong—while the other slid beneath his guard, aiming not to pierce but to shatter his stance.

CLANG! Reinhard twisted, barely keeping balance.

Another strike—ping!, the sai caught the flat of his sword, spinning it just enough to throw his rhythm off. Shadow was in too close—too fluid. Every movement was precision incarnate. The sai didn’t duel—they danced. Around Reinhard’s guard. Inside his reach. Beneath his swing.

A jab from the left sai caught Reinhard’s pauldron—just enough to jolt him.

Then Shadow leaned in, breathless, his voice a murmur of cold smoke.

“You’re untouched, Sword Saint. Still standing tall.”

He stepped back, slowly, and let the steel cool for half a breath.

“But tell me…” He gestured around them.

The ruined street, the fractured buildings, the craters, and cracks that veined the earth.

“…Can you see the damage we’re doing?”

The words lingered like ash on the wind.

Reinhard’s gaze swept the devastation. Then—

He straightened. “I can,” he said evenly. “Which is why I evacuated the surrounding districts before this battle began.”

He raised his blade again, unwavering.

“I knew what it would take to stop you.”

Shadow’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“…Clever,” he murmured.

So… is this his way of saying ‘Burn it all down’ since nobody’s watching?

And then his power surged.

A pressure hit the battlefield like gravity had doubled. The ground cracked outward from beneath Shadow’s feet. Darkness pulsed from his body—no longer a mere cloak, but a storm, writhing and boiling in the shape of his fury.

The twin sai trembled—then shifted.

They elongated, twisted, fused—until in his grip was a katana.

But not ordinary.

Shadow exhaled.

The world seemed to hold its breath with him.

Then he spoke—low, calm, a whisper wrapped in inevitability.

“Relax, Sword Saint. This still isn’t my full power.”

A heartbeat passed.

Then—

Shff—

The draw was silent.

The slash was not.

BOOM—!!

A sonic crack split the air as Shadow vanished in a blur, his katana a streak of midnight light. Reinhard’s eyes widened, instinct screaming—he raised his blade just in time. Steel met steel with an impact that sent shockwaves ripping through the air.

CLANG—!!

The force launched Reinhard back—feet skidding across the ground, boots tearing trenches through stone.

But he barely had time to recover.

Shadow was already in front of him.

He has no clue how many hours I no-lifed to perfect this anime-worthy katana draw.

“Tch—!” Reinhard’s grip tightened.

What followed wasn’t swordplay. It was art—a violent, surreal dance of precision and will.

Reinhard parried—a vertical slash. Countered—a horizontal swipe. But for every strike Reinhard deflected, Shadow slipped through with another, never stopping, never yielding.

They spun through the ruined city like forces of nature—steel clashing, sparks flying, their battle a storm in human form.

Shadow flipped, blade trailing behind him like the tail of a comet, then slashed in a downward arc with crushing force. Reinhard blocked, grounded his stance—and still staggered.

“You’re fast,” Reinhard growled.

Shadow grinned, teeth barely visible beneath the edge of his hood. “You haven’t seen fast yet.”

In a blink, Shadow ducked low, twisting his blade around Reinhard’s guard—an opening.

His katana gleamed, aimed clean at the hero’s neck.

Time slowed.

Victory—just an inch away.

But then—

SNAP—!

A hand caught his wrist.

Shadow’s eyes flared, stunned.

Reinhard had moved—faster than instinct, faster than thought.

The hero stared him down, unwavering, muscles tensed like a statue of war.

“You should’ve realized,” Reinhard said calmly, “your attacks… are futile.”

CRACK—!!

Reinhard’s fist drove into Shadow’s gut like a meteor, power compacted into divine precision. Shadow’s body bent with the force—then launched like a missile.

FWOOOOOSH—!!

He blasted through the city’s edge, trailing black streaks through the sky, a blur of destruction crashing through towers, walls, hills—

—and vanished into the distant horizon like a falling star.

If I didn’t grind these abs to steel, that punch would’ve turned me into a glazed doughnut.

The wind settled.

The battlefield fell quiet.

Somewhere far away...
In a sun-drenched garden far from the screams of battle, a man with immaculate white hair and eyes like molten gold sat comfortably in an ornate chair. A glass of wine, crimson and still, caught the glint of the afternoon light in his hand. He swirled it once, slowly, before bringing it to his lips.

The taste—sweet, aged, refined.

He closed his eyes, savouring it. “Hah… Now this,” he murmured to no one in particular, “this is what a man earns. A moment of stillness. A well-deserved pause in the chaos. For one who shoulders the weight of his many wives’ happiness… isn’t it only natural that he should enjoy such peace?”

Beside him, a young woman stood—silent, pale, her eyes blank. She wore an elegant dress, unmoving save for the breeze that played with her hair. After a beat, she nodded with the slightest motion.

“You are right, Dear Husband,” she said in a calm, mechanical voice. “You deserve it more than anyone.”

A small, satisfied smile curled on the man’s lips. He raised the glass again.

But peace is fragile.

BOOM—!!

In an instant, a figure split the sky like thunder incarnate—hurtling straight past the garden.

The wine glass trembled in the man’s grip. A red splash bloomed across the floor.

For a moment, silence.

Then, golden eyes opened slowly.

The man looked down at the ground, expression still—but a pulse of irritation tightened his brow.

“…How many times,” he began, his voice soft, deceptively composed, “must I be denied the peace I am due? A simple thing. A glass of wine. A quiet afternoon. After all the burdens I bear, after all the effort I exert to maintain harmony among my beloved wives, must I truly tolerate such crude disruptions?”

He stood, his aura now trembling like a volcano beneath a porcelain mask.

“And to think—it was you who failed to prevent this. You—who should have known better. You, who stood at my side, and yet let chaos descend into my sanctuary… You’ve violated my rights—my day. What part of this moment did you not understand to be mine, and mine alone!?”

The girl began to shake. Her shoulders quivered, though her face remained empty—emotion buried beneath instinct.

“I-I am sorry… Dear Husband…” she whispered, voice trembling, barely holding herself together. “Please… forgive me… I didn’t mean—”

SPLASH.

The floor beneath her feet darkened. Blood, sudden and vivid, poured from her chest as her body collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut. No scream. No resistance. Just a fall—and silence.

The garden floor, once pristine, was now painted red.

The man stood above her, gold eyes flickering not with grief but contempt. He looked down at the corpse of the girl.

“…Now you understand,” he said coldly, “what it means to ruin one's day.”

And with a slow, deliberate motion, he brushed the dust from his sleeve… and sat back down.

Near the Great Waterfall...
The sky churned with grey as the mists rose from the crashing waters below. Far above, where the cliffs met the clouds, a black streak tore through the air—

FWOOOSH—!!

Shadow’s body crashed into the river, feeding the Great Waterfall, the impact sending up a tower of spray and thunder.

FWOOOSH—!!

He sank instantly, the weight of that punch dragging him under. Darkness swallowed him, the roar of the falls echoing in his ears.

Bubbles rushed from his mouth as his eyes snapped open—wide with fury and determination. He thrashed, blood clouding the water in crimson trails.
A cough escaped—then another. He broke the surface, gasping—

"Khh—!!"
He choked, spitting blood into the raging current as the water dragged him toward the edge.

Yup, that punch slapped so hard I glitched through the map like a Skyrim ragdoll.

Then—

Shadow was gone again.

Minutes Later…
Boots stepped onto the jagged rocks of the shore. Reinhard scanned the mist-laced gorge, his cape flaring in the wind, armour scratched from battle.

Nothing but the thunder of falling water.

He narrowed his eyes.

SHMMM—!
The Divine Blessing of the Revealing Gaze ignited in his pupils—golden symbols flickering like celestial circuitry.

And what he saw made him freeze.

“What…?”

The entire area—every stone, every droplet of water, every gust of wind—was saturated with magic. But not just any magic.

Shadow’s.

It pulsed and writhed like a living thing, coating the world in a haze of dark energy.

"This shouldn't be possible..." Reinhard whispered.

Then—

The ground rumbled.

RMMMMMMMM—

He looked up.

Far on the horizon, beyond the canyon and across the churning waters—

A figure stood.

Cloaked in shadow.
Katana in hand.
Cloak billowing like wings of the abyss.

Shadow.

Alive. Smiling.

No—grinning.

And behind him—

The ocean rose.

KRKKKKKKKK—!!

A wall of water—colossal, merciless, divine in scale—towered into the sky. A tsunami, hundreds of meters tall, roared forward like the wrath of an ancient god.

Shadow raised his blade, his voice echoing unnaturally across the distance:

“Let’s see you cut the sea, hero.”

Commanding the whole sea is still one of the ultimate flexes.

Reinhard’s eyes widened. But only for a moment.

He drew his sacred blade again.

FWOOM—!

“Then watch closely,” he said, voice low.

The tsunami came—howling, monstrous, apocalyptic.

Reinhard stepped forward.
Took one breath.
And slashed.

SHIIIIINNG—!!

The blade screamed through the air—a radiant arc of pure light.

KA-CHOOOOM—!!

The tsunami split clean in two.

A canyon of air carved through the wave as water crashed aside in twin torrents, roaring past Reinhard harmlessly.

Watching the hero parry every attack with his glow-up sword really makes me wonder... how thick is this guy's plot armour?

Silence followed.
And in that silence—
Shadow laughed.

Far above the splintered cliffs, where the mist shimmered like glass, the air warped with pressure.

CRACK—!

Shadow appeared.

Not teleported—arrived. Reality bent around his momentum. One instant, nothing. The next—

FWSSHH—!!

He was there, katana drawn, feet barely kissing the air as he shot forward.
Time itself seemed to stagger.

The water droplets—still falling from the split tsunami—hung suspended. Caught in the wake of his speed. Each one glittered like a frozen star.

And then—

CLAAAAANG—!!

His katana met Reinhard’s blade mid-air, the clash birthing a shockwave that rippled through the gorge, shattering stone and parting clouds above.

Steel screamed. Sparks flew.

Reinhard, still steady in mid-guard, narrowed his eyes. “Why do you fight, Shadow? What do you want?”

Ah, we’ve hit that cliché ‘enemies-to-therapy-session’ phase—perfect time to drop my other 50% mana.

For a moment, silence.

Then—

Shadow grinned.

Slow. Dark. Certain.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

The katana in his hand shimmered—then phased through Reinhard’s blade like mist through glass.
No clash. No grind. Just—

WSSHHHH—

It reformed behind the hero’s guard, lightning-fast.

Reinhard’s eyes went wide. He leapt back—or tried to.

SPLURCH—!

His legs jerked to a stop—trapped.

Black slime had crawled from the shadows beneath his feet, binding him down like sentient tar.
Living. Breathing. Writhing.

“What—!?”

Shadow stepped forward, cloak flaring like wings torn from the night itself.

“The world,” he said, voice low, echoing with something ancient, “doesn’t need a saint. Or a saviour. That time is long gone.”

“What it needs… is judgment.”

And he brought it down.

SHHLUUUNK—!!

The blade sang as it tore through armour and flesh—slicing Reinhard’s side open in a wide, crimson arc. The hero gasped, blood spraying into the mist.

Shadow stood still, katana in one hand, its edge dripping with light and darkness intertwined.
The mists swirled around him, slow and reverent.
His silhouette—immovable. Eternal.

Judging by that scar on his face, the half of my mana that isn't recognized by this world is deadly. But I won’t kill him. Not yet, at least. Not until he’s uses his full strength and resolve.

Reinhard collapsed to one knee, panting, eyes locked with the figure before him.

Shadow didn’t chase.

“Redemption is for those who still dream.
This world?
It already woke up.”

The pain seared through Reinhard’s side, but his glare never wavered.

Blood trickled from his lips as he forced a breath, teeth clenched. “You talk like you’ve seen the world burn,” he growled, “but all I see is someone hiding behind theatrics.”

Shadow said nothing—only watched.

Reinhard spat blood to the side, eyes locked on his foe. “Judgment without hope… is just another form of tyranny.”

Then—with a roar—Reinhard drove his sword into the ground.

KRA-KOOM—!!

A pulse of golden energy erupted outward, the earth trembling beneath him. Light surged through the cracks in the stone, rushing up through the blade and into his body.

His torn side stitched shut in a flash of white fire.

The blood vanished. The pain faded.

Reinhard stood.

“Hope,” he said, voice like thunder, “isn’t dead. It fights. Just like I do.”

Shadow’s smirk returned—cool, crooked, amused.

“Tch… So dramatic.”

He tilted his head, katana idly lowered. “You really think this world needs more heroes? Wake up, Sword Saint. You can either be the good guy... or the one who actually saves it.”

Reinhard vanished.

A sonic boom cracked the air.

CLAAAAANG—!!

His blade collided with Shadow’s once more—this time, it was Reinhard who struck first, eyes blazing with fury.

Shadow slid back mid-air, parrying, laughing under his breath. “Well, well,” he said smoothly. “Finally taking the lead, huh?”

Reinhard surged forward to press the attack, but Shadow twisted on his heel and kicked off the ground, sliding backwards with perfect control.

Dust swirled around him.

Then—he stabbed his katana into the ground.

And it shifted.

CRACKLE—!!

The steel twisted, morphed—crackling with raw energy—as it extended, reshaped, evolved—

Into an electric guitar.

Reinhard blinked. “...What?”

Shadow grinned wide, eyes glinting like a devil under moonlight. “Style matters.”

Dreamt of smashing someone with a sick guitar solo—literally.

He struck a chord.

BWAAAAAAAM—!!

Sound erupted like a thunderclap. A sonic shockwave tore through the air—invisible, but brutal.

Reinhard's ears burst, blood spilling down his cheeks as he staggered back, hands clutching his head in pain.

“Oops,” Shadow mocked, walking forward as lightning danced along the guitar’s strings. “Not a fan of metal?”

Then—

WHAM—!!

He was there—right in front of Reinhard before he could react.

One punch.

Right to the gut.

THOOM—!!

Reinhard’s body launched skyward like a missile, slicing through the clouds.

Shadow stood below, one hand in his pocket, guitar resting on his shoulder, cloak billowing like a storm given shape.

He tilted his head up, smirking.

“Let’s turn up the volume.”

Reinhard tumbled through the clouds, breath ragged, mind reeling. Then—

WHOOM—

Shadow was there.

Levitating like gravity never mattered. Wind howled around them, but he was still—floating with a lazy grin on his lips.

He clenched his fist.

“You know what this glove’s made of?” he asked, voice low, almost playful.

Reinhard’s eyes widened.

No.
It couldn’t be—

A flash of memory seared his mind.

That time—
That single blow—
The one that bypassed all his Divine Blessings.
The one that left Reinhard with a scar he could never heal.

Reinhard’s grip tightened around his sword.

“…You're using that strange power again.”

A beat passed. The air tensed. Reinhard's sword gleamed with heat, the magic within it flaring to life. Then, something clicked—deep in his instincts.

Wait.

He ran the fight back in his head.

His strikes. His counters. His wins.

Most of them… landed.

All of them… allowed.

His breath caught.

“…You’ve been letting me hit you,” he said slowly, eyes narrowing.

Shadow only smiled, one eyebrow raised like a man watching a toddler solve a puzzle.

The truth hit Reinhard like a thunderclap.
He hadn’t been dominating this fight.
Shadow had been watching. Testing. Toying.
Every attack was a brush stroke. Every defence, a dance step.

Mysterious.
Powerful.
Terrifying.

How deep did his strength go?

Reinhard roared and lunged, sword whistling with divine fury.
Shadow dodged, smooth as a phantom, head tilting just enough for the blade to miss by a hair.

Reinhard pivoted, driving a slash upward—
But stopped.

His body froze.
A feeling—sharp and silent.

A punch?

No.
Shadow didn’t move.

But Reinhard felt it—right there in his core, a phantom blow ready to break him in half.
Shadow could’ve punched him.
He didn’t.

The Sword Saint launched forward again, tighter stance, sharper focus—
Again, Shadow evaded.

And again—Reinhard felt it.

A slice.
Across his torso. No blood. No pain.

Because there was no cut.

Shadow never attacked.

Reinhard staggered back, sword trembling in his grip.

It wasn’t about strength anymore.
Not skill.
Not magic.

It was mindset.

Shadow wasn’t fighting him.

Shadow was showing him a world hard to reach.

A realm beyond normal comprehension—where instinct moved faster than light - and intent was stronger than steel.

Reinhard looked into his opponent’s eyes.

Calm. Focused. Effortless.

And behind them—

Power.

Raw and unshakable.

Shadow floated there like a god who decided to dress like a delinquent, his smirk widening just slightly.

“Keep swinging,” he said coolly, fist lowering.

“Maybe you’ll wake up too.”

Reinhard clenched his jaw, forcing himself to steady his breath. Blood still trickled from his ears. His body ached, spirit frayed, and the Sword Saint—the paragon of valor—was barely standing.

He tried to rally. He tried to think.

But all he could feel was doubt.

What was this fight?

What was he anymore?

He looked down at his hands—hands that had held the line against monsters, calamities, tyrants. Hands that had been blessed by Od Lagna, chosen to be a shining beacon.

Yet now…

They trembled.

He wasn’t the one in control. He wasn’t the one with the upper hand. He wasn't even a challenger.

He was just a man.
Standing against a storm dressed in a grin and shadows.

He was everyone who’s ever tried to do the right thing…

…and still wasn’t enough.

 

---

Suddenly—

Shadow moved.

Effortless.

His blade reformed from the guitar with a sound like tearing reality, and he lifted it toward the heavens.

The air screamed.

Dark clouds spiralled like a whirlpool, the sky itself reacting to the gesture. Then—

Mana began to gather at the sword’s tip.

Not a trickle.

A torrent.

Okay, if my math checks up, and we yoink the mana from this spot in opposite directions at the same time, we’re either making a black hole or, like, a glitch in the matrix right between us.

Reinhard’s eyes widened as he felt his own Gate surge involuntarily, pulling power from the very same stream—no, competing for it.

“What…?”

And then—

He felt it.

A rift, silent and formless.
The mana wasn’t just being absorbed. It was draining the fabric of reality.
He looked around.

Nothingness expanded—an invisible, all-consuming void.
A vacuum of existence itself.

His connection to Od Lagna?

Gone.

As if he had stepped into a place where gods no longer looked.

He wasn’t standing on a battlefield anymore.

He was standing between worlds.

And so, Reinhard started to fall down.

Shadow’s eyes met his, burning like cold stars.

“You get it now,” he said, voice as calm as ice. “This void? It’s made from your defective Gate… and my blade.”

Reinhard’s heart pounded.

If this much power collapsed—

“You stop me now,” Shadow said quietly, “and this entire region goes up in atomic fire.”

Reinhard’s soul shuddered.

Shadow took a slow step forward, sword still raised, mana swirling wildly now—like a miniature sun forming at its tip.

“You lost the moment you walked in thinking you could protect everyone,” Shadow continued, words like razors.
“You didn’t come here to kill me. You came here to be a hero.”

Then—

Reinhard opened his mouth to respond, to argue—

And froze.

He couldn’t speak.

The void…

It swallowed intent.
It crushed meaning.
Even words could barely escape.

It wasn’t emptiness.
It was truth, laid bare.

Then—

Shadow raised his chin.

Eyes blazing with something deeper than magic.

He said one word.

“I…”

Mana pulsed.

He spoke again, voice echoing across the edge of space and fate.

“AM…”

He looked at Reinhard, his gaze inviting him—

Daring him—

To move.

To act.

To do what heroes do.

To swing like the fate of the world depended on it.

And Reinhard—

He did.

He lunged, breaking through the void with all the fury, hope, and faith left in him.

Go on, hero. Protect others like you’re meant to. But know this—only if you’re willing to sacrifice everything, only if you come at me with absolute resolve, will you stand a chance. And when we meet again… it will be legendary.

And Shadow smiled.

Cold.

Final.

Godlike.

“…ATOMIC.”

A blinding flash.

The sky fractured.

And Reinhard—

He swung.

His sword screamed against the storm, slicing through the coming oblivion with the last strike of a man who refused to let the world die.

And across the continent, every living soul—

Felt it.

The clash.

The presence.

The raw, immeasurable power.

Two men.

One void.

One fate.

Notes:

Hello everyone!!!

The confrontation between Shadow and Reinhard was intense, and I aimed to portray it accurately.

Some may question why the battle wasn’t more destructive, given their immense power. However, Reinhard literally punched Shadow across Lugunica until he collided with the Great Waterfall.

It’s worth noting that just like Shadow stated, Reinhard explicitly engaged Shadow with the intent to protect others, not to kill him. Had he fought with lethal intent, the capital would have been decimated.

Additionally, some might assume Reinhard refrained from using his Divine Blessings, but this is incorrect—they were active throughout the fight. Without them, he would have been overwhelmed. Below are the Blessings he utilized:

Divine Blessing of Blue Skies

Divine Blessing of Initiative

Divine Blessing of First Sight

Divine Blessing of Second Coming

Divine Blessing of Air Dashing

Divine Blessing of Swift Running

Divine Blessing of Unarmed Combat

Divine Blessing of Shedding Blood

Divine Blessing of Water Avoidance

Divine Blessing of Anti-Malignance

Divine Blessing of Waterplay.

For further details on how these Blessings function, u can research them or feel free to ask.

Thank u for reading, and have a great day.

Chapter 18: A Battlefield of Words

The heavy oak doors of a towering cathedral-fortress where only the kingdom’s elite knights dared tread—shuddered as armoured fists slammed against them.

BANG—BANG—BOOOOM!!

With one final heave, the royal guards burst through.

“GO, GO—!”

Boots thundered across the marble floor.

But the moment they crossed the threshold, the shouting died.

A deathly silence swallowed them whole.

Then came the smell.

Iron. Smoke. Burnt flesh.

One of the guards gagged, staggering back.

“W-What in the gods’ name…”

Their torches cast flickering shadows across the once-pristine hall. And everywhere—bodies.

Knights.

Some still on full plate, and others reduced to shredded armour and cooling meat. Some were cleaved clean in half—others pinned to walls by their own spears. Blood soaked the silver-tiled floor in pools so deep it sloshed beneath their feet. Heads were missing. Eyes gouged. Torsos pierced by and burned into the stone.

They were the elite.

And they’d been slaughtered.

Not in battle.

Executed.

“I… I can’t—” one guard stammered, dropping to his knees, bile rising in his throat. “This—this wasn’t a fight. This was a massacre.”

A crash echoed deeper in the sanctuary. A whimper.

The guards stiffened. Weapons drawn.

“Hold—listen! That sound…”

It was faint. Delicate.

A child’s sobbing.

They moved cautiously now, stepping past severed limbs and shattered helms. The sound led them to a broken chapel door, barely hanging on its hinges.

Inside, kneeling in the dark, was a girl.

She couldn’t have been older than ten.

Silver hair matted to her face with blood. Her dress torn, stained red. She hugged her knees, trembling, lips moving without sound.

One guard stepped forward. “H-Hey… hey, it’s okay now. You’re safe. We’re here.”

The girl looked up.

Her eyes were wide, unfocused—haunted.

Then her lips finally moved.

A whisper.

“He… he killed them…”

The guards froze.

“Who?” one dared ask.

The girl’s eyes darted to the open chapel door behind them.

Her voice came again, a rasp of terror and awe.

“The man in black… with the dark sword… and the red eyes…”

She clutched her arms tighter.

“Shadow.”

They stared in horror.

“He killed all of them.”

Somewhere else...
The capital of Lugunica bustled with unusual urgency. Crumbled roads were being cleared, stones restacked, wood carried in wagons to rebuild shattered homes.

Men and women worked with a shared resolve—hammering, lifting, sweeping away the wreckage left behind by the battle that had shaken the heart of the kingdom. Just yesterday, the clash between the Sword Saint and the Archbishop of Pride had painted the streets with chaos, but now the city moved with purpose, refusing to kneel.

Yet beneath the surface, unease festered.

The Council of Wise Men had been obliged to address the people. Their words were measured, careful—yes, the Sword Saint had protected them from disaster, but Shadow still roamed free. That fact alone left the citizens restless, their faith in absolute security shaken.

Reinhard himself made a public appearance, standing before the gathered masses with his usual grace, though those closest to him noticed the faint tension in his shoulders. His voice was steady, reassuring—yet even the Sword Saint could not fully dispel the lingering dread.

"The Kingdom will always prevail." he promised.

Near the Great Waterfall, where the earth itself bore scars of the duel, the kingdom sent its investigators and royal knights.

Most never returned.

The few who did were... changed. Wide-eyed, trembling, muttering about voids that swallowed sound about shadows that moved without form, about a pressure so immense it felt like the world itself was bending.

By royal decree, the area was sealed—restricted with the same severity as the dreaded Pleiades Watchtower. Whatever had transpired there was beyond comprehension, and Lugunica could not afford to lose more men to madness.

The shockwaves of that battle had not been contained to Lugunica.

In Vollachia, the Emperor’s advisors wasted no time. A delegate was dispatched, demanding answers—what manner of power had been unleashed that could ripple across borders? Was this a weapon? A threat? The Empire would not tolerate instability at its doorstep.

Gusteko, ever paranoid, hardened its borders immediately. The northern kingdom had long suspected Lugunica of subterfuge—was this some elaborate provocation? A prelude to war? Their frostbitten sentinels watched the southern roads with renewed suspicion.

And then there was Kararagi.

While others panicked, the merchant republic thrived.

The sudden chaos in Lugunica’s capital had disrupted trade routes—temporarily. Kararagi’s shrewd merchants seized the opportunity, rerouting goods, inflating prices for "emergency supplies," and even offering "security escorts" for nobles fleeing the unrest (for a hefty fee, of course). Their cities had always been masters of turning crisis into coin—and this was no exception.

In the middle of the capital...
Amidst the reconstruction, two figures walked down the main avenue. One, draped in a crimson dress that shimmered in the sun like blood-polished silk, held a fan delicately between gloved fingers. Priscilla Barielle—elegant, commanding, eyes gleaming like a queen surveying her domain—strode forward with Al trailing behind her.

"To think," Priscilla began, her fan snapping open with a graceful flick, "that the capital would suffer far greater damage… had the Sword Saint not exercised such restraint when facing the Archbishop of Pride."

Al scratched the back of his head beneath his helmet. "Yeah, gotta say… for someone who went toe-to-toe with an Archbishop, the guy was scarily composed. Gave me chills, just watchin' it."

Her steps slowed. The fan dipped ever so slightly, her voice cool. "And yet… the way Shadow looked at us—looked at me, and the other candidates..." Her eyes narrowed, lashes casting sharp shadows. "Had Shadow come with the intent to erase the royal candidates from the board…"

"...then we’d all be six feet under," Al muttered with a grim chuckle. "No doubt in my mind. If that guy really wanted it, ain't no one stoppin'—"

Priscilla’s eyes slid sideways like a blade unsheathing. Al fell silent mid-sentence.

She closed the fan slowly, as if trapping a thought between its folds. “I’ve met all kinds—men who’ve given up on everything, those who scheme with venom behind smiles, and fools who’ve lost their minds to madness...”

The fan snapped shut.

“But him—that Archbishop cloaked in shadow, with a voice like a whisper of the void—there’s no name, no title I can pin to the feeling he leaves behind. It is not fear, nor awe, nor revulsion. It is…”

She paused, lips curling slightly, eyes gleaming like fire catching in oil.

“…an omen that something far beyond our understanding has walked among us—and let us live.”

A quiet breeze swept down the avenue, carrying with it the scent of dust and ash—then, without so much as a footstep heard, a young man appeared at Priscilla’s side.

“Pardon the intrusion, Lady Priscilla,” he spoke with a refined bow, voice silken and perfectly mannered. “But I believe Shadow simply recognized your unparalleled greatness… and wisely chose not to entangle himself with forces beyond even his comprehension.”

Al flinched. “What the—!?” His hand went halfway to the hilt at his side. “Where the hell did you come from!?”

Priscilla’s gaze turned to the butler, sharp as shattered glass. “You,” she said, her voice low and edged. “Where have you been all this time, Lucien?”

Cid straightened, unbothered by her intensity. “I deeply apologize, my lady. I was merely retrieving a rare blend of elderflower tea from the eastern isles—one must maintain proper etiquette, even in times of turmoil.” He bowed again, eyes gently closed.

Burned a good deal of my mana fighting Reinhard, pulled an all-nighter to recharge. Gotta keep up the Lucien act tho—no sleep, just action.

Al narrowed his eye behind the visor. “Huh. That’s real funny, ‘cause I’m pretty sure you weren’t anywhere near the palace when Shadow made his grand entrance.”

Cid's smile barely shifted. “Ah, Sir Al… It is indeed a talent of yours to be remarkably observant of all things—except the important ones.”

Al scowled. “You smug little—”

Before their bickering could spark, the fan returned—this time raised between them like a judge’s gavel.

“That will do,” Priscilla said coolly, eyes not on Al but on Cid. “You are elusive. That much is clear. A man without presence, yet ever within reach. An artful ghost… How intriguing.”

Cid merely inclined his head. “I am, as always, at your service, Lady Priscilla.”

The sunlight glinted off broken windows and swept across the dusty avenue when a sudden, breathy voice called out—

“There you are!”

All eyes turned.

Emilia stood at the edge of the avenue, silver hair swaying as she jogged toward them, relief flashing across her face. Her violet eyes were locked on Cid, a tinge of urgency in her stride.

Cid’s usually unreadable expression flickered with the faintest trace of surprise. Even Priscilla, who rarely acknowledged unexpected variables, arched a finely shaped brow.

Emilia slowed as she approached, only now realizing just who Cid had been standing beside.

Her steps faltered.

“…Oh.” Her expression stiffened ever so slightly, her gaze darting between Priscilla and Cid. “I didn’t realize you were… with her.”

She straightened, brushing invisible creases from her skirt and offering a composed, if tight, smile. “Still, I… I need to talk to you. Just for a moment. Please,” she added, her voice laced with urgency as her eyes met Cid’s.

Ugh, not another side quest.

Cid inclined his head slightly, preparing to answer—
But before a single word could escape his lips, Priscilla’s voice slid in like a dagger wrapped in silk.

“My, my… How charming. Dealing with unruly servants by chasing them through the capital? I expected more from the half-elf candidate.”

Emilia turned sharply toward Priscilla, jaw tightening. “This isn’t the time to mess around, Priscilla.”

Priscilla gave a soft, musical laugh behind her fan. “Oh, but I assure you—I’m not ‘messing around,’ as you so quaintly put it. I simply find it amusing that you believe you can whisk my butler away at a moment’s notice.”

Emilia’s brows furrowed, voice growing firmer. “Lucien isn’t your butler.”

Priscilla’s smile sharpened. “Nor is he yours. Technically, he belongs to Roswaal—does he not?”

Wait, hold up—are they seriously debating who I should serve as a butler?

Perfect. Time to sit back and let the bidding war begin. May the deepest pockets win.

Cid took one gentle step forward, folding a hand across his chest in a butler’s bow.

“If I may, my ladies,” he said, tone poised and warm, “while I am deeply flattered that two such esteemed figures are engaged in a spirited debate over me, I believe it is only polite to first hear Lady Emilia’s request.”

He straightened with perfect grace, a faint smile lingering on his lips. “After all, etiquette must be observed—even in a battlefield of words.”

Emilia took a quiet breath, steadying herself. "This is something I'd prefer to speak about in private."

Thought she was gonna flash cash to win me over, but if she wants a private chat?

Bet it’s about a penthouse in Monaco or a beachfront in Bali.

Cid glanced toward Priscilla, his expression unreadable. The crimson lady tilted her head slightly, lips curling in amusement.

With a graceful shrug, she waved her fan dismissively. "By all means, Emilia. Take him, if you must. But do take care… dragging a man off so boldly might invite scandal. How unbecoming."

Al groaned. “Here we go again…”

Ignoring the commentary, Cid gave Priscilla a short, courteous bow. “I shall return shortly, my lady.”

Priscilla merely chuckled. “If you return at all.”

With that, Cid stepped aside with Emilia, the two of them walking a small distance from the avenue. Dust hung in the air like fog, muting the clamour of rebuilding behind them.

Once they were far enough to speak without being overheard, Cid folded his hands before him and bowed slightly. “Now then, Lady Emilia… May I ask what troubles you?”

Emilia slowed to a stop. Her hands clutched together tightly in front of her, eyes flicking toward the ground, as if the words might rise up from the dirt to help her.

“It’s… about Subaru,” she said at last, voice hushed.

Cid’s gaze sharpened. “Subaru?”

She nodded. “Early this morning… we argued.” Her voice trembled with the weight of the confession.

Holy-I signed up for the cash, not your Subaru soap opera.

Cid’s posture straightened slightly, brows drawing in. “You… debated? May I ask what prompted such conflict between you?”

Emilia looked away as if struggling to answer the question even to herself. “Why…?” she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know. I don’t know anything anymore.”

She lowered her gaze, eyes shadowed with self-doubt. “I just wanted to clear the air after what happened during the ceremony, but he started acting so angry all of a sudden and…”

Her voice cracked. “And I didn’t know what to say.”

Wait, she’s not the type to lie, so if she’s saying that… Subaru’s finally showing his true colours, huh?

Sneaky little devil—going the subtle route, I see.

Cid was quiet for a moment, then spoke gently. “I suspected… this day would come. One way or another.”

Emilia’s head shot up, surprise flashing in her eyes. “You knew?”

He didn’t reply with pride or satisfaction—only a faint, knowing calm. Emilia looked away again, the emotion in her voice returning like a tide.

“You met him later than I did… and yet, you understand him better than I ever have.” She gave a soft, bitter laugh. “I… I envy your relationship with him.”

Cid took a silent breath, then spoke with gentle precision. “What is it you wish of me, my lady?”

Emilia turned toward him again, urgency bleeding into her voice. “Subaru went to Crusch Karsten’s manor. Felix is helping him heal his Gate, but…” she hesitated, then continued, “after what happened this morning, I can’t shake this feeling. Something’s changed within him. Something painful.”

Her hand went to her chest as she lowered her head, eyes shimmering. “I want to help him—I should be the one helping him. But right now, I… I can’t even reach him.” Her voice wavered. “Even though he’s with Rem, I feel like…”

A tear welled up, trembling. “If you’re there too, if you stay close to him… maybe you can help him in the way I can’t.”

OMG, he's totally ghosting Emilia to pull the whole 'I’m the villain, didn’t wanna break your heart' card later. Classic.

Silence fell for a heartbeat. Then, softly, Cid bowed his head once more, his tone warm and noble.

“Your kindness, Lady Emilia… is a grace few possess. That you would think first of his heart, even while your own breaks—truly, yours is the generosity of a queen.”

She didn’t answer—only stood still, lips trembling, as a single tear rolled down her cheek.

The soft crunch of dust beneath their steps announced their return before either voice did. Emilia walked with a hesitant grace, her hands still clasped in front of her, while Cid followed at her side—composed as ever.

Priscilla hadn’t moved an inch from where she stood. Her gaze flicked toward them, slow and assessing, as if appraising the weight of every unspoken word between the two.

Cid stopped a respectful distance away and bowed deeply, one hand across his chest. “Lady Priscilla,” he began, voice velvet-smooth and flawlessly polite, “Lady Emilia’s request bears significance that I can not, in good conscience, disregard. As such, I am obliged to honour her wish… and must take my leave from your presence, for now.”

For a moment, silence.

Then, a soft scoff—sharp as a thorn.

Priscilla’s crimson eyes lowered to him, disdain and amusement mingling like wine in a glass. “How curious,” she murmured, tilting her head just slightly. “Obliged…? As if you were ever truly mine to command.”

Her fan unfurled lazily with a snap, then just as lazily folded again as she stepped forward, slow and deliberate.

Without warning, she extended it—not to strike - but to lift. The edge of her fan came under Cid’s chin, tilting his face up until his eyes met hers.

“If you do wish to serve me,” she said, voice like honey edged with iron, “then you ought to know this much by now, Lucien. I expect far more than fancy teas and sweetened words. Charm, after all…” she leaned in slightly, lashes casting shadows over her eyes, “is but a mask worn by cowards and courtiers alike.”

Their eyes locked.

So I should basically cure polio, win an Oscar, and solve world hunger to impress her and then become her full-time butler.

Cid’s lips curled faintly, a rare trace of emotion slipping through his impeccable mask. “Then allow me,” he said, voice still warm and proper, yet touched now with a subtle, unmistakable spark, “to meet your expectations. I accept your criteria… and shall strive to serve you not only with charm but with conviction worthy of your name.”

Priscilla held his gaze for a long moment.

Then she drew her fan back with a graceful flick and turned away, her laughter ringing behind her like chimes in a burning temple. “We shall see, Lucien. We shall see.”

And without another word, Cid turned to walk beside Emilia once more—into dust, into silence, and into whatever came next.

Later on...
The towering gates of the Karsten estate loomed before Cid, quiet and still beneath the pale afternoon sky. The banners fluttered lightly in the breeze, bearing the proud crest of the house—a symbol of strength, of honor… and, to Cid’s current observation, of political entanglement far above his usual duties.

He paused just outside the gate, glancing upward as though the sky itself might offer him some clarity.

“Hm,” he murmured, one gloved hand adjusting the cuff of his coat. “Now that I think about it… this mission is rather bizarre.”

The wind shifted. Behind him, footsteps approached, steady and deliberate.

A familiar voice—seasoned, calm, edged with quiet strength—spoke.

“You’ve come, I see.”

Cid turned, expression composed, and bowed with practised grace.

“Sir Wilhelm,” he greeted, hand over his chest in crisp butler fashion. “It is an honour to be in your presence once more.”

Oh, so the cool old man's here. Guess my resume’s retiring early out of respect.

Wilhelm nodded slightly, a rare softness in his stern features. “Lady Crusch is already aware of your arrival.”

Cid’s smile was faint, eyes thoughtful. “Then perhaps she is already aware of the reason behind it, as well.”

A beat passed, the air between them filled with unspoken understanding.

Wilhelm’s eyes, though weathered by time and battle, still held their clarity. He gave a small nod. “Indeed. But before anything else… you must meet with Lady Crusch herself.”

Cid inclined his head once more.

“Then I shall not keep her waiting.”

Inside Crusch's office...
The grand doors opened with a creak under Wilhelm’s steady hands, revealing the stately, sunlit chamber beyond. Shelves of books and polished weapons lined the walls, and behind a large oaken desk stood Crusch Karsten herself—composed, regal, and ever the portrait of nobility.

Cid stepped inside with calm precision, about to introduce himself when—

“Lu-chaan!!”

A blur of motion. A lunge. A sudden and unceremonious impact.

Ferris launched forward with feline glee, arms wrapping tightly around Cid’s waist as the dignified butler stumbled back a step, caught utterly off guard.

Cid immediately tried to gently, politely, pry the affectionate demi-human off him, his hands hovering in that careful manner that betrayed his internal panic.

Ugh, if Neko-guy pops up in one more chapter, I’m starting a mob.

And why TF he touchin’ me weirder than Delta?

“Sir Ferris,” Cid said, voice strained with civility, “please refrain from—”

Ferris giggled, nuzzling close. “Aww, you’re just as stiff as ever, Lucien~. Have you been practising that ‘oh-so-charming’ smile in the mirror again?”

“Ferris.” Crusch’s voice cut through the moment.

It was calm but laced with unmistakable authority.

“What you are doing is inappropriate. He is a guest.”

Still clinging, Ferris pouted and tugged gently on Cid’s ear. “But we know each other, remember? I even met him during the Royal Ceremony? That counts for something~”

“Be that as it may,” Crusch replied, arms now crossed, her expression firm, “he is to be treated with the respect afforded to a guest of this house.”

With a theatrical sigh, Ferris finally let go, slipping away with an exaggerated pout and a teasing wink.

“Fiiine~ Apologies, Mr. Proper Butler.” He waggled his fingers in mock salute. “You always smell like expensive cologne and charm.”

Cid straightened his coat with quiet dignity, exhaled, and regained his composure. Then he offered a polite bow.

“Lucien, at your service, Lady Crusch. I come at Lady Emilia’s request.”

Crusch’s gaze remained steady, arms still crossed as her sharp eyes studied him.

“I’ve heard of you from Emilia, yes. And I’ve seen your performance during the ceremony yesterday. You made quite the impression… not just with words, but with presence.”

She stepped forward, her tone measured.

“I trust that you understand the weight of what you’ve walked into. This house does not entertain idle favors—nor idle men.”

Wow, a girl who acts masculine and a boy who acts feminine? Wild.

What's next—a sweet little girl who’s actually a total sociopath?

Cid met her gaze with quiet strength, a glimmer of something resolute behind his otherwise composed exterior.

“I would expect no less, my lady.”

Crusch turned her head slightly toward Wilhelm, her voice calm but firm.

“Wilhelm, please show Lucien to his quarters. He’ll be staying in the east wing.”

Wilhelm inclined his head. “As you wish.”

Cid bowed with smooth precision, a hand once more over his chest.
“I am grateful for your hospitality, Lady Crusch. I shall endeavour not to bring dishonour to your household.”

Crusch gave him a small nod in response, and with that, Wilhelm motioned for him to follow. The two men exited, the doors closing with a soft thud behind them, leaving Crusch and Ferris in the sun-drenched office.

Ferris twirled once, then flopped dramatically onto the couch, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Well, well… accepting Emilia’s request just like that? I’m a little surprised, Lady Crusch. That’s not like you.”

Crusch stood by the window now, gaze distant as she looked out over the garden beyond. Her voice came soft but firm.

“Don’t misunderstand, Ferris. I did not accept him just for Emilia’s sake.”

Ferris blinked, then tilted his head playfully.
“Oh? Then do tell, o noble lady… what were your intentions?”

She didn’t look at him. Instead, her eyes stayed fixed on the glass, reflecting the sunlight.

“From the moment I saw Lucien at the ceremony, I sensed something… unusual. He carries himself like a man with nothing to hide, and yet—everything about him suggests otherwise. I can not ignore it.”

Ferris joined her at the window, his reflection beside hers now, a small frown pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Truly, he’s a mystery. And his presence here… it could mean all sorts of delightful chaos.”

Crusch’s expression didn’t change.
“If chaos comes, I’ll be ready for it. I won’t hesitate to take measures. But…” she glanced toward the door where Cid had left, her tone thoughtful, “his connection to Wilhelm… that was another deciding factor.”

Ferris raised an eyebrow and smiled.
“Well, well. Looks like things are about to get interesting.”

Later on...
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the tall windowpanes, painting the room in quiet golds and solemn greys.

In the stillness, Subaru sat at the edge of his bed—shoulders hunched, fingers loosely clasped between his knees. His eyes were lowered, distant, unfocused. The polished floor below seemed to stare back as if reflecting the quiet ache behind his gaze.

His brow furrowed faintly, jaw tight. He looked like a man listening to ghosts.

"She smiled again… even when she was hurting. Why does she always do that…?"

The silence was unbroken, save for the faint ticking of the ornate wall clock and the occasional creak of wood under the weight of the house itself. Until—

Knock, knock.

Subaru didn’t move. He didn’t lift his head. Didn’t speak.

The door opened with a soft click, hinges groaning slightly with age.

“I told you, Rem,” he muttered without looking, voice dull and low, “I just wanted to be alone for a while.”

A brief pause.

Then, a familiar voice, calm and warm as ever, spoke from the threshold.

“…I’m fairly certain I don’t resemble Rem, Subaru.”

Subaru blinked.

Slowly, he turned, eyes widening as they landed on the tall figure standing just inside the room.

“Lucy?” he said, voice caught somewhere between disbelief and confusion. “What… What are you doing here?”

Cid stepped in fully now, the door closing quietly behind him.

“Lady Emilia was concerned. She asked me to stay with you,” Cid replied with his usual poise, hands folded lightly behind his back. “She hoped I might offer… a steadier presence during your recovery.”

Subaru looked away again. His voice was quieter this time, tinged with something bitter.

“Of course she did. You’re reliable. Dependable. Perfect, even. Of course she’d turn to you.”

Based on his acting, he's nailing the 'depressed dude trying to sort his brain spaghetti' vibe.

Subaru's hands curled into fists on his lap, trembling slightly.

“And look at me… Always running ahead, trying to help. Trying to protect. And yet… it never feels like I’m enough. Like I’m someone she could really lean on.”

He laughed once—a soft, broken thing. “No matter what I do, it always ends up the same. I fail. I hesitate. I… I hurt her.”

Cid was quiet for a moment. Then, gently, he walked to Subaru’s side and stood in companionable silence before speaking.

Feeling so inspired rn, gotta do my part.

“There is a saying in my homeland,” he began, voice thoughtful, “Fall seven times… stand up eight.”

Subaru glanced up at him, eyes clouded.

“That’s not what this is about.”

His voice cracked—soft, shaking.

“It’s not about getting back up. It’s about her. Emilia… she’s always reaching out to others. Always giving, always smiling. But she never— never—asks anything for herself.”

He swallowed hard, gaze dropping once more. His next words came with a trembling breath.

“I just… wanted to be someone who could protect that part of her. Someone who could stand beside her and say, ‘It’s okay, I’ve got you now.’” His hands shook. “But no matter what I do, it never feels like I’m enough for that.”

Cid remained silent for a long moment, the waning light casting sharp lines across his composed features. Then, with a faint breath, he knelt slightly so his eyes were level with Subaru’s—his voice low, certain, and stripped of any embellishment.

“Subaru. You are far more capable than you believe.”

Subaru’s eyes flicked to him, cautious and confused.

“…What are you trying to say?”

Cid held his gaze, unwavering.

“I’m saying,” he began, slowly and deliberately, “that you are already walking the right path. That much is clear. But perhaps… what you lack is not strength or resolve—but daring.”

Bruh, you're buffering harder than the author's WiFi—just flex already.

A quiet beat.

Then Subaru huffed a short, breathy laugh and rubbed the back of his neck, eyes glancing to the side.

“You’ve got a weird sense of humour, you know that?” he muttered. “But… I won’t deny you’re good at your job. You’re always calm, always composed. You keep up with Ram’s attitude—somehow. You and Rem work like a mirrored pair. You even know how to handle Puck when he’s in one of his moods.”

He paused, then added, softer:

“And I’ve never once seen Emilia-tan look at you with pity. Not even a flicker.”

Cid’s brow furrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

Subaru shook his head, a frustrated smile pulling at his lips.

“Don’t get me wrong. It’s not jealousy or anything. I’m just… angry. At myself. For how many cracks I’ve got underneath all this—” he gestured vaguely at his chest “—and how I keep hiding them with this stupid, grinning mask. Like if I smile hard enough, I can trick the world into thinking I’m whole.”

Damn, how’d I miss this?

This is him supposedly feeling insecure next to my flawless Lucien act.
Which, valid—but also proves his 'just a normal guy' act is a total masterpiece.

Cid parted his lips to speak, but Subaru raised a hand, cutting him off gently.

“We’re from the same place,” he said, his voice quiet, a flicker of something profound hiding in the words. “And yet, you and I feel so different.”

Cid blinked, taken aback. “What… do you mean by that?”

Subaru turned to look at him fully now, eyes shining with a tired clarity, the kind that only comes from long nights and hard truths.

“You don’t remember, do you? That amnesia of yours…” His lips curled faintly.

“But I know it. I feel it. You’re from my homeland—Japan."

Somewhere else...
The moon hung high, its silver light draping the Astrea Manor in a gentle, solemn glow. The iron gates creaked open as Reinhard stepped through, his cloak fluttering in the night breeze.

“Thank the stars… you’ve come home.”

An aged voice greeted him, soft and filled with restrained emotion. Carol Fauzen stood in the doorway, shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders, her eyes gleaming with the reflection of lamplight and relief.

“I was beginning to worry again.”

Reinhard smiled, his expression gentle, the weariness of the past days tucked neatly behind his knightly composure.

“There’s no need for concern, Lady Carol,” he said, his voice a balm of reassurance. “Everything is fine now.”

Carol studied him carefully for a heartbeat longer, then stepped aside, letting him in. The manor was quiet, the air thick with the warmth of hearth fires and the scent of old books and wood polish. As he entered, Reinhard’s gaze drifted instinctively toward the staircase, his eyes lingering for just a moment too long.

Carol noticed.

“She’s in her room,” the old woman said simply, her voice knowing. “Didn’t say much, but she’s sleeping.”

Reinhard's smile softened, his gaze gentler now.

“Thank you… for looking after her.”

“She doesn’t make it easy,” Carol said with a chuckle. “But she’s never been the type to accept being caged either.”

He inclined his head in appreciation, then turned and made his way to the familiar hallway. His steps were light, but each one echoed with a quiet tension. He reached his door, rested a hand on the handle, and pushed it open.

Moonlight spilt across his room like a blessing, and there—perched on the edge of the wide, open window—was Felt.

Her legs dangled freely into the night air, her silhouette framed by stars. She didn’t move, but her eyes turned toward him—bright, unreadable.

“Took you long enough,” she muttered, her voice a mix of impatience and something she refused to name.

Reinhard blinked once, caught off guard, and then gave a brief nod.

“I was detained. The officials required a detailed report… after what happened yesterday.”

Felt turned her face away, the moonlight outlining the sharp angles of her expression. Her hands clenched at her sides, and after a pause, her voice came low—tight, almost brittle.

“…You okay?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with everything she didn’t say.

Reinhard’s expression warmed. He took a step forward, the light glinting off his armour.

“I am touched by your concern, Lady Felt,” he said with that calm, unwavering cadence, “and I assure you—I am well. Though I regret… I could not put an end to Shadow.”

Her legs stilled.

Then, with a sudden motion, she leapt down from the window in one fluid motion, brushing past him with that familiar, whirlwind presence.

“Who said I was worried?” she scoffed, crossing her arms as she passed. “Don’t get full of yourself, sword-boy. I just didn’t want you to come back in pieces and bleed all over the furniture.”

She stopped by the doorway, hand on the knob.

“Anyway. Night.”

Reinhard placed a hand over his chest, bowing ever so slightly.

“Rest well, Lady Felt. May your dreams be untroubled.”

She paused, then snorted.

“Ugh. You sound like a damn bedtime poem.” She shot him a look over her shoulder, half-irritated, half—something else. “Stop being so perfect all the time, idiot.”

The door slammed shut with just enough force to make her point—but not enough to suggest she really meant it.

Reinhard stood in the quiet after her exit, the echo of the door's closing still settling into the walls of the manor. He looked at it for a moment—just a moment longer than necessary—then slowly turned back to the open window.

He approached the window and shut it with a soft, deliberate click, sealing the room against the world outside. The sigh that left his lips was quiet, but heavy—like air forced from lungs, carrying more weight than armour ever could.

With careful, almost reverent hands, he unslung the Dragon Sword from his back. The ancient blade, so often a beacon of divine might, now rested quietly as he placed it onto the old pedestal in the corner of the room—a resting place it hadn’t known in days.

He reached up, unfastening the clasps of his Royal Guard uniform. Beneath it, his black undershirt clung tightly, hiding the truth of what the battlefield had done to him.

He stepped toward the mirror, its surface hazy in the low light. Then, with slow fingers, he pulled the shirt over his head and let it fall.

There—etched across the right side of his chest, down past his ribs—was the scar.

A jagged, angry mark carved deep into his flesh.

It was not a wound that would fade. Not even time, nor magic could erase it. It pulsed faintly in the mirror’s reflection, like an echo of a nightmare made real.

Reinhard’s fingertips brushed against it, his expression unreadable—calm, but distant.

“…Shadow’s mana,” he murmured, his voice low, nearly drowned by the silence, “it was like nothing I’ve ever known.”

His eyes darkened, the weight of his thoughts pressing inward.

“Even the Heart of the World… could not recognize it. As though it was never meant to exist. As though this scar… is the mark of something beyond this world.”

He lowered his hand and exhaled, a slow, careful breath.

“What is your true purpose, Shadow?”

The question was more to himself than to the night, but it lingered like smoke in the air.

He turned from the mirror, the light catching the fresh tension in his shoulders.

“I had the Divine Blessing of Anti-Malignance active,” he said, softly but clearly, “and yet… it never once responded.”

His jaw tightened.

“As if there wasn’t a single trace… of the Witch’s miasma in him.”

He stared at his hand—steady, strong but subtly trembling.

“Is it possible… for an Archbishop to be completely devoid of that taint?” he asked the shadows. “Or…”

A pause.

“…Was he ever part of the Witch’s Cult to begin with?”

Chapter 19: A Step Beyond the Shadow

Notes:

Hello everyone,

I want to sincerely thank all of you for your feedback—from those who offered constructive criticism to help improve the story to those who shared encouraging words with each chapter.

Most of all, I’d like to give a special thanks to Avalon: https://imgur.com/a/lVuFl8W

Bottleneckgaming521: https://x.com/Kacchan0211/status/1905301035226399012

For their incredible sketches, which were inspired by this story. Be sure to check them out!

The sun streamed gently through the tall windows of the Karsten manor kitchen, casting a golden hue over the polished countertops and gleaming utensils. The atmosphere was bustling yet orderly—until a quiet elegance settled in as Cid stepped in.

At the stove stood the main chef, a stern man known for his high standards. Several young maids watched curiously from the side, whispering among themselves as Lucien rolled up his sleeves with a fluid motion.

“Allow me to assist with the midday preparations,” Cid said with a humble bow.

Without waiting for approval, he took a saucepan, added a swirl of oil, and began cooking. His knife danced over vegetables, slicing them with rhythmic precision. The flames obeyed him as if tamed, and a fragrant aroma quickly filled the air.

In no time, he plated a steaming dish—crispy duck breast in a red wine reduction with glazed root vegetables. The presentation was impeccable, the colors vibrant, and the scent irresistible.

The maids let out gasps of delight.

“That was amazing...!” one whispered.

“I’ve never seen anyone cook like that,” another added.

Even the stern chef was caught off-guard. He took a bite, blinked, and slowly nodded.

“Perfectly balanced. Flavors layered with precision. Lucien… you have talent. I dare say you’ve outshone some of my senior staff.”

Cid placed a hand over his chest and offered a slight, respectful bow.
“Your praise humbles me, Chef. It is my duty to serve with excellence. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Just then, the door creaked open, and Rem walked in, carrying a small basket.

“Oh? That incredible smell... I should’ve known it was you.” She smiled softly. “You really are amazing, Lucien. You could rival any royal chef.”

Cid turned to her and bowed again, maintaining the persona of the perfect butler.
“I merely apply what little skill I possess in service of the household.”

Rem walked closer, her tone shifting just a bit.
“Also, Subaru-kun is training with Sir Wilhelm starts earlier today. Sir Wilhelm asked me to tell you.”

Cid's expression didn't waver, but he gave a calm nod.
“Understood. I shall attend promptly to Subaru’s session. Thank you for informing me, Lady Rem.”

As he wiped his hands on a towel, the staff watched him leave the kitchen like a composed shadow.

In manor’s garden...
The midday sun cast dappled shadows through the trees, and the sharp crack of wooden swords echoed through the open courtyard.

“Haaah!!”

Subaru charged forward with determined grit, his practice sword arcing downward toward Wilhelm. But the old sword master’s stance remained calm and rooted—he shifted subtly, letting Subaru’s strike glance harmlessly off his guard before pushing him back with a single, effortless motion.

Subaru stumbled, nearly tripping over his own feet, and dropped to one knee, panting heavily.

“You lack focus,” Wilhelm said sternly, resting his wooden sword on his shoulder. “Your body moves, but your mind does not follow. You must concentrate.”

“I am trying,” Subaru snapped between gasps, wiping sweat from his brow. “But it’s not like concentration alone is gonna make you budge! You're like a damn tree!”

“Indeed,” came a calm, elegant voice from the edge of the training ground.

Wilhelm and Subaru turned as Cid approached, his steps measured and graceful. His silver tray—now empty—was tucked under one arm as he gave a poised bow.

“Sir Wilhelm. It is always an honor.”

“Lucien,” Wilhelm nodded with a rare flicker of fondness. “Come to observe?”

Cid folded one hand behind his back and placed the other on his chest.

Subaru’s acting like his fighting skills are trash—and judging by Wilhelm’s face, he’s nailing the demonstration.

“I merely wished to witness Subaru’s training. I believe it may benefit from a... different perspective.”

Subaru exhaled deeply, shooting a skeptical glance between the two. “Sure, why not. Maybe I’ll learn something before I pass out.”

With Wilhelm’s nod, Subaru raised his sword again and rushed forward. But the result was the same—Wilhelm blocked him effortlessly, and Subaru landed flat on his back with a groan.

“How is this even possible?!” Subaru whined. “You didn’t move a single step!”

Cid’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smirk.

“Because Sir Wilhelm is not reacting to your sword,” he said smoothly. “He is reacting to you. Your breath, your footwork, your hesitation—all betray your intent before your blade ever swings. To make him move, you must become unreadable… or so committed to your strike that even he must acknowledge it.”

Wilhelm chuckled, genuinely impressed.

“An astute analysis, Lucien. Your eye for the blade is sharp, as ever.”

Subaru flopped onto his back, groaning louder. “Yeah, yeah, you two should just get married already. Master swordsman, master butler—perfect match.”

Cid merely tilted his head with a composed smile.
“I’m flattered, Subaru. But alas, my duties to the household come first.”

Wilhelm laughed, deep and hearty, as Subaru groaned into the grass.

Cid stepped forward without a word, his polished shoes barely making a sound on the stone path. With a graceful motion, he extended a gloved hand to Subaru.

This guy's a mystery—is he playing weak to flex later, or is he too OP to even risk it?

“You cannot fight properly if you’re in turmoil inside,” Cid said gently, his voice calm yet firm.

Subaru glanced up at him, surprised. Then he looked away with a frustrated sigh. “I can’t just stop thinking, you know? It’s not that easy…”

Cid didn’t flinch. “Then don’t stop. Instead,” he said, helping Subaru to his feet with surprising strength, “focus all your thoughts on your main priority. Let everything else fall away.”

Subaru, quit the side quests. The main stage is waiting—go flex your real power. That’s your endgame.

Subaru staggered a little, catching his breath. His brows furrowed, then slowly relaxed.
“…My main priority, huh.”

For a fleeting moment, an image of Emilia smiling flickered in his mind—soft, warm, full of light. He clenched his fist slightly.

“…That’s not so easy either,” he muttered.

Cid’s expression softened ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly. “In that case,” he offered, “allow me to assist. I shall tell you how to avoid Sir Wilhelm’s strikes. But…” He raised one finger as if setting the terms of a contract. “You must decide for yourself how to strike him. That is something only you can figure out.”

He's taking forever. I need to step in.

Subaru blinked. “That… kinda sounds weird.”

“I don’t object,” Wilhelm interrupted with a small nod, stepping back slightly with arms crossed. “If anything, I’m curious to see how this plays out.”

Cid gave a short, graceful bow. “Then we have a agreement.”

Subaru exhaled, bouncing lightly on his feet as he rolled his shoulders.

“…Alright. Let’s do it. But if this gets me smacked even harder, I’m blaming both of you.”

Subaru charged forward once more, wooden sword raised high. His eyes locked onto Wilhelm, whose stance was immovable, timeless—like a monument carved in stone. The courtyard was silent, save for the faint rustling of leaves and Subaru’s pounding heartbeat.

Then—

“Left. Now drop your shoulder.”

Ugh, he's pulling the 'helpless' act again.

Gotta time my command just right—so he actually moves fast enough to catch Wilhelm off guard.

Cid’s voice cut through the stillness.

Subaru shifted, ducking just as Wilhelm’s wooden sword swept across the space where his head had been a moment earlier. The strike missed by mere inches.

Wilhelm’s eyes widened.

That wasn’t intuition. That was precision—a calculated call made in the moment before he even committed to the swing.

Subaru didn’t stop. He pushed forward with renewed vigor, stepping into the attack.

“Now twist your hips. Step inside.” Cid again, his voice cold, clear, clinical.

Subaru followed the instructions blindly, instinctively—and his blade connected.

CLACK!

Wilhelm’s sword met Subaru’s with a parry—but his brow furrowed. That move… no ordinary observer could have seen it coming.

He stepped back lightly, eyes narrowing as he thought to himself:
“He predicted my counter before I even shifted my stance… he sees through me. In fractions of motion.”

Subaru breathed heavily, sweat rolling down his brow—but his lips curled into a grin.
“Okay, that was awesome. Lucy, you're like… the guy who gives you cheat codes halfway through the final boss fight!”

Wilhelm’s expression turned serious.

He raised his wooden sword, this time gripping it with both hands. The playful gleam in his eyes was gone.

“Very well, Lucien. If you're going to guide him—then I shall truly test the both of you.”

Subaru grinned wider, bouncing on his feet.
“Bring it on, old man! Let’s show him what a couple of cheaters can do!”

Subaru’s following my lead way too blindly.

Wait… does he already know what to do but just lets me call the shots to give me the credits?

Subaru rushed again.

CLACK!

Their swords met, but this time Wilhelm twisted mid-block, flowing into a low sweep, a move crafted to bait the instructor, not the student.

“Take the hit,” Cid said calmly, watching.

“WHAT?!” Subaru yelped mid-swing.

But he trusted him.

The sweep caught him in the thigh with a thunk, and pain shot up his leg—but he didn’t fall.

Cid’s voice came again, quick as a crack of lightning:
“Now. Strike.”

Wilhelm was caught mid-recovery—his stance open.

Subaru roared, gritting his teeth, and brought the wooden sword crashing forward.

CLACK!

Wilhelm easily brought his blade up in time to block—but this time, his footing shifted.

A single foot moved.

Just one.

And that’s all it took.

Subaru landed, panting, before blinking at his hands.

Then his face split into a look of wild triumph.

“I DID IT!!” He turned to Cid, eyes gleaming, and slapped his hand into his. “NO—WE DID IT!!”

Their palms cracked together in a rare high five—loud and proud.

Tried to help him out, but dude just played me. Big brain move, Subaru.

Wilhelm blinked, looking between them.
“What…?”

He looked down slowly.

The grass beneath his feet was slightly torn. The dust disturbed.

His eyes widened.

He had moved.

For the first time in the entire match, Wilhelm van Astrea—the Sword Demon—had been forced to take a step.

Just one.

But enough to know: he’d been outmaneuvered.

Not by strength. Not by speed.

But by a boy with a wooden sword who didn’t back down… and a butler with a mind like a tactician’s blade.

“…Fascinating,” he muttered with a slow, amazed smile. “Lucien… Subaru… You may be more dangerous together than I first believed.”

Subaru limped a step back, clutching his thigh with a wince.
“Ghh—ow ow ow… okay, yep, that sweep? Totally felt that in my soul. My leg’s writing its will right now.”

Cid adjusted his gloves, unbothered.
“That pain is a message. Your body must be conditioned not only to endure strikes, but to move through them.”

Subaru blinked at him, sweat still trickling down his cheek.
“…You mean I have to train for that?! Like, actually put my body through that every day?!”

Cid gave a small, elegant nod.
“Rigorous daily routines. Pre-dawn flexibility exercises. Weighted movement drills. Endurance conditioning. And of course… sparring. Every. Single. Day.”

Subaru stared at him in horror.
“…That’s not training. That’s a death sentence!”

Without missing a beat, both Cid and Wilhelm spoke in perfect sync—
“That’s just the first part.”

Subaru’s soul visibly left his body for a moment.

“Reeeeem… save me…”

Just then, a melodious voice rang out from across the courtyard.

“My my, Subaru-kyun~ getting beat up and bossed around? How very you~!”

Ferris strolled up with a playful twirl, hands behind his head and a catlike grin curling his lips. He leaned in with a mischievous glint in his eye.
“Should I start prepping a healing salve and a get-well gift basket? Maybe a leg replacement while I’m at it?”

Subaru groaned, throwing his head back.
“Oh gods, not you too!”

A gentle chuckle followed as Crusch stepped beside Ferris, arms folded neatly.

“I saw everything,” she said calmly. “It was impressive.”

Subaru blinked. “Wait—you were watching that whole time?!”

Crusch nodded once, her gaze firm but kind.
“You pushed yourself beyond your limits and landed a hit on Wilhelm. Not many can say the same. But more than that…” she looked to Cid, a hint of respect in her eyes, “you listened. And you trusted. That is just as valuable as strength.”

Subaru, still holding his aching thigh, managed a proud—if pained—smile.
“Okay, I might be dying, but at least I’m dying impressively.”

Ferris smirked.
“Oh don’t worry, Subaru-kyun~ with all this attention, you’ll die fabulously.”

Crusch turned her gaze to Cid, her expression unreadable at first—then softened by a trace of intrigue.
“That was not luck. You saw through Wilhelm’s movement—his rhythm, his intent. You predicted him. Not many can do that. How?”

Cid bowed slightly, one hand resting against his chest.
“Merely the result of observation, Lady Crusch. A butler must anticipate not only his master's needs… but also the flow of any room he steps into. I simply extended that courtesy to the courtyard.”

A small smile ghosted across Crusch’s lips.
“Humble as expected,” she murmured. Then, folding her arms beneath her cloak, she tilted her head slightly.
“Then, tell me, Lucien… would you fulfill a wish of mine?”

Cid straightened without hesitation.
“I would be honored to serve.”

Her response was immediate.
“Fight Wilhelm. Here and now.”

A quiet hush fell over the group.

Love her bold energy, but normally I’d let Delta handle these type fights. She’s MIA though, so guess I’ll level up my butler game.

Cid’s expression didn’t falter, though his gaze drifted momentarily to Wilhelm, who gave a curious raise of the brow.
“…I, Lucien, must decline, my lady. As a butler, I have vowed never to raise my hand in violence. My role is to preserve grace and protect peace… not to disturb it.”

Crusch’s eyes narrowed, sharp and perceptive.
“Then are you implying… that before you donned those gloves, you were someone who did use violence?”

Before the silence grew heavier, Subaru stepped forward, raising both hands as if to wave off tension.
“Hey hey, easy now—Lucien’s got this thing with his past, alright? Doesn’t remember most of it clearly. But if he does remember this one vow, then… I think that says something good about the kind of guy he used to be.”

Subaru knew I was from Japan but still plays along with my 'amnesia' act—total bro move. Now he’s even got my back.

Crusch’s gaze remained fixed on Cid, her tone even but edged with steel.

“Then allow me to offer a solution,” she said. “This isn’t a fight born of violence. It’s a demonstration. A test of skill between warriors… or, if you prefer, between a butler and a swordsman. No malice. No intent to harm. Only the honest crossing of blades in pursuit of understanding.”

She stepped forward, her cloak rustling faintly.

“If your vow is to protect peace, then surely helping us measure strength and refine discipline aligns with that goal, does it not?”

There was a pause.

Then Cid’s lips curled into a rare, amused smirk.
“…A demonstration, you say? Very well, Lady Crusch. A butler’s duties do include presentation.”

His eyes slid toward Wilhelm, who chuckled low in his throat.

“Well said,” the old swordsman mused. “A warrior who trades blades with no hatred in his heart… that’s a spar worth taking.”

With a swift flick of his wrist, Wilhelm tossed a wooden sword across the courtyard.

Fwip—

Cid’s hand rose and snatched it from the air without even glancing. In one smooth motion, he turned and flowed into a fencing stance—feet angled, blade extended with precise elegance, his free hand tucked behind his back like the duelist of a bygone age.

Playing this one like a butter knife duelist-planning to lose either way.

Ferris let out a low whistle.
“Oooh~ look at that form. Subaru-kyun, your friend’s got secrets wrapped in secrets.”

Crusch nodded in quiet appreciation.
“Rapiers are not about brute strength. They demand finesse—thrusts, redirection, perfect timing. A true duelist wins with precision, not power.”

She lifted a hand.
“Begin.”

Silence fell like a curtain.

Subaru leaned forward, blinking.

“…Uh, did she say begin? 'Cause, uh, I think they both missed that memo.”

Ferris giggled, tapping Subaru’s shoulder.
“Silly boy~ look at their eyes, not their feet.”

Crusch spoke softly, eyes never leaving the two figures.
“If one is sharp enough… they’ll see it. Neither is moving, because both are playing through dozens of scenarios in their minds. It’s not about who moves first… it’s about who shouldn’t.”

CLANG!

The air cracked.

In a blink, they moved.

One heartbeat—stillness.

The next—wood sang.

Cid's rapier flicked forward like lightning drawn into wood, elegant and impossibly fast. He didn’t step—he glided, his coat tails fluttering as if caught by invisible wind, his expression unreadable behind calm, narrowed eyes. He struck not to wound, but to test—to read.

Wilhelm met him with a grunt, his wooden blade moving with the weight of storms. Where Cid was grace, Wilhelm was raw discipline. Their weapons collided with a crack that echoed across the courtyard.

Tap-tap—shff!

Cid spun, low and swift, blade kissing the edge of Wilhelm’s side—but the Sword Demon pivoted, parried, and returned with a brutal diagonal sweep.

Cid bent backwards, the strike passing just inches above his face, his free hand brushing the ground for balance as he twisted into a fluid counter.

CLACK—CLACK—TCHK!

Three strikes—each faster than the last. Cid’s feet barely touched the ground, his body coiled and turned like a ribbon in the wind. The rapier moved like a whisper, dancing around Wilhelm’s heavier style, not contesting it… but evading, redirecting.

“His footwork…” Crusch murmured, eyes wide.
“…He’s not dodging. He’s leading."

He’s impressively skilled and versatile for his age, yet I know he’s holding back—without being disrespectful.

BAM—CLACK!

They broke apart, circling.

Subaru stared, slack-jawed. “Dude. They’re not even fighting. They’re—talking with swords.”

And then—

They moved again.

A final clash.

Cid lunged, blade gleaming with perfect form.

Wilhelm roared, striking downward.

KA-CRACK!

Wooden swords collided—and held.

Frozen.

For one breathless second, the world stopped.

Both men stood, blades locked, neither giving ground. Eyes locked. No hatred. No triumph.

Only understanding.

A moment passed.

Then both stepped back at the same time.

Cid raised his blade slightly in a graceful salute.

Wilhelm nodded, expression softening with respect.

“…Draw,” Crusch said, her voice reverent.

The silence broke into murmurs, but Cid simply turned, adjusting his gloves with perfect composure.

“Forgive me,” he said mildly, “I fear I left the tea steeping.”

Gotta bounce before Crusch turns this into an wild interrogation.

Ferris burst out laughing. “Oh my gods—he even exits cool!”

Subaru just stared. “Trust me, he loves to do that.”

And across the courtyard, Wilhelm let out a low, satisfied chuckle.

“…A butler, he says.”

Later on...
The soft golden light of afternoon bathed the training field in a warm glow. The air was quiet except for the rhythmic pounding of footsteps—Subaru running laps around the outer edge of the field, sweat clinging to his brow, his breathing labored but steady.

On a wooden bench beneath the shade of a tall tree, Cid sat beside Rem, both watching in silence.

“He’s been pushing himself too hard lately,” Rem said softly, her gaze following Subaru as he rounded the far side. “More than usual.”

Cid didn’t look away. “He’s going through something,” he said quietly. “And right now, he thinks pushing forward is the only way out.”

Damn, if Rem's this hype over Subaru now, just wait till he flexes his true power. Girl might short-circuit.

Rem's hands rested in her lap, fingers loosely interlaced. “I know things have been difficult between him and Lady Emilia,” she murmured. “I know… that not everything turned out the way he hoped. But I don’t understand why he always blames himself for everything. Why he carries it all alone.”

Cid’s voice remained calm, almost thoughtful. “Because Subaru… is not like the rest of us. We can try to understand, but in the end, all we can do is watch him fight his own battles... or stand beside him and lend our strength.”

Rem glanced at him, a gentle look in her eyes. “Yeah,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She turned her gaze back to Subaru, who now staggered slightly as he ran but didn’t stop. “That’s just like him.”

A moment passed in quiet.

Then Rem gave a small chuckle. “You know… at first, I thought you were someone who didn’t really care much about others. You always looked like someone who held themselves a little above it all. Aloof.”

Cid raised an eyebrow at that, but she continued with a smile.

“But I see it now. You’re always there. Maybe not loud, maybe not in the center… but always there when it matters.”

She turned to look at him, sincerity shining in her eyes.

“I knew you were a good person the moment Subaru put his faith in you. I trust his judgment. Completely.”

Cid blinked, the faintest flicker of surprise in his expression.

Of course it's Subaru—clearing my path like a boss and always having my back.

Rem stood up then, brushing off her skirt. She took a step forward, then looked over her shoulder with a playful glint.

“Oh—and for the record?” She grinned. “I support you and Big Sis. Just saying.”

Cid blinked again, actually startled this time. “Wait—what?”

But Rem was already walking away, casually waving him off as if she hadn’t just tossed a small bomb at him.

She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Subaru-kun! That’s enough! Time to come inside!”

Subaru stumbled to a halt mid-step, panting heavily. “Aww c’mon, Rem! I was this close to a new lap record!”

The soft clink of porcelain punctuated the stillness as Crusch  raised her teacup to her lips. From the second-floor balcony, she watched the training field below with a composed yet curious gaze. Subaru was bent over in exhaustion, Rem stood nearby, and Cid remained seated, his posture perfectly poised as ever.

Crusch took a long, thoughtful sip.

“…Emilia’s camp has quite the intriguing characters,” she murmured.

A sudden weight leaned against the balcony rail beside her, followed by the musical lilt of a mischievous voice.

“Oooh~ are you finally getting fond of them, Lady Crusch?” Ferris teased, resting his chin in his hand. “So cold usually, but I can tell~ that tea isn't the only thing warming your heart right now.”

Crusch's gaze didn’t waver from the field. Her tone remained steady.

“No. Not fondness. Curiosity, perhaps. Today, I had the opportunity to see more… of the mysterious Lucien, and the ever-stubborn Subaru Natsuki.”

Ferris hummed, tail flicking idly. “Heh~ Lady Crusch rarely gets interested in other men unless it’s for politics. But even you can’t ignore the mystery those two are wrapped in, huh?”

Another sip. The wind stirred her hair slightly.

Footsteps approached behind them—measured, precise. A moment later, Wilhelm stood at the doorway to the balcony, bowing lightly.

“You wished to speak with me, Lady Crusch?”

Crusch turned slightly, acknowledging him with a nod.

“Yes. I trust you’re ready to report on what I asked of you today.”

Wilhelm’s back straightened even further, his voice dipping into a tone reminiscent of a loyal retainer. “Of course. I am ready.”

Crusch set her teacup down on its saucer, fingers interlaced before her.

“You’ve met all manner of people in your life, Wilhelm. I trust your judgment—not just as a swordsman, but as a man who reads others. Apart from my Divine Blessing of Wind Reading, your insight is second to none.”

Wilhelm bowed his head humbly. “You honor me. And today…” His eyes drifted to the field below. “…Today, I confirmed it. Those two young men—Subaru Natsuki and Lucien—are not average boys.”

He paused a beat, letting the statement breathe.

“Subaru is troubled. That much is clear. I believe there’s tension—perhaps a disagreement—with Lady Emilia. He’s struggling to sort his thoughts, and instead of seeking comfort, he’s throwing himself into effort. Into pain. Into movement. Most men… would point fingers. Blame others. Or run away.”

Ferris tilted his head, ears twitching. “But not our stubborn little Subaru, huh~?”

Wilhelm’s gaze sharpened. “No. He is unlike any I’ve met. But more than his persistence, there was one thing I found telling.”

He glanced at Crusch. “During our spar, when I tested him. He trusted Lucien’s instructions—completely. He moved when told, without hesitation. It was not the kind of trust born merely from friendship. It was… deeper.”

He paused, voice low and grave.

“He feared nothing. Not even death. I have seen it before… in soldiers who’d faced the end too many times. It felt like Subaru had died many times. Enough that he no longer flinches at the edge of it. If Lucien had told him to leap into fire to win, he would have done it without asking why.”

Silence lingered on the balcony, broken only by the whisper of leaves in the wind and the distant sound of Rem calling Subaru back inside.

Crusch watched Subaru retreat toward the manor. “…He is the kind of man who bleeds hope into others, even when he has none left for himself.”

Ferris blinked, ears twitching. “Mmm… pretty words, Lady Crusch~ but what about Lucien?”

A silence followed. Crusch’s eyes turned toward Ferris—not cold, but piercingly aware. Knowing. She didn’t speak at first, merely glanced behind her, where Wilhelm stood with arms folded behind his back. Her gaze said everything. The connection between Wilhelm and Lucien.

Ferris’s smirk faded slightly.

Wilhelm exhaled, slow and steady, as though drawing from a deep well of thought. “Lucien… he is a complicated case.”

He stepped forward, placing his hands behind his back as he stared out over the field. “Ferris has already confirmed his memory loss. Brain damage—real, and not fabricated. And yet…” His voice dipped lower, contemplative. “At times, he seems to know too much. He speaks in ways no ordinary servant should. He moves like a man trained for more than silverware and tea.”

Wilhelm’s fingers curled slightly at his side. “And then… he’ll do something. Something so new, so unexpected, it’s like looking at a stranger wearing the same face. It makes me question—who is Lucien, truly?”

Crusch folded her hands, lips pursed in thought. “A blade veiled in silk… intriguing.”

Wilhelm nodded. “He read my movements as though I were speaking them aloud. I may be older, yes. My strength is no longer at its peak. But my swordsmanship is still among the finest in the Kingdom. And yet… he danced through it. Not with force—but with understanding.”

He turned, expression unreadable.

“He is a perfectionist. Every motion, every fold of his gloves, every bow and word… calculated. He knows how to command a room without a whisper, and how to vanish from it like smoke. That level of control, of awareness… it doesn’t come from servitude. It comes from survival. From training with a purpose.”

Ferris gave a small, thoughtful hum. “So he’s got killer instincts hidden behind those pretty butler manners~? I mean, I figured he was dangerous, but… you’re making him sound like a ghost in a tuxedo.”

Wilhelm didn’t answer immediately. His gaze drifted toward the horizon, where the sun was dipping low.

“We can never be certain when it comes to Lucien. But if I were to wager…” He paused, voice growing colder. “I believe he serves something greater than just a noble household. His loyalty is real, but it’s tethered—to something deeper.”

Crusch’s expression hardened, her teacup forgotten. “What are your thoughts, Wilhelm? Speak plainly.”

The old swordsman hesitated—but only for a moment. Then, with a grim resolve, he answered.

“There are two possibilities. One—he is connected to the Six Tongues. Perhaps even part of their hidden defensive branch, working to protect balance from behind the veil. The other…”

He looked her in the eyes, his voice low and grave.

“…We may be dealing with someone who has ties to the Witch’s Cult. Perhaps not a follower. But someone shaped—scarred—by them."

The wind picked up, rustling through the trees below.

And for a long moment… none of them spoke.

The next day...
The morning sun was still low in the sky, draping the Crusch manor gardens in long, golden shadows. Dew clung to the grass like a thousand tiny mirrors, glinting as the world stirred awake.

Cid exhaled sharply, breath fogging faintly in the chill. His coat was folded and draped over a nearby bench, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Each movement was precise—pushups, squats, stretches—a quiet rhythm of discipline against the backdrop of birdsong. No wasted effort. No unnecessary motion. Just control.

As he straightened from a set of slow lunges, he paused, eyes flicking toward the front gate.

A carriage rattled in, its wheels crunching softly over the gravel. It bore the insignia of a reputable trade guild—food supplies, judging by the marked crates being offloaded by a stout man and his crew.

Cid wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and muttered, “Hope they brought some bitterroot. Keeps the body sharp. Mind too.”

He was about to return to his stretches when something strange caught his eye.

By the fountain—a silver shape moved.

A girl.

Small. Barely eight, perhaps nine years old. Pale skin, silver hair, and a ribbon tied lazily to one side of her head. She giggled softly, running her fingers through the water as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Cid’s brow furrowed.

He rose to his full height, grabbing his coat and slinging it over one shoulder before walking toward her.

As he neared, his footsteps deliberately audible, he called out in his usual detached tone, “You lost, kid?”

The girl looked up, blinking large eyes. Then she smiled—innocent, sweet.

“Nope! I came with my papa. He’s making a delivery today,” she said cheerfully, pointing back toward the carriage. “I got bored, so I wandered a bit. Your garden’s really pretty!”

Cid stopped a few paces from her, hands in his pockets.

“You shouldn’t wander off alone. Go back to your father."

He turned his back to leave.

But then—

“It’s okay, you know.”

The voice was different.

Not childish. Not bright.

Soft. Measured. Echoing faintly—like wind sliding through empty halls.

“People like us… we’re never really seen, are we? So we can go wherever we please. Because no one ever notices what we truly are.”

Cid didn’t turn.

Ah, got it—this is the part where the NPC suddenly reveals they’re some secret villain and starts MLM-pitching their evil side hustle.

But the air around him thickened. Grew heavier. The sunlight seemed to dim, shadows stretching unnaturally long at his feet.

Then—

A smirk.

Cold. Razor-sharp.

"…And we don’t act without purpose." His voice was a whisper, yet it cut like steel. "That’s the rule, isn’t it?"

Now I gotta act my part like a sneaky villain too.

Cid turned.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

And when his gaze locked onto hers, it was like staring into the eyes of a beast that had just decided whether or not to tear out her throat.

The girl was still smiling sweetly. Rocking on her heels.

But her eyes… something dark shimmered beneath their surface. Like a curtain drawn over a storm.

Cid’s voice dropped into steel.

“Tell me what you want.”

Might as well give her a heart attack while I'm here.

For a moment, silence.

Then the girl tilted her head with an exaggerated pout, blinking as if confused.

“I just wanted to see you! I’ve heard sooo much about the ‘mysterious Lucien.’ They say you’re strong… and surprisingly charming.” She giggled again.

Then her voice deepened—not in pitch, but in weight. Each word landing with ominous clarity.

“So I thought… why not get to know you better?”

She grinned, and for an instant, the air grew colder.

Cid’s shadow stretched across the stone as he stepped forward, his presence tightening like a noose.

He towered over her now, every inch of his body coiled like a waiting predator.

His voice was a whisper made of frost and flame.

“You don’t want to know me.”

His voice wasn’t a threat.

It was a promise.

The girl looked up at him, smile still in place—but her eyes had lost their childish glimmer.

"I know,” she murmured, voice now a quiet hum of understanding. “That in one way or another… you’re tied to him.”

Cid’s eyes narrowed—just barely. But in that instant, the atmosphere seemed to thicken.

“To Shadow.”

The name hung in the air like a specter, wrapping around the space between them with unseen fingers.

Cid didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. But the air around him warped, as if reality itself strained under the weight of his presence.

The girl leaned in, her whisper a serpent’s kiss against the silence.

“Tell him,” she whispered, “to be at the outskirts of the capital. One hour from now.”

Uh-oh, villain's IQ just spiked. Time to troll.

Cid’s gaze remained steady, unreadable. But his voice dipped into something colder than ice.

“And if he doesn’t show?”

She stepped back, clasping her hands behind her back with a twirl, as though they’d just been discussing candy.

“Then,” she said sweetly, “it’ll be a shame. Because it’s about the Witch’s Cult.”

Her head tilted.

“And surely… an Archbishop needs to be there. No matter what.”

A long pause.

OMG, the ultimate villain meetup—or just a teaser?

Either way, I have to be there.

Then Cid exhaled slowly, voice low and firm.

“…I’ll see.”

The girl gave a delighted clap of her hands. “Yay!”

Just like that, the innocent gleam returned to her eyes, the weight behind her words retreating into whatever shadows it had slithered from.

She skipped backward, waving brightly with both arms. “Goodbye, Mister Lucien~! Your coat looks super cool, by the way!”

Cid stood still, the wind rustling his sleeves. A single drop of dew slid from a leaf overhead, landing near his boot with a soft plink.

But his shadow—

It didn’t move.

Not until he did.

And when he finally turned away, the garden itself seemed to exhale in relief.

In the middle of the capital...
In the heart of the capital, the streets were already stirring with the familiar hum of morning life. Merchants barked out deals, wagons rumbled over cobblestone, and the scent of fresh bread mingled with the crisp air.

And there, sprawled in the middle of the road—just outside Kadomon Risch’s storefront—was Subaru Natsuki.

Face pale. Hands trembling.

Eyes wide open—but seeing nothing.

“Oi...” Kadomon’s gruff voice cut through the air like a cleaver. He stepped forward, brow furrowed as he stared down at Subaru. “Don’t tell me this is some weird every week thing for you now, kid.”

No response.

Just the shallow rise and fall of Subaru’s chest. His skin glistened with cold sweat, and his lips were moving—but no sound came out.

“Oi, you hear me?” Kadomon’s tone sharpened. “What the hell’s wrong with you—?”

“They…” The whisper escaped Subaru’s throat like a breath dragged up from a well of ash. His eyes, unfocused, locked onto Kadomon’s.

“They died…”

Kadomon stiffened, blinking in confusion. “Huh?”

Subaru’s voice cracked.

“I died.”

The words splintered in the air, a quiet confession buried in horror. His whole body began to tremble now—not from cold, but from the weight. Of memory. Of pain. Of something no man should carry twice, let alone endlessly.

Kadomon took a step back, unsettled. “Hey, kid, you’re not making sense—”

“Subaru-kun?” Rem’s voice cut in, gentle at first, but already tinged with worry as she hurried over from across the street. She stopped short.

Because she smelled it.

That foul, cloying, burnt scent—like rotting flowers smothered in ash. Her breath caught.

The stench of the Witch.

Her eyes widened. “That scent… Subaru-kun, did something happen?”

He didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

Subaru’s shoulders shook, his hands gripping his own arms as if trying to hold himself together.

“Nothing’s okay,” he choked out. “Nothing is okay.”

The street went still.

Kadomon looked between the boy and the girl, completely lost.

Rem stepped forward, her hands outstretched—but hesitant, as if the very air around Subaru might bite her.

And Subaru…
Subaru just sat there.

Alone, in a city waking up.

Alive again.

But not the same.

Notes:

I initially planned to summarize all of Subaru’s failed loops in this fic, but the deviations from canon in this particular arc are too compelling to gloss over. Given their depth, I’d like to explore them properly—which leaves me with three options:

○ A Separate Side Story – Dedicate an entirely new fic to these failed loops.

○ Single Extended Chapter – Compile all three loops into one lengthy update.

○ Multiple Chapters – Release each loop as its own chapter for better pacing.

Personally, I think the last option would be better.

Let me know your preference in the comments. Thanks for reading, and take care!

Chapter 20: First Loop: The Sin That Devours All Hope

Notes:

Hey everyone!

Hope you're all doing great.

Now, let’s get back into it.

We all know how things play out in the original Re:Zero when Subaru returns to Roswaal Manor.

But since Cid’s around—and let’s be honest, he’s already stirred things up quite a bit—the story’s going to take a slightly different path. Don’t worry, though. It’s still staying true to the core of the canon.

With that said, I felt like it was only right to dedicate a whole chapter to Subaru’s failed loops, putting him front and centre. Just to give you a little reminder that this story isn’t all laughs and chaos—it is still Re:Zero, after all.

The sun had begun its slow descent when Subaru and Rem arrived back at the Karsten estate. The ride from the capital was nice, the streets oddly still, as if the city itself held its breath in anticipation. Rem had offered him the usual quiet companionship, but Subaru’s thoughts drifted elsewhere—toward his friend's absence.

Cid.

The enigma wrapped in a sharp tongue and lazy grin. He was conspicuously absent. And for someone as eccentric and unpredictable as Cid, silence wasn’t just suspicious—it was deafening.

That night, standing beside Crusch beneath the chill moonlight, Subaru felt her icy composure harden even more. She didn't need to raise her voice or scowl to let her distrust seep into every word. She spoke of hidden agendas and veiled ambitions of men who wore too many masks. Cid's vanishing act had tipped the scales in her mind.

Subaru had defended him. Loudly. Stubbornly. But even as he raised his voice, he couldn’t silence the quiet nag at the back of his head. The one that whispered: I don’t really know him, do I?

Still, betrayal was a word Subaru loathed. And so he pushed back.

The next morning, Rem’s face was pale, her eyes distant. She had sensed something—an ominous pressure near the Roswaal Manor. It wasn’t physical, not yet. But it was heavy, foul, something felt through her connection with Ram. And yet… she didn’t seem too worried. In her calm logic, Ram was capable.

But Subaru couldn't stop remembering the girl Ram once was—the one who threw herself into battles with a limp body and broken pride. The one who bled for others when she had nothing left to give. He couldn’t shake the image of her standing alone, fragile in her strength, not knowing that Ram didn't exist anymore.

Crusch didn’t bend. Her gaze was colder than before. The suspicions had taken root and bloomed into barbed conclusions. If Cid had intentions of his own, then Subaru—his closest link—was just another unknown. She didn’t aid those she didn’t trust. Not anymore.

Her refusal to help Subaru and Rem felt like a blade.

Subaru had nearly exploded again, but Rem’s hand on his arm pulled him back. Her presence grounded him, as always. She knew what had to be done.

With no allies, they moved on their own.

The manor awaited.

They were halfway there when Rem made the call. She left him behind—just like in Canon. She wanted to move fast. She wanted to protect him. She smiled with calm determination, then vanished into the fog.

Subaru was shocked and blamed himself, clenching his fists.

And he finally managed to enter the forest close to Roswaal’s Manor, thanks to Otto, who left him there.

Alone...

The sky was bruised purple, clouds hanging low like bruises on a battered body, when Subaru pushed through the last stretch of forest. His feet pounded the dirt path, breath ragged, lungs burning—but he didn’t stop. Not when the treetops broke and the clearing opened before him.

The sight froze him in place.

Roswaal’s Manor stood pristine, untouched by chaos. Its walls gleamed under the dim sunlight as if daring the world to breach its sanctuary. But everything around it—everything—was ruined.

The gardens were scorched. Trees lay uprooted and splintered. The once river was murky red, reflecting the sky like an omen. The land was torn open in great scars, and the air stank of iron and smoke.

Subaru’s heart jackhammered against his ribs.
“…What… the hell happened here?”

There was no time to think. No time to wonder.

He ran.

His footsteps echoed over broken stones and trampled earth. The wind howled through shattered hedges. His mind screamed with every step, begging him to turn back, to prepare himself—but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Then he saw them.

The dead.

Dozens—no, hundreds—of them.
Lying like discarded dolls across the manor’s surrounding walls, their robes are black as void, their hoods marked with the same triangular shape. Not a single one had made it through the gate.

“They never got in…” Subaru whispered, horror twisting his guts. “They all died here.”

He gagged. The stench of blood, charred fabric, and death flooded his senses. His stomach rolled, but he forced it down. Step by agonizing step, he moved past them, pushing through the sea of corpses. His shoes slipped in crimson mud. His hands trembled.

Then—

“Rem…?”

His voice cracked like shattered glass.

Just before the gate, amid the ruin and blood, lay two figures.

Ram knelt in the centre of it all, her pink hair matted with grime, her sleeves soaked red to the elbow. She was hunched, trembling—but it wasn’t from pain.

It was from grief.

Because in her arms, motionless and pale, was Rem.

Her body was limp, lifeless fingers caked with blood. A gash tore across her side, still seeping slowly. Her breath—if it existed—was too faint for Subaru to see. And Ram… proud, stoic, thorned Ram… was crying. Her magic flickered weakly in her hands, light blue tendrils struggling to knit wounds that refused to close.

Subaru fell to his knees.

“No…”
His voice was barely a whisper.
“No, no, no—Rem…”

He crawled toward them, pushing aside another corpse as if it weighed nothing, eyes wild with disbelief.

Ram's voice cut through him like a blade.

“Don’t move.”

It wasn’t a scream. It wasn’t even loud. But it was cold—so chilling it drained the colour from Subaru’s face.

“I said,” she continued, not lifting her head, “stay where you are. If you come closer, I will kill you.”

Subaru stopped mid-step, the breath caught in his throat.
“W-What…? Ram, what are you talking about? What happened here?!”

Ram finally looked up.

Her eyes were red—not from exhaustion, not from magic overuse. But from tears. Real, steady, desperate tears, streaking down her dirt-smudged cheeks. Yet, in her grief, her expression was merciless. Detached. Her voice trembled, not from fear, but fury barely caged.

“I was given one order,” she hissed, “one command by Lord Roswaal: never leave the manor grounds. No matter what.”

Subaru’s heart dropped.

“You… stayed? Even when—when this was happening?” he asked, voice hollow, pointing at the sea of corpses and fire.

Ram’s eyes narrowed.
“I tried to warn her, to make her come inside the Manor’s premises in order to protect her. But you. You had one job, Subaru Natsuki.”

His name. The venom in it stung more than ever.

“You were supposed to keep her away. But you let her come here. And now…” She trailed off, her gaze dropping back to the crumpled girl in her arms. “…now look at her.”

Subaru’s lips parted, but no words came. His throat burned with guilt.

Ram shook her head, her voice climbing. “I should’ve known. You always fail when it matters most. You always talk big, but when it counts, you crumble.”

Subaru flinched.
“Are you saying… she died because I failed?” he muttered. “Because you couldn’t disobey one command? She’s your sister, Ram! And you stood here like a puppet while she bled out!”

Ram’s expression twisted—pain and rage in equal measure.

“How dare you,” she spat. “Don’t you dare pretend to understand what I carry! Do you think I wanted this?! That I chose this?!”

She stood abruptly, still holding Rem close. Subaru instinctively moved toward them.

“I SAID STAY BACK!”

Ram’s hand rose—casual, effortless—and she flicked her fingers.

The world roared.

A tornado of compressed wind tore past Subaru like a beast unchained. It ravaged the scorched garden, flattening earth, and flinging trees like twigs. The very ground beneath him cracked. If she’d aimed a hair to the left, he’d be a smear on the dirt.

Subaru fell to the ground, gasping, staring at the destruction—at the power Ram wielded so easily.

She lowered her hand, eyes half-lidded, empty.

“I was bestowed with strength enough to annihilate legions. Yet I was ordered not to leave. No matter the screams I heard. No matter the blood, I smelled in the wind."

She looked down at Rem’s pale face and whispered, “If only… if only he had given me the order to do something.”

Subaru blinked. “He…?”

Ram didn’t answer. Her hand trembled against Rem’s back as she held her tighter, voice barely audible now.

“…Shadow was right. In the end… I’m just a doll wrapped in skin. Shackled by chains, no one can see…"

Subaru froze.

“Shadow…?”
The word echoed in his head like a thunderclap, louder than the wind Ram had just summoned, louder than his own heartbeat.

He stared at her, lips parted, mind reeling.

“W-What did you just say…?” he whispered. “Shadow…? Ram, what do you mean? You serve him? Are you saying… you know him—!?”

But Ram didn’t respond.

And then—

A voice slithered through the air.
“OHHHH… such destruction! Such glorious ruin!”

Subaru's blood turned to ice.

It was a voice that crawled into your ears and laughed. A voice that giggled and twitched. A voice that sounded far too amused by death.

“Truly, managing to annihilate so many devoted souls with such effortless elegance… it brings tears to my eyes!” the voice cooed. “And yet… she still obeys her master's orders? Still? OHHHH, what a sight. What a marvel of loyalty!”

Subaru turned, trembling, his every muscle stiff with dread.

And there—at the edge of the ruin, standing just beyond the shattered hedges—was him.

The figure was hunched, as if his bones no longer supported his body properly. His cheeks were gaunt, stretched tight over his skull like parchment. His skin was pallid, almost green with decay, lips cracked and curled in a madman’s grin.

But it was the eyes that seized Subaru’s breath.
Grey. Wide. Unblinking. Sparkling with manic ecstasy.

His hair was a murky green, cut into a neat, unnatural bowl shape that only made his warped smile more unnerving. He looked clean. Meticulous. But the sickness in his presence was a stink Subaru could feel in his soul.

“W-Who… who the hell… are you…?” Subaru managed to choke, stepping back instinctively. “What are you…?”

The man blinked. Then his smile split impossibly wider.

“Eeeheheheheheeee!”
He flailed his arms and twisted his body in an ecstatic dance of madness. His back arched, fingers curled like talons as he spun in place—gleeful, frenzied.

Then, he froze—in an instant—his face centimetres from Subaru’s, having crossed the distance like a spectre.

“I am the Sin Archbishop… of the Witch’s Cult!” he declared, voice lilting like a dirge. “Representing the Great Sin of Sloth…”

He stood up straight, eyes rolling back briefly in rapture.

“…My name is—”

He whipped his arms wide.

“—Petelgeuse Romanée-Conti!!”

The air itself seemed to shudder at the proclamation.

Subaru’s legs nearly gave out. His stomach twisted, his heart thundered in terror. There was something wrong about this man—deeply wrong. Like a puppet pretending to be human.

And yet, here he stood, laughing in the face of death, smiling at ruin, eyes locked on Subaru with fanatical joy.

“Now then,” Petelgeuse crooned, “shall we begin our trial…?”

Ram bent low, as if whispering her final goodbyes to the girl in her arms. With a trembling breath, she laid Rem down—gently, reverently—on the bloodstained grass, her fingers brushing a lock of blue hair from her sister’s lifeless face.

Then… the wind changed.

It howled.

A low, keening growl stirred the air, growing into a furious vortex as Ram rose to her feet. Her eyes, red and wet with grief moments ago, were now incandescent with rage. Her hair whipped wildly in the forming gale, and her aura shimmered with raw, crackling mana. Around her, a whirlwind surged to life—spiraling, screaming, dragging rubble, and splinters into its maelstrom.

She glared at the twisted figure before her, her voice cold.

“You foul, twitching maggot,” Ram spat, every syllable dripping venom. “You stand here… grinning like a beast… before the corpse of the girl you butchered. You defile this place with your presence.”

Petelgeuse tilted his head as if marvelling at her like a strange flower.

“OHHHH—such beautiful fury! Such righteous loathing! A sister’s grief…! A maiden’s wrath…! Yes, yes, yes, yeeeees! That intensity, that diligence—!”

He clutched his face, twitching and giggling, his voice rising in gleeful shrieks. “Truly, it stirs the soul! What a blessed reaction! So loyal to your emotions—how utterly, utterly exquisite!”

Ram didn’t answer.

She simply raised her palm.

And whispered:
“Al Fura.”

The air detonated.

A massive lance of compressed wind exploded from her hand—no longer a warning shot like before, but a judgment. The very air screamed as the blast hurtled forward, ripping apart the world in its path. Trees were reduced to splinters. Earth cratered. The shockwave flattened the ruins behind her. Even the ground at her feet shattered under the force of her spell.

Subaru, barely reacting in time, dove to the side—but not fast enough.

“AAAHHH—!”

His scream tore through the air as his arm was caught in the spell’s edge—his right hand shredded instantly, torn apart like paper in a storm. He crashed into the dirt, writhing in agony, clutching the bleeding stump where his hand used to be.

But even through the blinding pain, Subaru forced his eyes open—

Just in time to see it.

A single massive black hand—ethereal, grotesque, stood before Petelgeuse like a shield, intercepting the blast. Around him, dozens more slammed into the earth like stakes, anchoring him to the ground.

For a moment, the world vanished in a cyclone of destruction—dust, light, and debris swallowed everything. The shockwave tore past Subaru, rattling his bones and deafening his ears.

Then silence fell again.

Petelgeuse stood unharmed.

Subaru stared in horror, his breath shallow, his face pale from pain and awe alike. That hand—that disgusting, monstrous hand—had blocked Ram’s magic. A spell that could’ve split mountains… stopped.

Petelgeuse emerged from the smoke, one eye twitching, his grin strained—but very much intact.

“Eeehehehe… A-Amazing… oh yes, truly exceptional.” He craned his neck until it cracked. “I mustn’t make the same mistake twice… No, no, no… last time, you sent me flying—flying!—all the way to the Gusteko borders. How diligent you were, yes, yes! An attack so grand, so swift, so pure in hatred!”

His eyes locked on Ram with wild admiration. “But I… I, through sheer devotion, crawled back. Because I am a proud representative of her will!”

He flung his arms open, and the invisible hands behind him twitched, their presence warping the air like a mirage.

“And now, Oni… I will not—cannot—underestimate your diligence ever again.”

The next second, he was there.

An inch from Subaru’s face.

Petelgeuse’s eyes narrowed, jittering with a quiet ecstasy as he leaned forward, voice slipping into his ear like a venomous whisper.

“Ohhhh… I see it… I smell it…”

Subaru gasped, trying to move, but invisible pressure clamped down on his broken body.

“Yes, yes, yes… unmistakable,” Petelgeuse crooned. “A faint fragrance… the aroma of her grace… the scent of Love.” His breath hitched in rapture. “How fortunate you are…! To bask in even a scrap of her affection…!”

Then his grin faltered—twitched—as if remembering something.

“But—oh, no, no, no, no,” he hissed, shaking his head rapidly, like a puppet fighting tangled strings. “You—you’re not Pride! No, no, no—impossible, impossible! I met Pride just a while ago! He… he was beautiful. Terrifying. You’re—different! Yes… not him…!”

Suddenly, with a grotesque lurch, the Unseen Hands burst into visibility—long, blackened fingers of warped mana erupting from thin air. Two of them slammed into Subaru’s shoulders, wrenching a scream from his throat as they dragged him off the ground like a bloodied ragdoll.

“AAGHH—!!”

“Ahhh… yes,” Petelgeuse moaned, twisting his neck toward Ram, his expression warped with joy. “Now… now, dear Oni… now you cannot strike me. No, no, no—not without losing him.”

He stepped aside, gently positioning Subaru’s writhing body between them like a twisted hostage. The invisible hands held Subaru aloft, his face contorted in agony, blood streaming from his missing hand and crushed shoulder.

“Let me pass,” Petelgeuse hissed, his voice suddenly low, flat, devoid of all his usual mania. “Allow me to enter the manor. If you value this wretch’s life—if you do not wish to see him die as pitifully as that other girl—then you will stand aside.”

Ram’s teeth clenched. Her fingers twitched, torn between fury and helplessness. She took a half-step forward.

But then—
Subaru forced out a breath. Blood bubbled at his lips.

“R-Ram…”

Her eyes snapped to him.

“Emilia… is she…” he coughed, his words thin and weak. “Is she… okay…?”

Petelgeuse perked up.

His eyes widened with wonder.

“OHHHHH—Emilia!” he sang, twirling once like a deranged dancer. “Yes, yes, yes, my purpose! My desire! I came for her, of course! To test her resolve, to judge her worthiness! What a splendid child she is—pure, precious, so utterly divine in her diligence!”

Ram’s head lowered.

Her voice cracked when she spoke.

“She’s… not here.”

Petelgeuse froze mid-spin.

“…Eh?”

Ram swallowed, barely able to keep her composure.

“She already left. She… she went to protect the people of Arlam Village. She wanted to keep them safe.”

Silence.

A thick, unnatural silence.

Then—

“Aahhhh—AAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!”

Petelgeuse screamed, the sound warping into a wailing howl of rage.

The hands holding Subaru snapped—bones splintered, and blood burst as Subaru’s arms were broken like twigs.

“GAHHHHHH—!!”

Subaru’s cries tore through the ruined estate, but Petelgeuse wasn’t listening. His face contorted, fury and agony writhing across it like serpents.

“WHY—why—WHY didn’t anyone TELL ME!?” he shrieked, arms flailing, body convulsing. “She was in the village?! The VILLAGE?!”

He spun around in a mad frenzy—
—and froze.

All around him…

The corpses.

Silent. Lifeless. Mangled.

His lips curled into a sudden, grotesque smile.

“OHHHHH… of course,” he giggled, a hand covering his mouth as he fought back more laughter. “Yes, yes, yes… how slothful of me… They’re all dead, aren’t they?”

He cackled louder, arms wide in mock apology, eyes rolling with manic glee.

“Well then… if the maiden is not here… if she has wandered from her shelter… I must not idle. No, no, no, that would be slothful, wouldn’t it?” He chuckled, more to himself than anyone else. “I must go to her, yes, yes. For her sake, and for the Witch's glory.”

Ram stepped forward, wind whipping around her, fury once more rising in her gaze. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Petelgeuse stopped mid-step, fingers twitching. “Ohhh… so stubborn. So lovely… but so difficult.”

Then—

A voice rang out from the shadows, cold and mocking.

“Tch… what a waste of time.”

The words slithered through the broken air like a blade through flesh. Ram’s eyes widened. Petelgeuse froze. Slowly, both turned to look.

There, standing atop the crumbled remains of a broken column, a man observed them with undisguised disgust.

He was neither tall nor short, neither broad nor slender—so utterly average, he seemed almost unfinished. His hair was white, not a pale silver, but pure, like bone. It fell around his face in an unremarkable style, and his eyes—his eyes—were gold. Not shining like treasure, but cold, sharp, and lifeless.

He wore a long, Grecian-style white overcoat, lined with golden trim. Five golden buttons traced his chest in a perfect row, holding the coat snugly closed at the centre. The cuffs, too, were gold-edged—flawless. Immaculate. His appearance was untouched by the chaos around him.

In his arms, like a fallen doll, he cradled Emilia.

Unconscious.

Breathing.

Barely.

“Wha—?” Petelgeuse gasped, his twitching escalating. “The half-devil?! You—what—how?!"

He staggered forward in a daze. “I—I wasn’t told you were coming! You… Greed! What are you—?”

Regulus Cornes, Sin Archbishop of Greed, looked at him as one might observe a rotting carcass on the roadside.

“You weren’t told,” he repeated, his voice low and sharp. “Of course you weren’t. Because your opinion doesn’t matter.”

He adjusted Emilia’s position in his arms with precision, as if offended by her hair being slightly out of place.

“My presence came sooner than the Gospel anticipated. A correction to prevent a grave failure. We were warned—by sources I won’t bother explaining to a twitching insect like you—that someone powerful might appear. And if that came to happen, I would be the one to fix things as always.”

His golden eyes narrowed.

“And what did I find upon arrival? This—this mess. You rampaging like a brainless beast."

Petelgeuse opened his mouth, but Regulus raised one finger.

“No. I will speak. You will listen.”

His voice was ice.

“Do you understand what you’ve done, Sloth? You violated my rights. My rights. You stole time from me. You forced me to alter my path, walk through blood, filth, rubble—touch things—because of your incompetence. That is unforgivable. That is disgusting.”

He stepped forward, his shoes not even collecting dust as they crossed the ruined ground.

“You dare call yourself a Sin Archbishop. But you are nothing but a broken doll, flailing in delusions. You laugh too loud. You cry too easily. You worship like a dog. You’re a slob, and you think that makes you diligent?”

His voice sharpened, venomous.

“You’re not worthy to stand in my shadow, let alone hers.”

Petelgeuse's expression twitched, his lips curling back into a wide, trembling grin as he stared at Regulus. His remaining fingers clenched and unclenched, his head tilting to the side with an audible crack.

"Ah… ahhhhhh… So high and mighty… Greed." He giggled, but the sound was laced with venom. "So pristine, so slothful, yes, yes, all in white like some divine executioner! But what are you really, hmm? A man who polishes his shoes while the world burns, who speaks of rights while stepping over corpses!" He spread his arms, trembling with manic ecstasy. “You call me deluded? You, who can not bear a single speck of dust?! You, who clutches the girl like a trophy, untouched and undeserved?!”

Regulus's eye twitched. But before a retort could slice through the night—

"Al—Fura."

Ram’s voice cut the world in two.

The moment hung still—silent—then detonated.

A cyclone of magic erupted around her, a violent inferno of wind and force. The earth shattered, trees bent backwards, walls disintegrated. A hurricane of destruction tore through the manor's ruins, blasting both Archbishops backwards like ragdolls. Regulus, still cradling Emilia, was flung into the distant rubble; Petelgeuse screamed as invisible hands tried to shield him, but even they buckled under the storm. One of his arms—gone. A leg—torn off at the thigh.

Emilia slipped from Regulus’s grasp, her body falling in a gentle arc before striking the ground with a soft thud.

"Emi…lia…" Subaru croaked, dragging his broken, bloodied body forward. Each inch left a smear of crimson. His trembling fingers reached out, straining toward the girl lying so still. Closer. Just a little closer—

A shadow loomed.

He looked up.

Ram stood over them, her eyes burning, her breath heavy, pink hair whipping in the wind. Her uniform was scorched, blood trickled down her temple, but her gaze was steady—stern. Cold.

“You need to understand, Subaru,” she said, her voice hoarse but unwavering. “This can’t be fixed. Not anymore.” Her jaw clenched. “I can’t fight them both. Not while watching over you. Not while trying to keep her safe.”

The words hit him like a dagger. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Then—

Crunch.

From the debris, Regulus stepped forth, immaculate as ever. Not a scratch marred his skin. Not a wrinkle in his coat. He looked down at his pristine gloves, brushing off invisible dust with disdain.

“…You, this is disrespectful, you know,” he said, tone dangerously calm. “The right to exist without unwarranted assault. You just violated that.”

His golden eyes glinted. “That was unforgivable.”

Laughter echoed again—wet, broken, maddened.

Petelgeuse rose, hoisted aloft by blackened, tendril-like hands that sprouted from the air around him. But his body was in tatters. One leg hung limp, useless. His right arm was simply gone, ripped from the socket.

And still, he smiled.

“You… you devils!” he screeched, spittle flying. “You ruined EVERYTHING! Her trial—her purity! I was to test her! I was chosen!” His fury twisted back to Regulus. “And YOU—you mock me, you slander me, you deny me the joy of diligence?! SLANDERER!”

“ENOUGH!!” Ram bellowed, stepping forward as the two Sin Archbishops slowly approached.

Subaru clutched Emilia, shielding her the only way he could—with his own broken body. His vision blurred, breath shallow, but he didn’t look away from the monsters closing in.

Then—

Ram's voice dropped low.

“…Subaru.”

He looked up at her, face streaked with blood and dirt.

Her eyes… weren’t angry anymore.

They were sad.

“Whose fault do you think this is?” she asked quietly, almost to herself. “Mine? Yours…? Or was it fate’s…?”

She didn’t wait for an answer.

She turned away from them—toward the storm about to strike.

And, with a bitter smile on her lips, whispered:

“I’m sorry… for what’s about to happen.”

Then, she stepped forward into the jaws of destruction.

Subaru clutched Emilia tighter, arms wrapped around her limp form as if his will alone could shield her from the horror closing in.

Her breath—shallow. Her body—cold.

And then… warmth.

No, not hers.

His fingers brushed against her side, and they came away wet.

He blinked, confused. The moonlight caught a shimmer—
Blood.

“…No,” Subaru whispered, voice cracking.

He felt it now. The sting beneath his ribs. The way his limbs trembled, not just from fear, but from loss.

He lowered his gaze.

A jagged wound ran across his abdomen, deep and ragged—blood flowing freely, soaking his clothes, pooling beneath him.

“I… I didn’t even notice,” he breathed.

His arms trembled around Emilia. His vision spun. The world began to fade at the edges, turning grey.

And then—tears.

Hot. Helpless.

“I messed up… again…” Subaru’s voice broke as he sobbed, pressing his forehead to Emilia’s. “It’s my fault. All of it… I was too slow… too weak… too stupid.”

Each word was a dagger to the chest, tearing past pride and past pain—just raw guilt.

“I couldn’t protect anyone. I brought them here. I dragged Rem into this… and now—” He choked on his own breath. “Now Emilia’s dying because of me.”

His fingers twitched, blood-slick and shaking. His legs no longer responded. The world tilted.

“I’m so sorry, Emilia…” he whispered. “You believed in me. And I let you down.”

His body sagged. His vision blurred, the lights of the world smearing into shadows.

“All of this… all this pain… because I wasn’t strong enough…”

His eyes fluttered.

Darkness crept in.

But then—

CRACK.

A sound tore through the sky.

A streak of purple lightning slammed into the ground in front of Ram, splitting stone and air alike.

The force shook the earth.

Ram’s eyes widened. “You’re… here.”

Subaru stirred, barely conscious, but he saw it—a figure in the aftermath, wreathed in violet energy, cloaked in shifting shadows.

Shadow.

But too late.

Too late for Subaru.

Tears traced bloody trails down his cheeks.

His body gave out.

His eyes closed.

Subaru Natsuki exhaled one final, shuddering breath—

—and the world fell silent.

Notes:

This marks Subaru's first failed loop—an utter descent into chaos.

I understand there are countless questions about what transpired here.
However, Subaru's failed loops are often shrouded in mystery, deliberately leaving room for interpretation.
While I have all the answers, I’ll refrain from revealing them outright. Instead, I encourage u to theorize and speculate until the main timeline provides clarity.

Chapter 21: Second Loop: The Sin That Would Not Die

Subaru stood once more before the familiar storefront in the capital—its mundane facade, a cruel contrast to the horror still echoing in his mind.

His body moved, but his eyes were hollow. Whatever light had flickered there before was smothered, buried beneath memories too grotesque to forget. He said nothing. Not a word passed his lips as he walked in a daze, a ghost dragged forward by the flow of time.

Rem, loyal and unwavering, escorted him to the Crusch household. He didn’t resist, didn’t flinch. Even in the presence of strangers, of concern, of questions—he remained mute. His silence was heavier than steel, laden with dread and sorrow.

The following morning, a shiver ran down Rem’s spine—sharp and sudden. Through the faint thread that bound her to Ram, she felt a disturbance—pain, fear, and conflict. Something had happened at Roswaal Manor. And though it felt as though Ram could fight back, perhaps even triumph, the signal wasn’t clear. Her sister’s presence felt blurred, muffled. With Subaru unable to give his opinion and the enigmatic Cid nowhere to be found, unease wrapped around her heart like thorns.

She requested permission to return—to go to the manor and investigate. Crusch, ever practical and perceptive, granted her request. And so Rem and the broken boy set off, guided by a sister’s intuition and a quiet desperation.

As they neared the forest that surrounded Roswaal Manor, a stillness fell over the path, thick as fog and unnatural. The trees loomed, their branches clawing at the grey sky, and in that oppressive quiet, chaos struck.

Black-robed figures burst from the shadows—Witch Cultists. Rem reacted with practised fury, her Morningstar roaring through the air as bodies fell before her. She fought with every ounce of strength, her limbs aching, vision blurring—but there were too many. In the storm of violence, she lost sight of Subaru.

He was taken.

Dragged through the woods, deeper and deeper, until cold stone and damp air swallowed him. A cavern, dimly lit and reeking of death, became his prison. Shackles bit into his wrists, cold and merciless. And there, in the flickering light, he appeared—Petelgeuse Romanée-Conti, the deranged Archbishop of Sloth. Wild-eyed, twitching, laughing in riddles.

He circled Subaru like a vulture, muttering that he knew Subaru wasn't Pride.

But Subaru remained silent. Not a scream, not a whisper. His silence frustrated even Petelgeuse, who snarled and twitched, searching Subaru’s face for signs—any sign—that would reveal a secret.

Then came the sound of footsteps—ragged, hurried, desperate.

Rem.

Her clothes were torn, soaked in blood—hers, theirs, it didn’t matter. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her arms trembling from overuse. But her eyes still burned with resolve. She had found him.

And she was not leaving without him...

“Ohhh~! Such devotion! Such zeal! To crawl through the muck, to bleed for this loathsome, silent Sinner—ahh! It moves me! Moves my heart, though it shouldn’t!”

He convulsed, his body snapping backwards as he let out a guttural moan of distorted admiration. Then he righted himself with unnatural precision, a tremor pulsing through his limbs as he pointed a crooked finger at her.

“You come here like a saviour, a beacon in the dark, swinging your crude weapon like a little saint with a cracked halo. And yet—and yet! You know nothing of love. How slothful one could be.”

Rem said nothing at first. Her grip tightened around her Morningstar, teeth clenched, heart pounding. Then her voice—low, ragged, furious—tore through the silence.

“You call this love? This madness? This cruelty?” she spat, her breath shuddering. “You’re nothing but a diseased vermin hiding behind delusions and corpses.”

The twitching stopped.

Petelgeuse’s smile faltered for a moment, lips curling into something grotesque and hollow. And then he laughed—not loud, but guttural, intimate, as if Rem had told him a secret only they could share.

“Yes... yes... that tone. That rage. How familiar... How exquisite!” He shuddered, then turned his head slightly as if listening to something only he could hear.

“You sound just like her. The other one—the one in crimson... who dances like death and sings with steel. She butchered my servants—my beloved children!—and guards that cursed mansion like a hound of wrath.” His fingers trembled near his face, stroking invisible threads. “Tell me, dear girl, are you... sisters?”

Rem’s eyes flared—blue fire, igniting in her gaze, and her horn shone brightly.

“If you touch him again,” she growled, lifting the Morningstar with both hands, “I’ll tear you limb from limb and grind your bones beneath my heel.”

Then she charged.

With a scream of fury and love and desperation, her Morningstar came down like judgment. But it never struck.

CLANG—

It froze—held mid-swing by something invisible. The air around her cracked with pressure. Petelgeuse’s grin widened until it nearly split his face.

“Ah... ahhh... HOW SLOTHFUL!”

The Morningstar hovered, suspended by Unseen Hands, trembling with the force of her strength and the resistance of his wickedness.

In that breath of paralysis, Petelgeuse moved, hand reaching out and grabbing Subaru by the hair. The boy whimpered—not screamed, not begged—just a noise, soft and broken. A wounded animal that no longer knew hope.

Rem’s heart shattered.

“Look at him!” Petelgeuse roared, lifting Subaru’s face toward her. The boy’s mouth parted, but no words came. Only pain.

“This is the one you came for?! This empty shell?" He cackled. “He chooses to be broken! He clings to despair like a lifeline. And now—now, ohhhh now—he has doomed you, dear girl. Because you’ll die... for a boy who won’t even scream for you.”

His laughter filled the cavern, echoing like a death knell. The Unseen Hands tightened.

And Rem…
Rem screamed.

Rem roared as she tore her weapon free, hurling her Morningstar toward Petelgeuse in a blazing arc of fury. The chains whirred, the spiked head blazed—an unstoppable meteor of wrath and love.

Petelgeuse turned his head with delighted glee.
“Ohhh~! Yes! That’s it! Strike me down, little lamb! Show me your devotion!”

But it never landed.

CLANK!

The Morningstar froze mid-swing, gripped by unseen forces. Rem’s eyes widened as her arms seized up, yanked backwards by invisible restraints. The air around her shimmered with pressure—Unseen Hands wrapped tight around her limbs, hoisting her off the ground. She thrashed and snarled, struggling with every muscle in her body, but her strength met an immovable wall. Her feet kicked in empty air, and her desperation overtook fury.

Petelgeuse moved slowly now, savouring each motion. With one hand trembling from ecstasy, he reached out and grabbed Subaru’s cheeks, pulling the boy’s vacant face upward toward Rem.

“Look at her,” he whispered, voice heavy with mock sorrow and manic joy. “See how she struggles… how she bleeds for you. And yet—you give her nothing! Not a cry! Not a word! She’s going to die, and all you can do is sit there and rot!”

Subaru’s dull eyes flicked upward, barely able to focus—until he saw it.
Rem.
Suspended. Screaming.
Trapped.

He remembered.

The scene etched into the black of his soul—Rem’s broken body, lifeless in Ram’s arms, her eyes dull and mouth stained with blood. Ram shakes, whispering her sister’s name in disbelief.

“No…”

The word cracked the silence like thunder, hoarse and low and full of pain. Tears welled up, rolling down his cheeks in hot rivers as the dam broke.

“NO!”

He howled, voice raw, soul ripping apart as his cries shook the cavern walls.

Petelgeuse jolted in place, his spine bending like a crooked bow.
“Ohhh~! YES! That’s the music! The aria of despair! The symphony of suffering! CRY! Yes! Let your soul scream, let it burn!”

Subaru twisted, yanked, and threw himself against his chains. His wrists bled, but he didn’t stop.
“RAM!” he screamed, voice cracking from the force. “RAM! HELP HER!”

Petelgeuse’s face twitched violently.
“She won’t come, boy! She can’t! The order binds her—your crimson vixen will not disobey her orders. She guards the manor, nothing more!”

Subaru’s eyes flared with rage.
“THEN THAT ORDER IS WORTHLESS!”

He slammed his head forward, his voice exploding like a cannon.
“IF SHE LOSES REM, THEN WHAT’S LEFT TO PROTECT?! RAM, PLEASE! FORGET HIS ORDERS! YOUR SISTER IS GOING TO DIE!”

“RAAAAAM!!!”

His voice shattered the air—desperate, furious, filled with a power beyond strength.

And then—
BOOM.

The cavern exploded.

The ceiling above cracked and burst apart in a deafening shockwave of stone and magic. Blinding light spilt in through the dust and falling debris as a silhouette descended like divine wrath.

Petelgeuse staggered back, shielding his eyes, mouth wide with shock.

Wind howled through the cavern—cold, cutting, and alive with fury.

Amid the swirling gale stood Ram.
Her pink hair whipped around her face, wind magic spiralling at her heels like a storm unleashed. Her eyes burned—not with ice, not with calm—but with a fire Subaru had never seen while her horn was glowing.

She stepped forward, magic lashing out like snapping whips, her voice slicing through the chaos.

“You festering lunatic!” she hissed. “You torture my sister, tear her apart in front of me, and expect me to bow to that madness?!”

Petelgeuse stared—truly stared—for the first time… and trembled.

“The pink one...” he murmured, voice like a prayer to something foul. “The other half... the forgotten half... the hollow doll who watches... But now—now—she howls!”

His grin returned, twitching and wild.
“How grotesquely divine!”

Ram didn’t speak.

She moved.

In a flash of wind and rage, she appeared beneath Rem’s suspended body, catching her sister in midair with a grace born of desperation. The Unseen Hands shattered under the sheer weight of her magic. Gently, tenderly, she lowered Rem to the ground, her arms trembling—not with fear, but with fury.

“Rem,” she whispered, brushing a blood-matted lock from her sister’s brow. “You did well. Rest now. I’ll take care of it.”

She stood.

Her horn pulsed—a burning brand of vengeance—and her crimson eyes locked onto the grotesque thing that dared to harm her sister.

Petelgeuse grinned, arms outstretched. “Yes! Show me your devotion! Show me the madness that—”

“Ul Fura.”

Wind howled.

A maelstrom of slicing gales tore forward, crashing into Petelgeuse like the wrath of a storm god. His Unseen Hands flared, barely shielding him as the torrent sent him flying—crashing into the far cave wall with a sickening crack. Rocks split. Bones shattered. He screamed.

Ram turned back, kneeling for a moment to lay Rem gently against the stone, positioning her head with care. She touched her sister’s face, eyes lingering with a soft ache.

Then she stood again.

Petelgeuse groaned, his mangled body twitching.

“You—haahh—you’re glorious! Like a hurricane wrapped in silk—”

“Ul Fura.”

The words cut the air, and so did the wind. Another razorstorm crashed into him, hurling his body once more, flaying skin, ripping cloth, smashing him against the ground like a ragdoll.

He choked on his own blood, coughing, laughing, and weeping.

Unseen Hands sprang out like barbed tentacles, clawing toward her, shrieking through the air—

“Ul Fura.”

The gale that erupted didn’t scream.

It howled.

Everything in its path—rock, magic, bone, flesh—was obliterated. The hands disintegrated like dust in a furnace. The cavern screamed with the fury of a thousand winds, and Petelgeuse was swallowed by it.

What remained of his body—now half-ripped, his legs minced and trailing blood like red ribbons—was flung against the jagged stone.

And still, he laughed.

“So this is your love? This... this cruelty? This righteous slaughter?” he wheezed, black blood dripping from his teeth. “How... magnificent... How utterly DILIGENT—!”

“Ul Fura.”
The words came like ice.

More wind.

More destruction.

The rock behind him shattered. His bones shrieked.

“Ul Fura.”
Her voice was void now.

Another torrent. Flesh peeled from bone. The cavern ceiling buckled.

“Ul Fura.”
And again.

“Ul Fura.”

Each invocation was colder than the last. Each wave of wind was sharper, crueller, and more final.

The world inside the cave vanished—devoured by the storm.

When silence fell at last, the cave no longer existed.

In its place was a crater—a deep, smouldering abyss of ruin. Stone had turned to dust. Air to silence.

And at the centre of it all stood Ram, untouched, horn gleaming like the moon above a battlefield.

She looked down.

Where Petelgeuse once stood—where his voice once screamed, where his madness once writhed—there was only red.

Shredded cloth. Bits of flesh. A twitching finger, still curling.

Tiny, bloody pieces.

The wind carried his remains across the ruin like ash.

Ram closed her eyes.

For a moment, the storm within her quieted.

Subaru trembled.

Ram stood where a god might, the aftermath of her fury laid bare in ruin.

And Ram had done it all.

Her horn still glowed faintly, like an ember cooling after a firestorm. Her face held no pride, no grief—only a silence so sharp it cut deeper than her magic. The wind had gone still, but Subaru's heart raced like thunder.

He was terrified.

But beneath the fear, something warmer pulsed.

Relief.

Petelgeuse was gone. The monster that had shattered him again and again, broken Rem, haunted his loops with twisted love and gnarled hands—was gone.

Subaru’s breathing slowed, his arms heavy at his sides, chained still. He slumped forward, head bowed in exhausted awe. His throat was raw. His tears had dried. Yet, in that silence, he welcomed it.

Ram stepped toward him, boots crunching on fractured stone.

Her shadow fell over him.

He looked up—only slightly—and saw her eyes. Crimson and cool, they peered down at him with unreadable weight.

She spoke quietly, as if her words were meant more for herself than for him.

“I don’t know,” she said, “whether to blame you for dragging my sister into this hell… or thank you for finally giving me the push I needed.”

Her voice was empty of accusation. And that, somehow, was worse.

She raised a hand. The wind stirred again, swirling softly, and with a flick of her fingers, Subaru’s chains shattered—scattering like brittle glass.

He fell forward onto his hands, coughing and breath catching in his chest.

Ram turned away.

She moved to Rem, lifting her gently—almost reverently—into her arms. Her sister stirred faintly, eyes fluttering but still dazed. Ram didn’t look back.

“We’re going to the manor,” she said flatly.

No invitation. No question.

Just fact.

Subaru staggered to his feet, his limbs shaking. He followed. Behind them, the ruined cavern was swallowed by silence and ash.

They walked.

No words passed between them. Only the crunch of stone underfoot and the soft howl of wind that trailed behind Ram like a cloak. Subaru didn’t mind the silence. He welcomed it. If Ram hated him—if she saw him as a burden, as the fool who’d nearly gotten Rem killed—then so be it.

As long as she was alive.
As long as Rem was safe.
As long as the nightmare was over.

That was enough.

But the nightmare had only shifted.

They crested the ridge above the valley—and stopped.

Subaru’s breath hitched.

A white storm churned ahead, devouring the sky in spirals of frost. The manor—Roswaal's estate—was barely visible beneath a mountain of ice and snow. The blizzard howled, unnatural, and angry. Lightning forked through the stormclouds, but it wasn’t lightning—it was magic.

Ram’s mouth parted slightly, speechless.

Subaru felt his knees weaken as his eyes locked onto the impossible figure standing tall above the manor—looming like a beast of legend.

A giant. Four-legged. Wreathed in cold and shadow.

Puck.

No longer the tiny spirit of Emilia’s side—but the Beast of the End, reborn.

His eyes glowed with frostbitten fury, his breath freezing the air into diamond dust. Beneath his massive form, frost had claimed everything—the manor, the trees, the ground. All entombed in glacial silence.

Then Subaru’s eyes shifted—and saw him.

A man in white.

Standing casually among the ice like the cold meant nothing. White hair. No fear. No urgency.

Regulus Corneas.

And Puck… was staring down at him.

“You dared,” Puck growled, his voice a roar and a whisper at once, echoing through the air like a sentence from a god. “You dared to kill Emilia.”

Regulus looked up, unimpressed.

“Killed?” he said, almost scoffing. “What an exaggerated word. I merely responded appropriately. She raised her voice. Gave me a look. Insolence, really. I was generous. But she… she acted like a bitch.”

His voice twisted the word like poison.

“She got what she deserved.”

Puck did not snarl. He didn’t scream.

His eyes narrowed.

“You deserve a punishment worse than death.”

The wind around Regulus shifted.

His feet froze.

Ice crawled rapidly up his legs—black-cracked frost, spreading like veins of a curse. He looked down, then frowned.

"You know,” Regulus said flatly. “This isn’t fair. You think freezing me—attacking me without provocation—is justified because your little pet broke? That’s not justice. That’s tyranny.”

He stomped—and the ice shattered around his legs like brittle glass.

Effortless.

The chill snapped, scattering into the wind.

“Besides,” he muttered, his voice sharp and clear, “do you know what really disgusts me? The way she looked at me. Like I wasn’t enough. As if I wasn’t her savior. I gave her attention. I gave her kindness. And she spat it back in my face.”

He glared up at Puck.

“That’s why she died.”

Subaru felt his stomach twist, bile rising in his throat.

Puck did not reply.

But the temperature dropped again—so cold the breath in Subaru’s lungs nearly froze.

Ram reached into her uniform, clutching Rem tighter. Her eyes were locked on Puck’s towering form, her voice hushed but fierce.

Regulus sighed.

“This… prejudice,” he began, tone laced with icy disdain, “this whole circus of overreaction... it’s exhausting.”

His eyes flicked up to Puck, lips curling as if he were lecturing a child.

“I merely held a woman accountable for her insubordination—and suddenly I’m the villain? That kind of bias... that irrational judgment simply because I acted...”

He clenched his gloved fist, tremors of barely contained rage rippling down his arm.

“It disgusts me.”

He raised his hand slowly, fingers splayed wide, his voice tightening with fury.

“And in a world this biased—this viciously unfair—I have every right to protect myself.”

Then—

He lowered his arm. Slowly. Purposefully. His gloved fingers plunging into the snow.

A rumble followed as Regulus scooped up a massive chunk of compacted snow—dense, frozen, shot through with jagged ice like veins of glass. He hefted it effortlessly in one hand, despite its size.

“You want justice?” he sneered. “Then pay for it.”

With a flick of his wrist—almost casual—he hurled the icy mass through the air.

It arced high, then came crashing down upon the manor.

The impact was devastating.

The chunk of snow struck like a meteor, detonating on contact. Walls buckled. Towers crumbled as if kicked by a giant. Windows burst outward in cascading shards. Fire met frost in violent contrast, and in the blink of an eye, a third of Roswaal’s estate ceased to exist—obliterated beneath a storm of ice and fury.

Where once stood proud architecture and age-old dignity—

Now lay ruin. Cold, broken, and smothered beneath a gray-white sky.

Ram gasped.

She stumbled back a step, clutching Rem tightly in her arms, her crimson eyes wide with shock.

“No...” she whispered. “The manor...”

Her voice shook.

She turned sharply to Subaru, urgent now. “Take Rem. Get her somewhere safe. I’m going back.”

Her boots scraped the ice as she moved forward—but she froze at the sound of a laugh.

A horrible, twitching, giddy laugh.

Behind her.

Ram turned—slowly.

Subaru stood still, arms limp at his sides, his expression blank. Then, with a sudden jerk of his head, he twitched—and smiled.

His mouth pulled wide in a twisted grin.

And he laughed again.

High-pitched. Broken. Mad.

Ram stared, paralyzed.

“Ooooh... such madness, such beauty, such... despair!” he cried, in a voice not quite his own. “The Sin of Greed and the Justice of Snow! Hahhhahhh! What a performance! The world is dying, and all I can think is... how wonderfully diligent!”

Ram’s breath caught.

No.

No, no, no—

Subaru’s body swayed. His hands jerked into strange gestures—familiar gestures. His head twitched to the side, then snapped back.

He turned slowly toward her.

His smile was still there.

“Rammy... Rammy-ram-ram. Don’t look so shocked. We’re all friends here. Just another reunion of fingers and fury, mm?”

Ram’s knees nearly buckled.

That voice. That cadence. That madness.

“Petelgeuse...?” she whispered, hoarsely.

She stepped back.

Her throat closed around her next words, but she forced them out.

“Subaru... are you... are you being controlled? Is that you?”

Subaru’s shoulders shook. His smile remained—wide, cracked, too many teeth—but something flickered behind his eyes. A twitch. A breath that didn’t belong to madness.

“R—Ram…”

The voice was hoarse. Broken. His lips barely moved. “I… I’m still… here.”

His hand jerked violently, slapping against his thigh. The other clawed at his own chest. He trembled as though submerged in ice water.

“Can’t… hold on… long…”

For a moment, Petelgeuse’s grin faltered. Subaru’s eyes widened with desperation. His fingers spasmed, scratching at his neck like he could claw the intruder out.

“I—I’m trying,” he gasped. “Ram… help me. Please. I don’t—want—to hurt—”

But the plea was drowned.

Petelgeuse returned with a screech. Subaru’s back arched unnaturally, and his body jerked like a marionette with tangled strings. He cackled with renewed vigor, throwing his head back.

“AHHH—! That was close! OHHH-HOHOHO! Naughty, naughty vessel! Trying to speak over ME?! You still cling to such selfish, insipid attachments? How slothful of you!”

He turned to Ram with gleaming eyes, wide and wet with mania.

Ram flinched.

Her hands clenched tighter around Rem’s sleeping form. She stared, breath shallow.

Then, softly—brokenly—she spoke.

“I always said I would do anything for her.”

Her voice quivered, but she kept speaking.

“In the end, I was only ever selfish.”

Subaru—no, Petelgeuse—tilted his head, expression unreadable.

Ram raised her gaze.

And for the first time since the storm began, she looked certain.

“Your existence threats my sister’s safety right now. If killing you would not let things escalate further… then I’ll do it.”

Silence.

Then Subaru’s body laughed. A low, wheezing, grotesque sound.

“Aaaahh… there it is! Justice! You and I, Rammy—we are the same! We both act out of love! Is that not beautiful? To KILL… for LOVE? Mmmm… exquisite contradiction!”

A single tear slid down Ram’s cheek.

She looked at him—really looked—and whispered,

“I’m sorry, Subaru.”

The world went silent.

No pain.

No sound.

No time to react.

Just the sensation—strange, weightless—of the world tilting.

The sky turned sideways.

The snow looked softer than before.

And then Subaru saw his body slump forward—
headless.

He blinked.

Or thought he did.

Then he heard it.

Ram’s cry.

And behind it—

A roar.
A colossal howl of ancient, frozen rage.

Puck.

Then came the darkness.

And Subaru died...

Notes:

Before anyone says anything—yes, I’m fully aware that nothing can top Re:Zero Episode 15.

But I hope u enjoyed this chapter because in this scenario, the outcome in canon was impossible from the start.
Ram is stronger than in canon, and Regulus is more cautious if Petelgeuse messed up just because someone couldn’t keep their mouth shut.

Chapter 22: Third Loop: The Sin That Left No Echo

Subaru once again found himself standing before the familiar storefront—silent, unmoving, yet filled with a churning storm of regret. Everything around him seemed still, as if the world itself paused to give him a moment of cruel reflection. It was here that everything began… and where everything began to fall apart. The weight of two failed timelines bore down on him, bitter and suffocating. This time, he knew—it was his fault. He had been reckless, selfish, and blind.

Fueled by that agonizing guilt, he turned his sights once more on Crusch Karsten. He pleaded, reasoned, tried every possible approach to earn her aid. But just like in the first loop, her resolve remained an unmovable wall of dignity and calculation. Unlike before, Subaru didn’t waste another breath. There was no time for false hope.

The following day, desperation led him to the other royal candidates. Each encounter was a familiar echo of humiliation. Anastasia manipulated him like a chess piece, cool and clinical. Priscilla, radiant and merciless, laughed him into the ground. Their words were blades, and he bled silently. But even in defeat, he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

That night, as twilight bled into darkness, Subaru began his return journey to the Roswaal Manor—with Rem faithfully by his side. The road was long, and the burden was heavier than ever. But then, like a breath of warmth in the cold, Cid appeared. Just the sight of that infuriatingly confident smile broke the dam Subaru had been holding in. He rushed into Cid’s arms, his shoulders trembling as tears carved quiet paths down his face. Their reunion wasn’t loud, but it was everything Subaru needed.

Cid, ever the unpredictable wild card, had continued to honor Emilia’s wish—to stand by Subaru no matter what. With Cid and Rem beside him, Subaru felt something he hadn’t in days: hope.

As they advanced toward the manor, they came across a group of traveling merchants, weary and wary on the road. Subaru, desperate to save the Arlam villagers, offered them coin in exchange for helping evacuate the town before the Witch Cult descended. But Cid—being Cid—had other plans.

In his usual scheming brilliance, Cid weaved promises of greater reward, persuading the merchants to accept less from Subaru while claiming the rest for himself. Otto, ever the moral compass, protested loudly, calling out the scheme—but not a single merchant cared to listen. To them, Otto was just noise. And so, with a caravan of goods and shady promises, the group moved forward, a strange alliance of desperation, deception, and unshakable resolve.

The road ahead led to Roswaal Manor, where fate waited with claws bared.

But they weren’t the only ones moving.

Something else stirred in the shadows.

Something worse than death.

Another monster...

The carriage creaked forward, pulled by a sturdy ground dragon snorting warm breath into the night air. Subaru sat at the front beside Otto, his eyes scanning the forested road ahead, the clatter of wheels a constant rhythm beneath them.

Inside the carriage, Cid leaned back with a hand on his chin, lounging like a nobleman at tea. Rem sat across from him, her blue gaze distant, as if catching whispers on the wind.

A rider from another caravan galloped up beside the carriage, his travel cloak fluttering. The merchant, a wiry man with a crooked smile and calloused hands, called out eagerly through the window, “Hey! Butler guy! That money you mentioned—how much exactly are we talking once this job’s done?”

Cid turned his head slowly, meeting the man’s eyes with a glint of amusement. With the grace of a highborn servant, he adjusted his gloves, leaned just slightly forward, and replied in a silky, formal tone:

“Ah, sir, rest assured… the compensation will be far more than one could possibly imagine.”

The merchant’s eyes lit up like coins under sunlight. He let out a whoop of excitement, gave his reins a tug, and veered back toward the other traders, clearly spreading the good news.

Subaru, brow furrowed, twisted on the seat to glance back. “Lucy!” he called out, half-incredulous, “Where exactly are you going to get that kind of money?”

Cid didn’t miss a beat. He smiled gently, eyes closed, posture perfect as he laced his fingers together.

“Why, Subaru, from the same place all fortunes are found—through faith, timing… and the misfortune of others.”

Subaru blinked. “That’s not an answer!”

But Cid wasn’t listening anymore.

His smile faded as he suddenly turned his head, posture still elegant, but his gaze sharpened like a blade. He stared out the rear window, unblinking.

Rem stirred as well, her head snapping up. Her fingers clutched the seat edge as a chill slipped down her spine. “Lucien… you feel it too, don’t you?”

Cid gave a slow nod, still staring into the darkening woods behind them.

“What… what is it?” Subaru asked, but was cut off when he noticed something strange. His eyes darted to a shadow beside the caravan.

“Otto,” he said, voice low. “There was a merchant riding right there a moment ago. Where did he go?”

Otto glanced over his shoulder, frowning. “Huh? Subaru, what are you talking about? There’s no one there. Hasn’t been for a while.”

Subaru’s heart skipped a beat. “No, I saw him! Right there!”

But the path was empty. The merchant… was gone.

Otto let out an annoyed sigh, gripping the reins tighter. “Subaru, don’t start messing around right now. We’ve got a long road ahead, and the last thing we need is your imagination running wild.”

Subaru snapped his head around, eyes wide, voice sharp. “I’m not messing around! You’re the one trying to get on my nerves—there was a merchant there! I saw him!”

His voice cracked, laced with something raw and panicked.

He turned in his seat, twisting to peer back into the carriage. “Rem, Lucy—you saw him too, right? The merchant riding beside us?”

Rem blinked slowly, her expression calm but uncertain. “I’m sorry, Subaru-kun… I didn’t notice anyone like that near the caravan. I was focused on the surroundings, and there was nothing—no one—there.”

Subaru froze. Her words hit like a slap. A tightness gripped his chest. Was he imagining things? Was everything catching up to him all at once?

Then, softly but coldly, Cid spoke. He hadn’t moved from his seat, still gazing out the rear window, his posture composed but tense. His voice was calm… too calm.

“Otto,” he said slowly, “is it common, in this region… around this large valley we’re passing… for whales to float through the sky?”

The reins slipped through Otto’s fingers. His hands trembled.

He turned toward Cid, eyes wide and color draining from his face. “Wh… what did you say?”

Cid didn’t blink. “I asked if sky whales are a regular sight in this area.”

Otto’s mouth opened, then closed. His voice came out in a trembling whisper. “No… No, that can’t be… There’s no way…”

Rem stood abruptly, eyes narrowing as she stared toward the mist gathering behind them.

Subaru’s heart thundered in his chest. “Otto. What is it?”

Otto’s whole body was shaking now. “That whale… that thing… It’s not just a beast… It’s a calamity. A monster from nightmare. Once it marks you, there’s no escape. It will hunt you until nothing remains.”

Subaru felt the blood drain from his face. “Wh-What is it called?”

Otto swallowed hard, voice hoarse. “The White Whale.”

A thick silence dropped over the carriage like a guillotine.

Cid leaned back again, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Hmph. I suppose that means we’re rather unlucky, then.”

Subaru whirled around, his voice cracking with disbelief. “Unlucky? That’s all you’ve got to say?! We’re in danger, Lucy! That thing isn’t a joke!”

But even as he shouted, something else caught his attention.

The fog.

It was thicker now. Clinging to the road, swallowing the trees, curling between the wheels like fingers made of smoke.

He turned back to Otto. “Wait. The merchants. Where are they? I don’t see anyone else on the road. Where’d they go?”

Otto’s face went pale, expression tightening with something between fear and denial.

“Subaru… don’t do this. Stop it.”

“What?” Subaru demanded.

“There… there are no merchants.”

The words struck like a hammer.

“We drove this road alone,” Otto whispered, unable to meet Subaru’s eyes. “From the start. There was no one else with us.”

Subaru sat frozen as the carriage creaked forward into the waiting dark.

Then he lunged forward, grabbing Otto by the collar with trembling hands, his voice a thunderclap of desperation.

“Stop lying to me!” he shouted, his eyes wild, panic pouring from every syllable. “There were other merchants! I saw them! I talked to them! Are you all trying to drive me insane?!”

Otto gasped, stunned by the sudden grip. “Subaru—! I swear, I don’t know what you—!”

“Don’t lie!” Subaru’s voice cracked, raw with anguish. “Don’t I imagined it all!”

The carriage suddenly groaned under shifting weight as Cid stood, brushing the creases from his sleeves with unnatural calm. His voice cut through the rising storm like a blade of ice.

“Enough, both of you,” he said, turning slowly toward the fog-choked horizon.

Then, with the weight of inevitability, his gaze narrowed.

“…It’s here.”

A sound unlike any other tore through the night—a shriek, deep and ancient, ripping the very fabric of the sky. The White Whale had come.

The world froze.

Subaru’s breath caught in his throat, eyes wide as the monstrous roar reverberated in his bones. Otto scrambled for the reins, heart racing, hands slippery with sweat.

“We’re gonna die,” Otto choked, panic seizing his voice. “We’re all gonna die! That thing—it doesn’t stop! It devours everything!”

Cid exhaled softly, the wind tugging at his coattails. “Mm. Yes. It’s quite clear… the beast is in for the kill tonight.”

Otto’s face twisted in horror. “D-Don’t look at it! Don’t you dare look it in the eyes!”

Rem stood then, her movement swift and decisive. Her Morningstar gleamed in the moonlight as she drew it from beneath the seat, eyes burning with fierce resolve.

“I’ll stop it,” she declared, stepping toward the rear hatch. “Even if I have to hold it off myself—I’ll make it go away.”

But just as she moved to jump out, a hand blocked her.

Cid.

His fingers spread gently across her path, calm but commanding. His eyes, so often filled with mischief, now burned cold and serious.

“Don’t,” he said simply. “You’ll only provoke it further.”

Rem blinked, startled by his sudden shift. “Then what’s your plan?!” she asked urgently. “We can’t outrun it forever!”

For a moment, silence hung in the air.

Then Cid smirked.

And said nothing.

That smirk was answer enough.

Subaru’s eyes widened as the realization crashed over him like a wave. “No. No, you can’t be serious—Lucy, there are other ways! You don’t have to do this!”

But Cid was already stepping toward the edge of the carriage. He paused, fingers brushing the wooden frame, his back to the others, moonlight casting him in silver.

“I always thought,” he said softly, “that when my time came, I’d be long forgotten. But… for once, I’d like to give something back.”

He looked over his shoulder, that same warm smile—the one Subaru had come to know—curving his lips.

“…For the kindness you all showed me, this is my small repayment.”

“Wait—no!” Rem cried out, reaching for him.

“Lucy!” Subaru shouted, stepping forward.

Before either Rem or Subaru could reach him, Cid pulled something from within his coat—a small, pitch-dark pack tied with a golden string—and tossed it to Subaru.

Subaru caught it on instinct. The moment it touched his fingers, a chill ran up his spine. The weight was minimal, but the presence was immense. It radiated something foul and familiar.

Rem’s eyes widened, her breath catching. “That smell… It reeks of the Witch.”

Subaru’s hands trembled as he turned the pack over. It looked like an ornate deck—but the blackened wood and leather shimmered faintly with cursed energy.

“I can’t use that,” Cid said, calmly. “But you—” He met Subaru’s stunned gaze, his voice firm. “You’re more than capable of finding a way to use it. You always do.”

Subaru stared at the pack, horror and confusion storming across his face. “No. No, don’t do this. Don’t start handing things out like it’s goodbye!”

But Cid raised a hand to silence him, his voice warm, gentle, and final.

“It was a pleasure meeting you.”

And with that, he leapt from the caravan.

Into the mist.

Into the jaws of a nightmare.

The mist swallowed the road as Cid disappeared into it, and then—nothing. No sound. No roar. No charge of hooves or monstrous cry. The air was dead silent, save for the creaking wheels and the clatter of Otto’s nervous hands tugging at the reins.

The White Whale… had vanished.

Like a phantom slipping back into the abyss.

Subaru sat there, eyes wide, his body frozen, mouth slightly open—yet no words came out. Not a sound. Not a breath.

Cid was gone.

Rem slowly turned her gaze away from the fog, her expression twisted with quiet sorrow. Her voice was gentle, but heavy. “Subaru-kun… I know it hurts. But Lucien did what he believed was right. We can’t—mustn’t—let his sacrifice be in vain.”

Subaru didn’t respond. His hands were clenched tight on his knees, trembling. Then slowly, he tilted his head downward, shadows veiling his eyes.

“Of course he did what was right,” he muttered, the words brittle and low. “Because that’s what someone like him would do. Because Lucien… was strong. He could do incredible things.”

He let out a bitter laugh, hollow and sharp. “He was clever, graceful, calm under pressure. A perfect butler and a better friend. He always knew what to say—how to be. He could leap into death like it meant nothing, because he… he mattered.”

His lips curled upward, but it wasn’t a smile—it was jagged, broken. “Not like me. I just sit here, crying, shouting, making promises I can’t keep. Failing over and over again. Screwing everything up again and again and again…”

“Subaru—” Rem began, but her voice cracked.

Then Otto interrupted, harshly. “This isn’t the time for speeches or self-pity!”

Subaru jerked his head up, stunned. Otto’s jaw was tight, his eyes focused on the road ahead, panic flickering just beneath the surface.

“We need to move forward, not drown in sorrow. Lucien made a choice—and we should respect it by surviving.”

Subaru stared at him. Then, suddenly, something snapped.

“You remember him,” Subaru said, voice quiet but shaking. “You remember Lucien.”

Otto blinked. “What?”

“How come you remember him?” Subaru demanded, rising to his knees. “How?! Everyone else the Whale devoured was erased—no one remembered them! But you—you remember Lucien!”

“I—” Otto opened his mouth, confusion and fear swirling in his eyes.

But before he could say anything, a chill ripped through the air.

A massive eye peered through the mist just behind Subaru. Pale, monstrous, inhuman—unblinking.

Otto screamed.

“Subaru, move!”

Subaru spun around—his blood iced in place.

“No…” he whispered, heart racing, mouth dry. “No, no, no—it’s still here? That means—Lucien—he…”

Rem stood, grabbing her Morningstar. “I’m going to stop it!” she cried, lunging toward the rear hatch.

But Subaru caught her by the wrist. “No! Don’t!”

Rem’s eyes widened. “Subaru?!”

His voice trembled as the truth clawed its way from his throat. “I—I think… the Whale’s following me.”

The words burned.

“I remembered. Witchbeasts… they’re drawn to me. Always have been. Like I’m marked or cursed. And the Whale… it hasn’t stopped… because I’m still here.”

Otto froze in place.

“…Then you’ll forgive me,” he said suddenly, voice hollow.

Subaru turned. “What?”

Otto looked pale—like a man who had already made peace with a terrible decision. “I said… I hope you’ll forgive me. Someone has to survive.”

Subaru didn’t understand.

And then Otto pushed him.

The world tilted—Subaru's body flung sideways through the carriage, out into the open air.

“SUBARU!!” Rem screamed, lunging after him.

Her eyes locked with Otto’s, blazing with betrayal.

And then she jumped.

Into the fog.

Into the dark.

To save him.

Subaru hit the ground with a harsh thud, tumbling through the dirt and gravel. Pain lanced through his shoulder, but before he could cry out, arms wrapped around him mid-roll. He gasped as Rem’s body shielded him, cradling him against her chest as they came to a sliding halt. Dust billowed around them.

“Subaru-kun!” Rem’s voice trembled with urgency. She leaned over him, brushing hair from his eyes. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?!”

Subaru blinked rapidly, the world spinning. “I-I’m fine… I think I’m fine,” he stammered, struggling to push himself upright. “Rem, I—”

Then it came again.

That sound.

The shriek of the White Whale.

The night shattered under the monstrous roar. Trees bent. The wind howled. The fog churned like a living thing.

Rem stood, pulling Subaru up with her. Her eyes sharpened, her hand glowing with icy blue mana.

“El Huma,” she whispered, and her horn burst forth in a blaze of light—glowing, ethereal, radiant.

In an instant, her hand shot forward.

A storm of ice spears erupted from her palm, glistening missiles that tore through the air with deadly precision. They streaked into the mist, striking the enormous shadow circling above. The White Whale roared, twisting in the air as the ice struck its flank. It wasn’t enough to kill—but it made the beast flinch.

Subaru coughed, his heart pounding. He grabbed Rem’s arm. “The fog… it’s too thick! We need to get out of here—anything! A path, a cliff, anything—!”

But he saw nothing.

Only the Whale circling, closer now, lower.

And then—

Footsteps.

Soft, deliberate.

Crunching through gravel and mist.

Subaru froze.

Rem turned sharply, her Morningstar gleaming, poised for battle.

The fog parted slowly, and a figure emerged—shrouded in a flowing black cloak, his hood drawn low. His presence was like a wound in the world itself. His steps were slow. Purposeful. Heavy with unseen power.

He passed them without a word, walking toward the Whale.

Subaru’s blood turned to ice. “N-No way…” he gasped, stumbling backward, falling to the ground. “It can’t be… him…”

Rem’s breath hitched. “You—!” she swung her Morningstar, a cry on her lips.

CLANG.

The weapon didn’t connect.

The cloaked man—Shadow—had caught it with one hand, effortlessly. Fingers wrapped around the spiked head like it was nothing more than a pebble.

He turned his head, just enough for a sliver of pale skin and a smirk to show from beneath the hood. His voice was deep, laced with cold arrogance.

“I suggest you direct your rage elsewhere.”

Subaru swallowed hard.

Rem growled, wrenching her weapon free. “You… you’re an Archbishop. You’re no better than that monster up there!”

The air shifted.

Suddenly, it was as though the world couldn’t breathe.

A suffocating aura erupted from Shadow, pressing down on them like the weight of a collapsing mountain. Even the mist recoiled.

His voice rumbled, prideful and calm.

“Tell me, girl… can a single person stand alone against a natural disaster? Against the sky itself when it decides to fall?”

Rem didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Shadow smirked.

“I thought not.”

The fog trembled as the White Whale shrieked again and dove.

Massive.

Raging.

Its mouth opened wide, death itself descending.

A sword materialized.

Wrought of darkness, flickering with violet veins of raw power. It looked like a crack in the world given form.

The moment the Whale lunged—

Shadow stepped forward.

One swing.

One stroke.

The blade screamed through the air, and the world itself seemed to split.

The ground cracked. The fog parted. The sky trembled.

And the White Whale—

was cut in two.

A clean, impossibly perfect slice tore through its body. The beast’s scream died in an instant. Its corpse fell from the sky like severed wings of a fallen god.

Subaru and Rem stared, breathless, speechless.

The fog began to thin.

The silence returned.

Shadow stood in the middle of the cracked road, sword still humming faintly in his grip.

Subaru's lips parted. A word teetered on the edge of his tongue, but his voice caught in his throat.

He stared at the torn remains of the White Whale, its carcass cleaved in perfect symmetry, still falling apart as if reality itself were slow to accept what had just happened.

“…He…” Subaru’s voice cracked. “He killed it.”

Rem blinked rapidly, her grip on her Morningstar faltering. “That… that was a legend. No one—not even the previous Sword Saint—could stop the White Whale. But he… in a single strike—”

Shadow stood motionless. The air buzzed faintly with the power radiating off the void-forged blade in his hand. He didn’t look at them. His eyes, hidden beneath his hood, gazed skyward.

Subaru followed his gaze—

And his breath stopped.

The sky was filled with them.

Dozens.

No—hundreds.

White Whales drifted through the fog-veiled night like monstrous ghosts, their massive forms silhouetted against the stars. The clouds parted slightly, revealing their pale, gliding bellies. Silent. Watching.

“No…” Rem whispered, her voice a breathless gasp of horror. “That wasn’t the White Whale… It was just one of many.”

Subaru stumbled backward, heart hammering against his ribs. “We have to go,” he said, grabbing Rem’s wrist. “Rem—we need to get out of here. Now!”

But Shadow didn’t flinch. His voice was smooth, arrogant, almost delighted.

“So they’ve all come to avenge their copy. How quaint. How utterly… predictable.”

He stepped forward, cloak billowing with every movement like it was woven from shadow itself. His sword pulsed once—violet light flaring through the cracks in its blade like it drank the world’s breath.

Then he spoke.

Low.

Deep.

Deadly.

“Let them come.”

Without warning, he rose into the sky—lifting without wings, without magic circles, simply ascending, as if gravity dared not touch him.

The whales turned toward him, dozens shifting in unison, like birds of prey sensing a rival.

Shadow hovered at the epicenter of the storm, surrounded by monstrous forms blotting out the stars.

And then—

He laughed.

A cold, sharp laugh, filled with scorn and supremacy.

“You call yourselves legends. Beasts feared across continents. But to me…” He raised his head, lips curling into a sneer. “…you’re nothing but clouds waiting to be parted.”

Below, Subaru and Rem stood paralyzed by awe and terror.

Suddenly, the blade in Shadow’s hand flared—brighter now. Rhythmic. Pulsing like a living heart.

Rem’s eyes widened in horror.

“No… that technique—” she gasped. “I read about it once… in a volume from Aihiya. He… he’s going to use that move. The one that almost erased Aihiya completely!”

She turned to Subaru, seizing his hand. “We have to run! Subaru-kun—we can’t stay here!”

Subaru, overwhelmed, nodded frantically. “Y-Yeah! Let’s go—run!”

As they turned and sprinted into the fog, Shadow raised his blade high above his head.

His cloak fluttered like torn wings.

The whales began to dive.

His voice echoed through the heavens.

“I…”

The blade arched downward in a slow, deliberate motion. Violet arcs of power crackled in the air.

“…AM.”

The world held its breath.

Then—

He moved.

A single, sweeping stroke carved through the sky, and with it, the word resounded like the toll of a divine bell.

“ATOMIC.”

BOOOOOOM.

A cataclysmic detonation ripped through the sky, devouring clouds, whales, and light itself. The heavens went white. The ground shook as if the world cracked at its core. Sound vanished in the wake of overwhelming force.

And for one endless moment—

All was consumed.

All was Shadow.

The light—brighter than day—receded like the retreating tide of a divine wrath. The clouds above had been completely disintegrated, revealing a sky so clear it felt wrong. A vast, blackened crater now yawned before Subaru and Rem, so wide and deep that the earth seemed to have been carved open by a god. Nothing remained of the forest.

And the Flugel Tree… It was gone. Erased. Not shattered. Not broken. Just… gone.

Subaru stood frozen. The heat, the noise, the pressure of annihilation had passed, but his body still shook. He looked down slowly—
At his hands.
At his body.
Still intact.

He gasped.
“I… I’m not… dead?” he whispered, disbelief choking his voice. “I should be… I should be dead…”

Beside him, Rem stared around wide-eyed, skin pale, lips trembling. Her horn had dimmed, but her senses were still sharp—sharper than most. She swallowed hard and spoke slowly, voice full of awe and disbelief.
“Subaru-kun… He protected us. A barrier. I can feel it—just before the explosion… he cast an incredibly powerful barrier magic around us.”

Subaru’s head whipped toward her.
“What…? But why? Why would he do that?”

And then—
A whisper of footsteps upon scorched stone. A breeze of power like gravity walking.

Shadow descended.

He landed softly, cloak fluttering with supernatural grace, his form untouched by the apocalyptic force he had unleashed. Dust scattered beneath his boots, his expression hidden, but his presence domineering. His void-born sword shimmered faintly at his side, pulsing with residual echoes of Atomic.

He looked at Subaru and said, with cold amusement in his voice:
“You’re not my target.”

His words were simple. Final.

Subaru stared, mouth agape, chest heaving with confusion and fear.
Rem stepped forward, her expression hard. Disdain dripped from her voice.
“Even if you saved us… we can’t feel grateful. Not to you. You’re a monster. Just like the one you destroyed.”

Shadow tilted his head, as if humoring the insult. But before he could reply—

A voice.

Soft. Feminine. Laced with unsettling curiosity.

“My, my… I came here seeking one, but to find two fascinating souls in the same place? How delightful.”

Subaru and Rem turned sharply. Instinct screamed. Subaru stepped back, placing himself between the voice and Rem.

From the thinning mist walked a figure.

Small.

Delicate.

Yet more terrifying than the Whale.

Her platinum hair flowed down her slender shoulders, trailing just past her knees. She moved with weightless grace, barefoot on scorched earth. Her skin was pale and flawless, her eyes slit-pupiled and deep, bottomless blue—like the sea before a storm. Framed by long lashes, those eyes held no mercy, no kindness. Only impossible beauty and something far darker.

She wore only a single piece of white cloth—a thin fabric, draped like a poncho, ethereal and pristine despite the devastation around her.

Subaru trembled.
He could barely speak.
“W-What… are you…?”

“Stay away from her!” Rem barked, eyes wide with instinctual fear.

The girl giggled softly, her voice like glass tinkling in a cold breeze.
“Fate is such an uncontrollable, mysterious thing, isn’t it?” Her gaze slid to Shadow with mild interest, her lips curling in amusement.
“Don’t you think so, too… ‘Shadow’?”

Shadow gave a slow, dangerous grin. His cloak stirred, caught in a wind that wasn’t there. His blade buzzed faintly with restrained violence.
“I figured you’d show yourself sooner or later.” he said, his voice low, arrogant, and sharp as a blade drawn beneath the moonlight.

The girl stepped forward, bare feet brushing against scorched earth like whispers on parchment. Her silver-white hair drifted behind her like mist, untouched by wind. Subaru’s breath caught in his throat, not from awe—but from dread.

The truth was undeniable.

She was Pandora, The Witch of Vainglory.

Subaru’s heart thundered in his chest.

He opened his mouth—but Rem spoke first.

“Subaru-kun… I don’t know why, but…” Her voice was trembling. “That woman… she’s worse. Even worse than him.”

She glanced at Shadow.

Even he turned to regard her seriously.

Pandora giggled again, as if she’d heard Rem's thought.

Then, without warning—she was gone.

No footsteps.

No movement.

Just—gone from one place, and there the next.

Right in front of Rem.

Before Rem could react, Pandora tilted her head and gently lifted Rem’s chin with a delicate finger. Her touch didn’t seem to weigh anything at all.

“My, what a precious soul,” she whispered, almost in admiration. “So full of fire. So ready to burn. Such a lovely vessel for tragedy…”

Rem’s body froze.

Subaru lunged forward. “Stop—!”

But before he could reach her—

Pandora’s voice slipped like silk through the air.

“Be gone.”

Rem vanished.

Not teleported.

Not struck.

Erased.

Like she had never been there at all.

The sound of Subaru’s breath caught in his throat.

His steps faltered. His knees buckled. He fell to the ground, staring at the spot where Rem had stood—warm a second ago. Now cold. Empty.

“…R…Rem?”

He looked up, trembling.

“W-What… what did you do to her?” he asked, voice cracked, his throat raw with fear.

Pandora didn’t look at him. She didn’t even acknowledge the question.

Her smile deepened with serene delight as she turned her gaze from Shadow to Subaru and back again, her tone blissfully detached from the horror she'd just caused.

“To find the anomaly and the marked soul together… what a rare and beautiful fortune. I’m truly blessed to stand before you both.”

Her voice sounded almost reverent, like she were speaking to deities.

Shadow scoffed. “You didn’t come here just for a chat.” he said coolly, lifting his blade once more, its dark light pulsing in warning.

Pandora’s smile didn’t falter.

But she never got the chance to reply.

Because in the space between one blink and the next—

Shadow moved.

No flash. No sound.

Just motion.

And suddenly her head hit the ground.

Pandora’s body still stood upright for a breathless second—then gently collapsed to its knees, and followed its severed head to the dust.

Her platinum hair spilled like silver threads across the scorched road. Her eyes, lifeless and wide, stared up at the sky.

Subaru’s mind cracked.

He clutched his head, eyes wild. “What…? That’s not… what’s happening—why—”

But there was no time to process.

Because a breath tickled the air behind Shadow.

“Truly…” came her voice again.

Her voice.

Subaru turned, face pale with disbelief.

Pandora stood there, untouched, beautiful, serene—whole.

“…you are an anomaly through and through.”

Her head was no longer on the ground. Her body hadn’t risen. She had never fallen.

She had never been struck.

Yet Subaru had seen it.

Had felt it.

Shadow didn’t turn. He didn’t have to.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, as though acknowledging her persistence was vaguely irritating.

And Pandora—smiled.

Not in challenge.

But in joy.

Like everything was going exactly as she wanted.

Shadow’s fingers curled tighter around the hilt of his void-born blade, its dark light pulsing like a heartbeat against the silence that followed. His voice dropped—low, razor-sharp, laced with venom and wrath.

“…Perhaps,” he said, eyes locked on Pandora, “I treated you too lightly.”

A silence fell. Then—

Power surged.

The air fractured.

A tidal wave of force erupted from Shadow’s body, black and violet energies spiraling outward like a star going nova. The world howled. The very sky seemed to retreat, clouds tearing apart as if fleeing his fury.

Subaru had no time to scream.

The shockwave hit him like a mountain falling from the heavens. His body launched backward, spiraling through the air like a broken doll. Trees splintered. The ground buckled. He crashed down hard—skidding across scorched earth, his breath ripped from his lungs.

“Ngh—Guhhh!”

He tried to rise. His arms shook. Blood dripped from his lips. Shadow's pressure crushed the world like a god's hand squeezing a marble.

And then—

A whisper of silk behind him.

“Subaru Natsuki…”

Subaru’s blood ran cold.

Pandora.

She stood behind him again. So close. Too close.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, her voice gentle, mournful—yet heavy with a weight that bent reality. “Not yet.”

Subaru’s mouth opened. His chest heaved.

“W-What… do you mean?” he choked out, voice barely above a breath. “What are you… saying?”

Her eyes met his. Those bottomless blue voids that saw far too much.

“You are early,” she whispered. “And you’ve wandered into a tale with a dead end.”

Subaru’s mind reeled. His thoughts couldn’t keep up. The world felt unreal. Shadow's footsteps echoed, slow and steady, growing louder as he approached.

Pandora knelt before Subaru like a mother to a sleeping child.

“You mustn’t meet me again… not until the threads align. You must avoid me, Subaru Natsuki.”

Her hand caressed his cheek, light as a breath. Cold. Comforting. Terrifying.

“Do not fail me,” she said, voice like a lullaby sung in a dead language.

Subaru’s heart pounded in his ears. His breath caught. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

Shadow was coming.

“Rest,” Pandora whispered.

And Subaru’s eyes—

Closed.

Instantly.

No breath. No resistance. Just—silence.

His body went still.
His soul left quietly.

The world forgot to breathe.

Notes:

This marked the conclusion of Subaru's last failed loop—whether it was easier or harsher than the others remains uncertain.

Next chapter, we return to the main story as Cid prepares to confront some of the Archbishops.

Stay tuned.

Chapter 23: The Archbishop That Defied Them All

The sun was high above the hills, casting shadows over the outskirts of the Royal Capital. A gentle breeze rustled the grass along the empty trail as a lone figure stepped onto the path—his butler uniform pristine, silver embroidery catching the dying light like a whisper of steel.

Cid paused.

His crimson eyes rose to the sky, painted in shades of blue. He stood there, motionless for a beat, before a faint, knowing smile curled on his lips.

"...This looks like the place," he murmured, voice low and rich with calm certainty. "Where I’ll be meeting the bad guys’ group."

He turned his gaze to the treeline ahead—a narrow, twisting trail snaking into the forest. It was cloaked in shadows, gnarled trees arching overhead like jagged ribs.

Cid smirked.

“That definitely looks like a shady spot.”

Without hesitation, he stepped into the darkness. His footsteps were silent against the forest floor, unhurried, almost lazy. He walked with the poise of someone attending afternoon tea, not marching into danger. Birds had long since gone quiet. The only sound now was the distant rustling—subtle, unnatural.

He stopped.

Cid’s eyes sharpened ever so slightly, the smirk never leaving his face. All around him, the air shifted.

There was movement. Dozens of them. Silent. Surrounding.

He closed his eyes.

"Incoming from all sides," he said, tone elegant, laced with theatrical flair. "Such a dramatic entrance is only fitting for members of the Witch’s Cult."

As if summoned by the words, dark-robed figures emerged from the underbrush. Faces obscured beneath triangular hoods, they advanced like shadows given form, closing the distance without a sound—save for the faint rustle of their garbs.

One stepped forward. His voice was hoarse and sharp, cutting through the silence.

“Where… is the Archbishop of Pride?”

Cid opened his eyes, gleaming red in the gloom.

He grinned.

“My, how disappointing,” he said, feigning a sigh. “And here I thought I was the one you were looking for.”

His hand slowly rose to adjust his cufflink—casual, precise, and completely unbothered.

The cultists didn’t respond at first. The forest held its breath, thick with the tension of unseen eyes and whispered madness. Then, the lead figure stepped forward—a taller man draped in dark robes, his hood slightly tilted to reveal a jaw tight with irritation.

“You,” he spat, voice like gravel over rusted steel. “We know you serve the Archbishop of Pride.”

Cid gave a small, polite bow, the kind one might offer at a royal banquet. “Guilty as charged.”

“But we have no interest in you,” the cultist growled. “We came to meet Shadow.”

At that, Cid blinked, his grin returning like a blade slipping free of its sheath.

“Oh?” he mused. “Then I suppose your taste in targets is better than I expected.”

He casually stepped to the side, brushing a leaf off his coat sleeve. “Though I must admit, showing up uninvited like this… rather rude, wouldn’t you say?”

“Enough.”

Another cultist snarled and, without waiting for a signal, surged forward. A flash of silver glinted as he drew a twisted sword, eyes gleaming with zealotry. His feet barely made a sound against the mossy floor, closing the gap in an instant—

Cid didn’t move.

The blade arced down—

CLANG.

A hand—dark as pitch, coalescing from the air like liquid shadow—caught the sword mid-swing. No force. No effort.

Just an effortless stop.

The blade trembled in that grip, the wielder frozen in place.

Cid looked up, eyes calm.

Shadow was standing between them radiated a cold, suffocating pressure. His jet-black coat rippled unnaturally, swallowing the light. His eyes—cold violet embers—burned with disdain as he stared down the cultist.

“Is that all?” Shadow’s voice was velvet over broken glass. Mocking. Arrogant.

He crushed the blade with a slow, deliberate squeeze. Steel groaned and splintered into shards that rained to the ground like broken illusions.

The cultist stammered, tried to step back—

Shadow moved.

One blur. One breath.

And the cultist’s body hit the ground, lifeless.

The rest didn’t dare move.

Shadow now stood tall, framed by the twisted trees and bleeding twilight. His presence filled the forest like a black sun, oppressive and inescapable.

“You insects dare summon me?” he asked, voice a chilling growl. “You speak my name like you’re worthy of my attention.”

Phew! Good thing I pulled a sneaky swap—left a slime clone of Lucien as my stand-in. Now I can ghost as Shadow.

Silence.

Even the wind seemed to flee.

“Listen closely,” Shadow continued, eyes sweeping across the trembling figures. “You came looking for a god in the shadows. Congratulations.”

He raised a single hand—gloved, pristine.

“You’ve found him.”

The cultists froze, fear etched into their bones. Some gripped their weapons tighter. Others looked ready to run.

Still, Shadow didn’t spare them another glance. Instead, his gaze remained fixed ahead, past them, past the trees. Unbothered. Uninterested.

Then, in a cold, low voice, he spoke to Cid—without turning.

“Leave this to me.”

Cid, eyes gleaming with hidden delight, gave a perfect butler’s bow.

“As you wish."

And in the blink of an eye, he melted into the darkness—gone without a sound.

Now alone, surrounded, Shadow smiled.

Not a kind smile.

Not a sane one.

“Let’s begin,” he whispered.

LOL, Shadow as Archbishop totally outranks these basic NPCs.

And the forest screamed.

One cultist, braver—or perhaps more desperate—than the rest, took a trembling step forward. His head bowed low, knees buckling slightly under the weight of Shadow’s presence. When he spoke, it was with reverence and dread entwined like vines.

“L-Lord… perhaps you already… know why we came…” he whispered, voice a shaky rasp.

Shadow tilted his head, just barely.

A pause.

Then—

SCHLK.

The cultist’s body jolted. A dark spike of magic erupted from his chest, formed from nothing—silent and swift. His eyes widened for a heartbeat before the light left them, and he crumpled to the ground like a discarded puppet.

Shadow didn’t blink.

He barely looked.

“You talk too much,” he murmured, as if commenting on the weather.

That was the signal.

The massacre began.

According to Google Reviews, Cultists are a 1-star crowd, so deleting them is basically a public service.

Another cultist charged from behind—only to be bisected in a blink, his body falling in two clean halves, the blood already evaporating into the shadows before it hit the ground.

“Too slow.”

A woman screamed, flinging cursed daggers, her chants feverish and wild.

Shadow caught the blades mid-air without even turning his head. They dissolved in his palm like dust. He looked at her. She burst into black flames, no sound but the sizzling of flesh.

“Too noisy.”

One tried to flee.

A spear of darkness launched from the treetops, impaling him through the spine and pinning him to a tree like a grotesque ornament.

“Too cowardly.”

Another fell while begging—on hands and knees, face pressed to the soil.

Shadow stepped over him.

“Too pathetic.”

One after another, they died. Some with a gesture. Others with a glance. A few, he killed with his bare hands—each strike cold, efficient, and utterly without remorse.

Within moments, only one remained.

He stood frozen in the middle of the clearing, eyes wide, blade clattering to the ground. His legs gave way, and he collapsed onto his knees, shaking so violently it looked like he was being rattled by invisible chains.

Shadow walked toward him. Slowly. Deliberately. His footsteps whispered across the forest floor, like the toll of a funeral bell.

The cultist whimpered and held up a trembling hand.

“P-Please! I—I’ll talk!”

Shadow stopped just short, his gaze a frozen abyss.

“Where are the other Archbishops?”

These guys are straight-up trash, smh. If the Big Bad squad is this weak too, we're in for a snoozefest.

The man choked on his breath, hastily reaching into his robe and fumbling out a worn envelope—cracked with age, its wax seal half broken. He offered it like a sacred relic.

Shadow took it without a word.

He stared at it for a long moment.

Then, casually, he reached out and placed a single finger against the cultist’s forehead.

The man gasped.

His body shrivelled in an instant, drained of colour, of strength—until he collapsed into dust, scattered by the wind.

Shadow exhaled slowly, as though brushing off a bothersome speck from his coat.

“…Too obedient,” he said coldly. “You should’ve resisted. It would’ve been more entertaining.”

He slipped the envelope into his coat and turned away, the corpses behind him already vanishing into the creeping shadows. The forest swallowed the last light.

Somewhere else...
Somewhere, far from the bloody whispers of the forest, a silhouette stood atop a rocky ridge near the border of the Vollachia Empire. The wind howled like a dying beast, rustling his long black coat, which refused to behave like anything made of fabric.

Shadow narrowed his eyes, holding the ancient envelope in his gloved hand like it was a sacred artefact. He tilted it. Squinted at the fading seal. Turned it upside down.

“…Nope,” he muttered after a long pause. “Still have no idea where this thing is telling me to go.”

He gave it a small shake, like maybe a map would fall out. It didn’t.

Shadow sighed deeply, the kind of sigh only a hyper-competent edgelord who had just wiped out a forest full of cultists could manage.

A blink later—he was somewhere else.

The Kararagi Dunes.

The wind here wasn’t so much howling as it was enthusiastically sanding off his skin. The sun glared overhead with the intensity of someone who’d taken personal offence at his fashion choices.

Shadow stood atop a sandy hill, coat fluttering like it had an attitude. Around him, endless dunes rolled like waves of gold. A broken wagon wheel stuck half-buried in the sand nearby, giving the whole place a very “civilization fell here three centuries ago” vibe.

He folded his arms.

“…This could be a great setting for a post-apocalyptic story,” he admitted, scanning the desert. “Bandits. Sandworms. A lone warrior protecting a cybernetic cactus.”

He nodded sagely.

“Too bad it’s still not where I’m supposed to be.”

A snap of darkness—he vanished.

Back in the Royal Capital.

Shadow appeared on a quiet rooftop while making sure his presence was hidden all this time. Children laughed in the distance. Someone was yelling about cabbages. A cat stared at him like it wanted to fight.

Shadow frowned.

“…No way they’d hold a secret meeting inside the capital,” he muttered. “That would be like hiding your criminal syndicate inside a fast food."

Then—something caught his eye.

In a quiet alley below, two familiar figures: a sleepy blue-haired maid who was smiling wholeheartedly and a spiky-haired boy in a tracksuit who looked like he’d just finished crying into an onion.

Shadow blinked.

“…I’m not even gonna ask.”

He took a long, long look at the envelope.

Then he looked at the sky.

Shadow nodded solemnly.

“This is the last try,” he said, flicking the envelope away into the wind. “If I end up in a haunted potato farm or a city made entirely of screaming goats again—I’m done. Secret meetings can secret themselves.”

And with one final swoosh of darkness—he was gone.

Far away from there...
The old cathedral stank of blood and rot.

Its once-sacred walls, now blackened with age and desecration, echoed with the dying murmurs of the unfortunate. Bodies were strewn like broken marionettes across shattered pews and cracked tiles. Limbs were twisted unnaturally, blood painted in wide arcs as if a madman had danced with a brush dipped in entrails. The crimson stains climbed the altar and dripped from the stone statues like tears.

At the centre of the carnage, beneath the pale light filtering through a shattered stained-glass window, sat two monsters.

One lounged casually on a blood-soaked bench, prodding at a corpse with a long, clawed finger. His emerald eyes—split with feral, yellow slits—gleamed with a sick curiosity. His grin was wide, too wide, all fangs and delight. The green cheongsam he wore hung in tatters, barely covering his wiry frame, soaked in the blood of the man he now poked, over and over, like testing meat for ripeness.

“Nehehe… squishy here, crunchy there. Heheh… wonder how he tasted in life,” Roy Alphard murmured, licking his lips slowly as he tilted his head. “But I didn’t get to eat him… Tsk tsk, what a waste. Why am I even here? No feast, no fun, no flavour. Just rotting flesh and a sour mood. Boooring.”

Across the ruined aisle, the sound of bone crunching under heel echoed.

A woman wrapped in grimy white bandages strolled atop the dead as if they were mere tiles beneath her boots. Her cloak of royal purple dragged across the gore, trailing the blood like a veil of mourning. Her long silver hair spilt out of the torn seams of her wrappings, glimmering faintly in the dying light. Her mouth—twisted in a near-constant smile of mania—was the only clearly visible part of her face, save for one pale eye, wide and trembling with passion.

Sirius Romanée-Conti let out a small hum, stepping deliberately on a crushed ribcage until it collapsed with a wet snap. Her foot lingered on the bone as she tilted her head back, inhaling deeply.

“Ahhh… the scent of agony… the melody of despair still clinging to the air…” she cooed, voice a breathy tremble between reverence and madness. “Beloved… I came because you called me, didn’t you…? Even across the border, across mountains of screaming souls, I heard you. Your yearning. Your sorrow!”

She twirled once, her blood-soaked cloak whipping like a dying bird’s wing. Then her single visible eye narrowed, snapping toward Roy like a hound catching scent.

“But he called me,” she snarled, the sweetness in her tone rotting away. “Not to see you, you gluttonous worm.”

Roy rolled his eyes, scooping a chunk of flesh from the dead man’s side with a claw. He inspected it lazily, sniffed, and tossed it over his shoulder, where it slapped wetly against a pillar.

“Oh please, Bandage-bimbo,” he hissed, voice laced with venom and boredom. “Your ‘beloved’ probably sent you here to get you out of the way. You’re loud, messy, and you reek of obsession. I could smell your madness from the next province.”

Sirius’s body jerked.

She didn’t walk toward him—she shambled, twitched, convulsed with barely restrained fury. Each step crushed another corpse beneath her feet. Her voice trembled with rage, her hands trembling beneath her cloak like she wanted to rip out her own skin.

“He loves me… He needs me!” she spat, foaming slightly at the corners of her mouth. “What do you have, Gluttony? Hunger? Always hunger. You consume because you’re empty. Hollow. Nothing inside but a void.”

Roy chuckled.

It started low—like a rumble in his throat—and grew into a full laugh, high-pitched and cruel. He leaned back against the bench, draping one leg over the other with casual mockery, his bloodstained claw tapping against his chin.

"I didn’t come here for you. I didn’t come here for him, either. You think I give a damn what Sloth wants?” His voice darkened, laced with an eerie purr. “I came because Mama told me to.”

He leaned forward, his grin now a hungry crescent of white fangs and sick delight.

“And when Mama says ‘go clean up the trash,’ I go. Simple, isn’t it?”

The cathedral grew quiet.

Sirius didn’t respond. She trembled, chest heaving beneath her cloak, eye bloodshot with fury, but she said nothing.

Then—

CLAP.

One slow, echoing clap rang out from the far end of the cathedral.

Another.

Then another.

Three deliberate claps bounced off the stone walls like the toll of a funeral bell.

Both Roy and Sirius turned.

A figure stood in the ruined archway, draped in priestly vestments now soaked through with blood. His eyes were wide—too wide—and his limbs jerked with unnatural rhythm, as if pulled by unseen strings. His lips twitched upward into a grotesque smile, and his head lolled unnaturally to one side.

“Ahhh… Splendid, splendid, splendid, splendid!” the man rasped, voice broken and reverent. “Such passion! Such devotion!”

Sirius inhaled sharply.

Roy narrowed his eyes.

The priest stumbled forward, spine bending at odd angles, fingers twitching in a grotesque parody of prayer. His mouth opened again, and this time, the voice that spilt out was not his own.

It was cracked, euphoric, and weeping with twisted joy.

“How delightful! Such love, such rage, such BEAUTY! Ohhh, my fingers tremble! My heart—AH! My heart writhes with the ecstasy of this reunion!”

The priest’s face twitched—torn between agony and ecstasy—as Petelgeuse’s voice poured from his throat like bile through a broken vessel.

“I—I had to come! I simply had to!” the body crooned, staggering closer, blood dripping from the eyes like tears. “Faithful Gluttony and Wrath… How wonderful it is to see you both again! How very, very, very DILIGENT!”

The light dimmed around them.

The corpses shuddered.

Petelgeuse was here.

Sirius let out a shuddering gasp, her bandaged hands clutching at her chest as if her heart might burst. Her single visible eye dilated, trembling with euphoria, her smile stretching wider—too wide, splitting the grimy wrappings around her mouth.

"Ahhh…! Petelgeuse-sama!" she moaned, voice quivering with feverish adoration. "Your presence—your voice! It sings through my veins like divine fire! To hear you, to feel you…! Every word is a sacrament, every breath a prayer!" She dropped to her knees, fingers digging into the gore-slick tiles, her body trembling as if in worship. "Praise you, praise you, praise you—!"

Roy rolled his emerald eyes, his clawed fingers drumming impatiently against the blood-soaked bench while fighting the urge not to fall victim of Sirius’s Authority. "Ugh," he muttered. Then, louder, his voice dripping with disdain: "Oi, Sloth. As thrilling as this little reunion is—why the hell are we here? If you wanted a family reunion, you could’ve at least brought snacks. This is boring."

The priest’s head snapped toward Roy, his neck cracking audibly. His mouth stretched into a grotesque grin, blood bubbling between his teeth as Petelgeuse’s laughter gurgled out.

"Boring? BORING?! Ahahaha! Oh, Gluttony, ever the impatient ones!" The priest’s body spasmed, then lurched toward the shattered altar, his movements jerky, puppet-like. He dragged his fingers along the bloodstained stone, smearing crimson in erratic arcs before spinning to face them, arms spread wide.

"Tonight… TONIGHT, my beloved devotees, we gather for a most sacred purpose!" His voice crescendoed into a shriek, his body trembling with manic fervour. "A new soul has joined our ranks! A new faithful! Or… perhaps…" His grin twisted, eyes bulging. "An impostor lurks among us! A false believer! A worm in the garden of our devotion!"

Sirius let out a rapturous cry, pressing her forehead to the ground. "Yes! YES! We shall purge the unfaithful! Tear them limb from limb until their screams plead for your mercy!" Her voice broke into hysterical giggles, her fingers clawing at her own bandages. "Lord Petelgeuse, your wisdom is boundless! Your will is divine!"

Roy groaned, rubbing his temples as her Authority was slightly taking over him. "Oh, for fuck’s sake—shut up, you rabid wraith."

He turned his feral gaze back to the priest, his lips curling in irritation. "Look, I get it. You’re talking about Shadow. The guy who supposedly killed the whole royal family and fought the Sword Saint. Fine. But why the meeting?" He leaned forward, eyes glinting with predatory impatience. "If you wanna know if he’s the real deal, just send me. I’ll rip him open and taste his soul. Simple."

The air shifted.

Thick, heavy—like the world itself had taken a breath and was holding it. The laughter died in Sirius’s throat. Roy's claw froze mid-tap. Even the possessed priest staggered, his head snapping up like a hound catching scent.

Then—

BOOM.

The grand doors of the cathedral exploded inward in a rush of purple fire.

The heat rolled through the ruin like a tidal wave, searing, unnatural. The flames crackled, not like wood burning, but like reality itself being devoured—slow, deliberate, hungry. The door didn’t just burn; it crumbled, warping into dust under the weight of the violet inferno.

And through the smoke—

A figure walked.

Unhurried.

Unbothered.

Unstoppable.

Shadow.

Cloaked in obsidian-black, his coat billowing behind him like wings of night, his boots echoed with purpose on the blood-soaked tiles. Twin trails of flame flared beneath each step, corpses igniting into violet cinders as he passed, reduced to ash in an instant. His eyes glowed faintly beneath his hood—like twin stars glimpsed through a veil of shadow.

Walking into the evil lair like you own the place—classic villain flex.

He stopped a few paces inside.

His voice came low, smooth, arrogant—like a king addressing peasants.

“Hmph. I apologize for the delay…”
His eyes swept the room lazily. “I was busy wiping a entire kingdom off the map.”

A body nearby burst into flames as if in agreement, crumbling into a fine dust that drifted into the air like falling snow.

Whether these dead folks were cultists or just unlucky bystanders, either way—flame on. Show some respect, but make it look epic as they turn to ash. Pyro with style.

Roy stepped back, his grin faltering. “Tch—what the hell…?” he muttered, beads of sweat forming along his brow. The air around them had grown thick, suffocating, the heat of the purple fire gnawing at their skin like unseen teeth.

Yikes, this kid’s vibe is straight out of a horror flick—someone check his family group chat, fr.

Sirius stumbled, cloak smoldering at the hem as she shielded her face, her exposed eye twitching madly. “That flame… It hurts—it BURNS,” she shrieked, her smile cracking into a grimace of pain. “What are you?!”

Oh, look, a cranky mummy with serious anger management problems. Shoutout to the writer for giving each villain their own chaotic vibe.

Shadow didn’t answer.

He walked forward.

Another corpse ignited in his wake. Then another. Then another. The entire aisle behind him became a trail of smoke and violet embers.

The priest staggered, the grin on his face warping as his skin began to blacken and peel. Blood bubbled from his pores, steam rising as the fire licked at him. But through the pain—through the agony—Petelgeuse’s voice moaned with delight.

“Yesssss…! Ahhh, magnificent! The pain! The power! Truly, truly, TRULY magnificent! Such majesty, such destruction! You are… you are ART!”

Okay, this guy's totally the leader.

Wait, no—scratch that, he’s giving major delulu sidekick energy. And that priest? 100% a fake skin suit.

Shadow paused just before the shattered altar, standing between all three. The fire curled around him like loyal beasts, licking at his boots, the air warping from the heat. He tilted his head slightly, gazing down at the kneeling Sirius, then at Roy, then finally at the charred priest.

Then he smiled.

Slow. Cold. Dangerous.

Alright, time to channel my inner Archbishop of Pride.

Gotta keep that Shadow edge though, so maybe throw in a dramatic sigh or two. Balance is key: 50% ego, 50% mysterious vibes, 100% iconic. Let’s go.

“I didn’t come to entertain sycophants or sniff your madness.”

Shadow’s voice dropped, sharper than steel, colder than ice.

“I came for answers. Who dares play with shadows they don’t understand?”

A sudden gust of flame erupted at his feet. The temperature spiked. Stone cracked beneath the heat. Both Roy and Sirius instinctively stepped back, their monstrous instincts screaming at them to flee.

Shadow took one final step forward, towering now, his purple fire casting the cathedral in an eerie, otherworldly light. He raised one gloved hand, and the flames hissed like serpents waiting to strike.

“You have five seconds before I turn this charnel house into your funeral pyre.”

His smile widened.

“Speak.”

The priest’s mangled frame swayed like a broken marionette in the firelit ruin, skin blistering, robes blackening with every passing second under the heat of Shadow’s arrival. Yet even in torment, he smiled.

Or rather—Petelgeuse smiled through him.

“Aaaah, alas!” the priest wailed, voice cracking, wobbling between pain and praise. “How tragic, how unfortunate—how inconvenient! Some of us are on their missions and didn't come here. I am not present in the flesh. No, no! This humble vessel was all I could send, for I am presently… indisposed. A mission! A divine task in service to our Gospel!”

He tried to gesture dramatically, but his shoulder popped out of socket with the motion, his limb dangling uselessly. The fire crackled louder.

Damn, this dude’s got a PhD in yapping.

Shadow did not wait.

With a low hum, cold and dismissive, he lifted his hand—and his sword appeared.

Black steel kissed with violet runes, wreathed in shadowed fire. The blade shimmered like it cut through existence itself. One step. One flash. The sword moved—

SHHRRAKK—!

The priest barely ducked—barely—his head snapping back just in time as the altar behind him detonated, cleaved in half by the arc of energy. Stone split, flames roared, and rubble exploded outward like shrapnel.

Shadow didn’t flinch.

He stood above the ruin, the broken altar now a crater of molten marble at his feet. His blade hummed with coiled menace.

“I don’t give a damn where you are,” he said coolly, his voice like ice cracking over fire. “If you have answers, you’ll give them. Or I’ll carve them out of every puppet you hide behind.”

The priest fell silent.

Even Sirius dared not speak. Roy’s claws twitched, his grin gone, replaced by cautious calculation.

Then—
laughter.

A girl’s laugh.

High, mocking, lilting like silk wrapped around a dagger.

They turned.

Standing where the great doors once were, her silhouette framed in smoldering ash, was a girl.

Short, golden hair gleamed in the haze, with a single trailing strand falling over her right shoulder—tipped with a blooming rose. Her outfit left little to the imagination: tight black hot pants hugging her hips, matching leggings that cut off above the knee, and a bikini top that barely covered her chest. Nothing more. Skin kissed by blood and shadow, her stance cocky and cruel.

Capella Emerada Lugunica.

The Archbishop of Lust.

“Well, well, well,” she purred, lips curled in amused delight, one hand perched on her hip. “Look at you, strutting in like some brooding demigod with a chip on your shoulder and fire licking your heels.” She sauntered into the ruined cathedral, her hips swaying with exaggerated flair. “Shadow, was it? Mm… I love a man with confidence.”

Ah, great, another one pops up—this time it’s a sneaky girl batting her eyelashes and playing all seductive.

...Wait a sec. She gives off major ‘yesterday’s tiny child’ vibes.

So she shapeshifts. That’s both awesome and deeply unsettling for a villain. Classic.

Shadow turned only slightly, head tilting, eyes glowing from beneath his hood. The flames at his feet flared higher, casting his silhouette in rippling violet. He didn’t react to her taunt.

Didn’t need to.

The very air bent around him like gravity warped.

Capella grinned wider.

“Oooh, silent treatment?” she teased, running a finger along her collarbone with faux innocence. “Tell me, handsome—are you always this dramatic, or is today special?”

Capella sauntered forward, the cracked stone hissing beneath her bare feet as the heat of Shadow’s flames licked at her legs—but she didn’t flinch. Didn’t slow. She walked with all the elegance of a queen and the arrogance of a god, hips swaying with venomous grace.

Roy’s eyes widened. “Oi, Mama don't go close,” he snapped, his voice taut, feral unease creeping into his words.

Capella didn’t spare him a glance.

“Shut up.” she hissed, sweetly venomous, her tone silk-wrapped steel.

Ugh, seriously? This creepy boy’s got mommy trauma now? I signed up for cool villains, not some unhinged psychos.

She stopped inches from Shadow. Her eyes flicked upward, drinking him in like a connoisseur savoring a glass of poisoned wine. Her smirk curled, wicked and playful.

“So tall. So cold,” she whispered, trailing a sharp black-nailed finger toward his chest. “Tell me, do all your lovers end up cremated, or am I just special?”

Her hand reached—

SHHK—

Her wrist hit the ground with a wet slap, severed in a clean, perfect line. The limb smoked where it fell, twitching in violet fire.

I’ll yeet her hand off just to flex my regeneration powers—annoying people deserve a little dominance show.

Capella stared.

Blankly.

Then, slowly, her gaze rose to meet his.

Shadow looked down at her as if she were nothing more than dirt beneath his boots. His voice came soft—dangerously soft.

“You reek of rot and delusion,” he murmured, contempt laced with quiet venom. “Don’t presume that a worm can touch a storm.”

Capella’s pupils dilated.

Then—

She grinned.

Wide.

Mad.

“Ohhh…” she breathed, voice quivering with sick delight. “Ohh, how long has it been since I felt that? The sting… the cut… the rejection.”

Black blood hissed as her severed wrist twisted in place, bone snapping, flesh bubbling. In mere moments, her hand grew back, slick and perfect, as if the wound had never been. She flexed her fingers, then wagged them teasingly.

“Now, now,” she cooed, voice thick with mocking sweetness. “That’s no way to treat a girl you already know…”

Damn, she’s got regeneration powers now—that’s some annoying villain OP stuff. Bet she regenerates on a molecular level, or maybe even atomic.

Capella’s eyes burned red in the violet light.

The priest twitched—once, violently—before his charred body straightened as if yanked by invisible strings. His cracked lips parted, Petelgeuse's voice rasping through the blistered vessel like a dying sermon.

“Enough! Enough of this bickering, this posturing…!” he hissed, his head jerking, bloodied eyes rolling like loose marbles in his skull. “This fellow—this—was sent only to observe, to discern if he is kin… not to provoke, not to play games with fire incarnate!”

Capella’s expression shifted.

From amusement to disdain.

Slow. Lazy. Disgusted.

She turned her crimson gaze on the puppet priest and clicked her tongue like one would at a whining child.

“Oh, shut up,” she said flatly.

The air cracked.

Her voice, playful just moments ago, now laced with acidic revulsion.

“You're such a bore, Peteljuice—or whatever husk you’re hiding in today. Whimpering about purpose and observation?” She tossed her newly-regrown hand in the air like it were a bothersome trinket. “Who cares if he’s ‘one of us’ or not?”

Her head cocked, eyes sliding back to Shadow, smile curling again.

A hiss of breath came from Sirius.

Veins bulged at her temple, her eye twitching violently as her charred cloak continued to smolder.

“You DARE speak to Lord Petelgeuse like that?!” she screeched, voice spiking into madness. “HeHe is devotion! You wretched harlot—you think your whoring smirks give you license to insult his holiness?!”

Nah man, had no clue the mummy chick was a full-blown delulu simp. Wild.

Roy growled, his claws extending with a wet crack, eyes flashing with feral light.

He stepped between them with a snarl, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

“Oi… Back off, Wrath.”
He bared his fangs. “You touch her, and I’ll shred your guts across these pretty tiles. Got it?”

The room seemed to spiral, the madness threatening to erupt into chaos—

Until—

A voice cut through.

Sharper than lightning.
Colder than the void.

“Enough.”

Shadow’s voice didn’t rise.

It didn’t need to.

It broke through their bickering like a guillotine slicing through air, making all noise die in an instant. The flames around him pulsed once—then parted like servants heeding a command.

His arm rose slowly, gloved fingers curled.

Something shimmered between them.

A book.

Small. Black. Ancient.

The Gospel.

Held effortlessly in his grasp.

Shadow tilted his head slightly, letting them see it—feel it.

Ah yes, they're totally angling for a Holy Bible reenactment—just like that purple-haired dude. Bible promo 2.0, let's gooo.

The room grew colder, darker, as if the tome itself devoured the light.

“This…” he said softly, dangerously, “is what you came sniffing for, isn’t it?”

His fingers closed slowly around the Gospel. Shadows curled tighter at his boots. The fire crackled hungrily.

“So if you’re done squabbling like dogs over bones, then speak.”

His eyes glowed beneath the hood.

Or burn.

The moment the Gospel appeared in Shadow’s grasp, the air changed.

Even Capella took a step back—eyes narrowing, lips parting in something too sharp to be called a smile. Roy’s claws trembled at his sides, instincts whispering wrong, wrong, too much. Sirius fell still, twitching fingers clutched tight to her smoldering cloak, her one good eye wide with manic awe.

But it was Petelgeuse who reacted the most violently.

The charred priest's body lurched, head jerking back with a sound like splintering bone, lips parting in a gasp both reverent and horrified.

“Ahh—ahhhhHH! The Tome! The TRUE TOME!” he wailed, half in rapture, half in madness. “It calls—it resonates! But… but it is not ours, not wholly—not yet!”

He staggered forward a step before collapsing to his knees, eyes locked on the black Gospel in Shadow’s hand. The flames seemed to avoid it, shrinking back like whipped animals.

“There is… one more step,” Petelgeuse whispered hoarsely, his voice dripping with equal parts fear and devotion. “To prove your loyalty… your bond… your right to wield it.”

Shadow tilted his head, the firelight carving shadows across his face beneath the hood.

“And what,” he said quietly, “might that be?”

Capella’s grin curled again—sharper now, crueler.

She leaned forward like a lover whispering secrets, voice thick with theatrical glee.

“Simple.” Her tongue flicked across her lips. “Spill your blood over it.”

She giggled. “Let the book taste you. If your blood lingers, it’s yours. If it vanishes…” She mimed an explosion with her hands, mock horror in her wide eyes. “Poof. You’re not meant for us. A shame. You’re cute.”

Petelgeuse nodded solemnly, the puppet priest trembling with mad devotion.

“Yes… yes! If the Gospel accepts thee, it shall drink deep and remain. But if not—evaporation! Nothingness! A stain unworthy of permanence!”

Shadow said nothing for a moment.

Then he grinned.

Cold. Crooked. Dangerous.

He turned his blade in one hand.

"Fine. Let’s see if your precious scripture likes my kind of ink.”

Alright, folks, we’re officially in the ritual phase—cue the dramatic music, slow-mo walks, and some random explosion in the background for flair.

With a smooth motion, he threw the Gospel down. It landed with a heavy thud, the stone beneath it cracking under its weight as if rejecting its existence.

Then—SHHK—his blade flicked through his palm.

Blood welled instantly. Dark. Viscous. Unnatural.

Shadow raised his hand above the tome—

And let it fall.

Drop.

By drop.

Blood spilled across the Gospel's cover—

And nothing happened.

No vapor. No sizzle.

The blood stayed.

But then—

The Gospel twitched.

Just once.

Then twice.

And opened itself.

Pages flipped on their own, faster and faster, until they snapped still—on a page none of them had ever seen. The text on it shimmered, glowing with a deep violet light. Then—BOOM—a shockwave burst outward from the book, blasting back even Capella.

The flames exploded around Shadow, coiling skyward into a spiral of black and violet fire that pierced the cathedral roof like a spear through heaven.

Shadow stood at the center of it all, eyes gleaming beneath his hood, his palm still bleeding—but the blood now flowed upward, drawn toward the book like iron to a magnet.

The Gospel closed on its own and floated into the air, landing gently in Shadow’s outstretched, undamaged hand.

The wound on his palm vanished.

He looked up at them all.

“Looks like the book and I are on the same page.”

Petelgeuse stared in reverent silence.

His lips quivered. His limbs trembled. Then, with a guttural gasp, he fell prostrate—hands splayed against the scorched floor, forehead pressed into the stone.

“Ahh… ahhhHHHH! Accepted!” he moaned, his voice a shivering mixture of awe and ecstasy. “It has chosen! The tome itself bends to you…!”

He raised his head, cracked skin splitting further as he smiled, mouth stretched grotesquely wide.

“Welcome… Welcome, O new vessel of Pride,” he whispered, reverent and terrified. “You are a the new Archbishop. Heir to that sin. Bearer of that burden.”

Then he pressed a trembling hand to his chest, as if shielding his heart from its own collapse. “You shall be bestowed a name. An aligning—a new truth, as is sacred rite…”

A silence fell.

Then Sirius scoffed, the heat of her rage reigniting as her eye twitched violently.

“Hmph. Another crown for another corpse,” she sneered, bitter venom dripping from every word. “Let’s see how long this one keeps his head.”

Roy growled low in his throat, his claws scraping against stone as he eyed Shadow.

“He smells like arrogance,” he muttered. “Don’t see what makes him any different from the last trash fire that burned bright and fast.”

Capella, however, merely smiled. Lazily. Cruelly. Her eyes traced Shadow like he was a piece of art she hadn’t yet decided to destroy or adore.

“Well now,” she purred, stepping forward with swaying hips and unsettling grace, “since you’re our new Archbishop, it’s only right your dear fellows give you a present… wouldn’t you say?”

She raised both hands—slow, theatrical—and from the folds of her dress, produced a box.

No.

A deck.

Long and narrow, bound in charred leather and twisted silver. The wood was old—soaked in shadows, humming with cursed energy that made the air pulse around it. She held it in both hands like an offering at a funeral altar.

Long and narrow, bound in charred leather and twisted silver. The wood was old—soaked in shadows, humming with cursed energy that made the air pulse around it. She held it in both hands like an offering at a funeral altar.

“For you,” she said, her voice like black velvet. “A deck forged from the bones of a cursed king and bound in the skin of a forgotten witch. A tool of vision… or damnation.”

She stepped forward and placed it gently into Shadow’s palm.

He took it.

Examined it.

Held it up to the light.

The cursed leather glinted faintly with shifting runes, as if it breathed with its own silent hunger.

This design is fire, gonna sell for stacks... but nah, I ain’t opening it for multiple reasons and because gotta keep that value sky-high!

Petelgeuse's fake body stepped forward, lips parting to continue the ceremony—

But he stopped.

Because Shadow laughed.

Low at first—quiet and sharp.

Then louder. Arrogant. Cold.

“You want to give me names,” he said, voice echoing like thunder cracking inside a cathedral. “Titles. Trinkets. Tools to bind me. As if your little gifts could define me.”

He turned his gaze slowly toward them all, the firelight burning in his eyes now.

“You poor fools.”

Then—FOOM—the deck in his hand burst into black and violet fire.

It burned violently, curling upward in a column of unnatural flame. Capella’s eyes widened, her smirk faltering.

Shadow didn’t flinch.

He held the fire aloft like a torch of rebellion, and in that moment—amid the stunned silence of archbishops and mad saints alike—he spoke:

“Power that must be granted is just another form of chains.

I don’t wear chains.

I melt them.”

The silence crackled in the aftermath of Shadow’s declaration—smoke still curling from the burning remains of the deck in his hand, violet fire licking the air like a banner of defiance.

Then—

A rasp. A tremble.
Petelgeuse rose halfway from his prostration, head twitching at odd angles, voice crawling up his throat like a curse.

“Kuhhh… You speak as though you are not… one of us,” he hissed, eyes twitching, drool running down his chin. “Are you saying… that you are our enemy? Or—” his grin widened with a twitch, “*—do you merely intend to… do things your way, hmmmmm?!”

Shadow turned his gaze to the mad priest, his voice cold and smooth like a blade drawn slow.

“You can interpret it however you like.”
A pause.

He talks like there’s some mega-villain pulling the strings—no way these clowns are the big bad. And with that sus priest acting all shady? Bet my last yen it’s a woman behind the whole thing.

“But know this—” Shadow stepped forward, his shadow stretching long and jagged across the stone. “—I bow to no one. Not even her.”

A beat of stunned silence.

Then Sirius snarled.

“You arrogant little corpse-in-waiting,” she spat, her cloak smoldering anew with boiling heat. “You dare blaspheme?"

She took a step forward, the floor beneath her blistering.

But it wasn’t Shadow who reacted.

It was Petelgeuse.

The priest’s body snapped upright like a marionette yanked by unseen strings. His eyes rolled back, then shot forward, wide and burning with fury.

“You dare?!” he shrieked, voice warping into something unholy. “You speak disrespectfully—so casually—so callously—of the WITCH! Of HER LOVE! "

The air warped.

And then—

They came.

The Unseen Hands.

Shadow couldn’t see them—no eyes could—but he felt them.

A weight in the air. A shift in the pressure, like gravity twisting wrong. The faint hum of displacement, a breeze that shouldn’t be. To someone attuned to killing intent, they weren’t invisible—they were screaming.

He smiled.

“You feel that, do you?” Petelgeuse rasped, twitching with fevered joy. “That is her love. Her will! You will obey her—even if your heart resists! We will make you—bend you—BREAK you!”

The hands lunged—

But then, everything stopped.

Because Shadow moved.

In a flash—FWOOM—his arm swept through the space before him like a scythe.

And—SNAP.

All at once—every single Unseen Hand was caught.

Held.

In his one, gloved hand.

Gripped like threads in a puppeteer’s grasp.

Petelgeuse froze, mid-scream.

Just got verified by them, so now it's chaos o'clock. Time to go fully unhinged—moral code? Nah, not when dealing with psychos.

Shadow looked down at the air clutched in his fingers, and smirked.

“You talk too much.”

He pulled.

Violently.

The priest’s body was yanked from across the room as if caught on a leash—screaming, flailing—and before anyone could blink, he was right there.

And Shadow’s hand—
—was buried in his chest.

The crack of bone.

The wet thud of muscle tearing.

Then silence.

Shadow stood still, arm outstretched through the priest’s chest.
And in his palm—still and pulsing—was the man’s heart.

Petelgeuse choked.

Stared down at the gaping wound.

Eyes wide.

Mouth open.

Shadow leaned in.
Voice low. Final. Cold as the void.

“I’m the Archbishop of Pride,” he said. “Whether you like it or not.”

He yanked his arm back. The body slumped.

“And my name… is Shadow.”

The heart in Shadow’s hand pulsed once more. Weak. Faint. And then—still.

Petelgeuse's fake body didn’t even scream.

He simply… dropped.

A puppet with cut strings.

His eyes—still wide—clouded over with death. His mouth hung open in silent devotion, even in the face of betrayal by his god, or perhaps by himself.

Shadow stood above him, the still-warm heart clutched in his gloved hand, blood trailing down his wrist in quiet rivulets.

The silence was suffocating.

Then—

“YOU—!”

Sirius shrieked, her voice cracking through the cathedral like a jagged whip. Her body trembled, convulsed with fury, the air around her warping as the heat of her madness surged.

“You murderous little whore-son! That was one of us! My beloved!” Her cloak blazed, eyes twitching with unfiltered hate. “I’ll melt your bones into marrow wine and pour it over your corpse—!”

“I knew he smelled rotten,” Roy snarled beside her, claws extending.

But Shadow didn’t flinch.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.

He turned his gaze to them—deadly, steady. Holding Petelgeuse’s heart like a trophy… or a warning.

Then, in a single motion—squelch—he crushed it.

The heart burst in his hand, blood splattering across the cracked stone.

And then—thud—he threw the mangled organ at their feet.

It hit the floor with a heavy slap, steaming in the hellish glow of Sirius’s flames.

“Speak again,” Shadow said coldly. “And your lungs will follow.”

Sirius froze. Lips parted. But no words came.

Roy’s growl stuttered to silence, his claws retracting slowly—uncertainly.

Neither moved. Neither dared.

And from the shadows… she laughed.

Softly.

Then louder.

Like silk shredding under a razor, Capella’s voice danced through the cathedral with wicked delight.

“Ohhh my,” she cooed, eyes gleaming like poisoned gems. “What a lovely thing you’ve done.”

Ugh, I’d totally yeet this one into the afterlife realm, but she’s kinda serving main villain energy right now… guess I’ll let her live for the plot.

Capella stepped forward, slow and sinuous, her every motion dripping with unholy allure. The smell of rot followed her like perfume.

“To think… someone besides me could make them shut up. I must admit… I’m intrigued.”

Her gaze roved over him—calculating, lascivious, hungry.

Capella had never respected anything—not her victims, not her peers, not even herself. To her, people were dolls of meat and bones. Toys. Meals. Tools.

But Shadow…

Shadow was something else.

He didn’t plead.
He didn’t fawn.
He didn’t pretend.

He commanded.

And defied.

Even as the blood of a person dripped from his fingers, he stood tall. Proud. Defiant.

Delicious.

“Oh, what are you?” Capella whispered, licking her lips. “Some new breed of pestilence? Or perhaps… a prize I’ve yet to break?”

Her grin widened, splitting far too wide to be natural.

“You know,” she purred, circling him like a predator in heat, “love and respect… they’re little trinkets meant for me. Me alone. All hearts beat for me. All eyes turn to me. That’s how the world works. That’s how I work.”

She stopped in front of him, close enough to feel the residual heat of violet fire licking at his shoulders.

“And yet here you are… making me want. Making me wonder what it’d feel like to put you in a cage and keep you until your soul cracks.”

Her voice lowered, almost reverent. Twisted.

“To make you scream for me.”

Her vibe screams 'pick me,' and guess what? Some dudes still fall for it. Reader, don’t be one of those dudes. Stay sharp.

Shadow didn’t respond.

His silence was louder than any scream she could extract.

And that—oh, that—made her shiver.

The others recoiled from him. Capella craved him.

The defiance.

The control.

The danger.

She didn’t understand it.

And that made her want it even more.

Capella let out a low, breathy giggle, eyes narrowing as her tongue flicked out across her lips.

“You’re going to be fun,” she said softly. “But the more you resist me…”

Her nails elongated. Black. Glossy. Poisoned.

“…the worse it’s going to hurt.”

gaze.

And smiled.

Not warmly. Not kindly.

It was a smile of acknowledgment.

Of warning.

“Try,” he said.

One word.

A challenge.

And for the first time in a long, long while…

Capella felt temptation.

Twisted. Dark. All-consuming.

Like love, if love was made of razors and venom.

And so, she smiled back.

Like a serpent ready to coil.
Like a queen choosing her next favorite piece.
Like a monster who had finally met her match.

“Gladly,” she whispered.

Watch her whip out some nonsense and instantly wish she hadn’t.

And Capella was smiling.

But it wasn’t the smile of satisfaction. No—this one slithered across her face like a crack in porcelain, twisted and widening, veins pulsing beneath her skin like roots in cursed soil.

“You’re strong,” Capella said softly, voice trembling with hunger. “Cold. Controlled. But in the end…”

She took a step forward, her eyes flashing with unnatural light.

“…you’re still a man.”

A sick sound followed—crk-crk-CRACK—as her spine arched backward with a grotesque snap, limbs twisting, warping. Her skin rippled like molten wax. Bones reformed, cracked apart, and stitched anew by some horrific will. Hair spilled out in clumps and regrew in another shade, then another—raven black, then silver, then sunlit blonde.

Her voice split.

First a woman’s moan.

Then a child’s whisper.

Then a mother’s croon.

“You bleed like a man,” she said, eyes rolling back as her body twisted again, one hip rising unnaturally while her ribcage cracked outward in a mockery of femininity. “You fight like a man. And men…”

She shuddered, flesh blooming like a blooming wound.

“…break like men.”

Shadow didn’t speak. He watched. Silent. Looming.

Capella’s body danced through a parade of feminine forms—lovers, strangers, priestesses, queens—each one more obscene than the last, beauty overexaggerated until it became grotesque. Their eyes gleamed with impossible seduction, their mouths whispered forbidden things.

“You see it, don’t you?” Capella rasped, a dozen voices overlapping. “The possibility. The temptation. It’s in there—has to be. The little flicker of desire you try so hard to bury.”

But the shadows around Shadow didn’t stir.

His eyes didn’t wander.

His breathing didn’t shift.

Capella’s form began to tremble. Veins bulged, skin spasmed.

She couldn’t hold the shape.

Her body began to resist.

“No…” she whispered, now disjointed, her jaw clicking as it swung too wide. “No, I know what you want. I can feel the cracks. I just need to show you—”

But the form kept stuttering.

Every time she tried to become what he might desire, her flesh rejected it—twisting, bubbling, collapsing in on itself. Like the idea of arousing him was fundamentally wrong.

Her body spasmed into an amorphous heap of too many limbs and not enough identity. Her mouths gaped with screams that weren’t hers. Eyes blinked out of existence and reformed in her thighs. Her silhouette convulsed in confusion—like even her magic didn’t understand what to make of him.

Capella stared at her trembling, deformed reflection in a pool of blood, breath ragged.

“It’s… impossible,” she gasped. “Every single human being has lust in them. Even the tiniest flicker. A whisper. That’s all I need.”

She lifted her mangled face to him—flesh melting from one woman’s mask to another, none complete.

“That tiny bit…” she hissed, “might just be your downfall.”

Shadow looked down at her.

And he smirked.

A cold, arrogant, merciless smirk.

“I’m not human,” he said simply. “That’s your first mistake.”

Lust? So that’s her grand quest. Meanwhile, I tossed that into the dumpster fire years ago to level up.

Capella’s form spasmed again as she tried to reconstitute herself, but her magic flickered—struggling to reform into anything coherent.

“And your second,” Shadow continued, his voice dipped in frost and cruelty, “is assuming you are.”

She snarled, eyes flickering with hate.

“Try again, vermin,” he said, stepping forward. “Or stay crawling in your sludge like the parasite you are.”

Capella screamed—rageful, wounded—but no form could answer her call. Her shape had become a roiling mass of lust and failure.

Shadow raised his voice, deep and thunderous in the broken cathedral.

“Listen well, foul thing,” he said.

His voice dropped—deadly.

“I do not look. I do not want. I do not break.”

He took one final step, looming over her trembling, half-formed carcass.

“I am your punishment,” he whispered.

Alright, time to officially crown myself the Archbishop of Pride. Congratulate me or fight me.

And the shadows behind him stirred—ready. Watching.

Capella didn’t laugh this time.

All three Archbishops present shivered.

Shadow looked down at the quivering mass of flesh that had once been Capella and then turned his gaze to the other two Archbishops—Sirius trembling with silent fury, Roy baring his fangs but too smart to move.

Then he spoke.

Low. Icy. Final.

“If you’re so lucky as to survive this…”

His sword hummed as he raised it, mana bleeding to its tip like liquid starlight.

“…then maybe I’ll give it a thought.”

He turned the blade slowly, shadows spiraling around it.

“To work for her.”

The statement wasn’t an offer. It was mockery. A dare. A god speaking to insects.

At the tip of his blade, mana condensed—white-hot and roaring, vibrating the very air.

“I…”

The single syllable made the stone beneath their feet crack. The cathedral trembled.

Roy’s fur stood on end.

“Run,” he snarled. “We have to run. NOW.”

Sirius hissed, eyes wide, her flames flickering with panic. “He fought the Sword Saint twice. TWICE. And lived. No matter how you look at it—this bastard isn’t normal!”

Shadow’s voice thundered again—
“AM…”

Capella, now returned to her usual twisted beauty, stood shakily with narrowed eyes. Her irritation bled through her venomous tone.

“Tch… Looks like we’re destined to cross paths,” she muttered, licking the blood from her lips with disdain. “But don’t expect mercy next time.”

Shadow didn’t even look at her.

He raised his sword high—mana roaring at the tip, condensed into a singularity of annihilation.

“THE ALL–RANGE…”

The shadows behind him stretched outward, splitting the cathedral in streaks of midnight.

“…ATOMIC.”

And then—he struck.

His blade slammed into the ground.

A flash.

A pulse.

A silence so loud it screamed.

Then—BOOM.

The world exploded.

A dome of incandescent destruction erupted outward, devouring everything in white-hot brilliance. The cathedral walls shattered like paper. Air was vaporized. Stone melted. Time itself seemed to buckle under the pressure.

A column of light speared into the heavens—piercing clouds, parting night. The land for miles shook. Trees bowed. Rivers rippled. A new crater carved into the world by a man who was not a man.

And at its center—
Shadow stood.

Cloak whipping in the wind. Eyes unblinking. Unmoving.

The sword buried in scorched stone.

Alone.

Unchallenged.

Unforgiving.

The Archbishops of Sin fled. The nome Shadow burned into their memory, etched in terror and awe.

He didn’t need armies. He didn’t need mercy.

He only needed one swing.

And the world learned to fear it.

Notes:

This chapter was quite the journey—lengthy and eventful. I hope you found it engaging.

For those wondering about the absence of the other Archbishops, they were strictly adhering to their Gospels. Since neither Shadow nor this meeting was mentioned in their scriptures, they had no obligation to attend. Rest assured, Cid will encounter them in due time.

Additionally, I’d like to clarify something: If the Archbishops’ actions or motivations seem unclear, it’s not due to flawed writing—they are, by design, hypocritical and delusional.

Feel free to share your thoughts on the chapter or any questions you may have in the comments. Have a great day!

Chapter 24: Where Trust is Carved in Scarlet

Cid walked with elegant poise down the stone path leading toward the Crusch Karsten estate, his polished black shoes clicking softly with each step. Dressed in a pristine butler’s uniform, his white gloves perfectly pressed and dark hair tucked neatly under a formal cap, he wore the air of composed dignity—though a smirk curled on his lips, ever so slightly betraying his thoughts.

“How splendid,” he murmured to himself, eyes narrowing with mischief as he strolled. “My performance as Shadow was truly impressive… But I do hope the villains around here prove to be more entertaining.”

His gaze flicked up toward the grand gate ahead. Beyond it, carriages rolled in and out, their wheels crunching gravel, and men in gleaming knight uniforms moved with focused efficiency. It was a scene of preparation and tension—something was stirring inside the estate.

A voice broke through the din. “Hey, you lost or something?”

Cid turned calmly, his expression composed as ever, and laid eyes on the source of the voice.

A towering beastman stood there—muscular, imposing, and radiating energy like a wildfire. His fur was short and brown, his green eyes sharp with curiosity. A dark-brown mane, shaped into a fierce mohawk, ran along his head, two small red braids hanging from the sides, adding an eccentric flair to his already fearsome presence. His mouth, full of sharp white teeth, was curled into a half-curious grin.

Cid gave a slight bow, one hand tucked behind his back. “Not at all, sir. I am returning to the Crusch Karsten estate.”

This author loves a diverse cast—heck, there’s even a werewolf in the mix.

The beastman’s eyes widened slightly. “Wait a sec... Are you the butler guy Lil' Ana mentioned?”

Cid tilted his head with a reserved smile. “I can not say for certain, sir. But I am Lucien. I work as a humble butler.”

The wolfman let out a hearty laugh, stepping forward and clapping Cid hard on the back. The force of it would’ve staggered most men, but Cid absorbed the blow with impressive poise.

“Hah! You’re that guy, alright!” the beastman barked cheerfully. “Name’s Ricardo Welkin. Nice to meet ya, Lucien!”

Later on...
Cid and Ricardo strode through the wrought-iron gates and onto the cobbled front yard of the Karsten estate. The scene before them was bustling with energy—knights were checking their weapons, and stablehands loaded carts with supplies.

Damn, I must’ve missed the cutscene ‘cause now I’m spawnin’ in the middle of a whole civil war lobby.

Cid's eyes swept the yard with keen interest, noting the positioning of crates, the types of weaponry, and the general atmosphere of urgency laced with disciplined coordination.

“My, how lively,” he murmured, clasping his gloved hands behind his back. “Dare I ask, Sir Ricardo, what is the cause of all this excitement?”

Ricardo grinned, his sharp teeth flashing as he scratched the side of his jaw. “Hah! You picked a fine day to return, butler-boy. We’re gettin’ ready for a big ol’ hunt tonight.”

Cid raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. “A hunt, you say?”

“Yep,” Ricardo said with a chuckle. “A nasty beast’s been prowlin’ near the Karsten domain. The kind that gets the blood pumpin’, y’know?”

Ah yes, the legendary 'big bad monster raid arc'—because nothing says 'plot progression' like throwing a mythical beast at the main cast.

Cid opened his mouth, ready with a perfectly measured response—

But before he could speak, a blur of blue and white launched from behind a cart, flying straight at him.

“Luuuu!”

With a soft whump, a small, energetic figure landed squarely on his shoulders, arms wrapping tightly around his head. Cid didn’t flinch—he merely blinked, adjusting slightly for balance as twin tails flailed behind his neck.

“Mimi missed you, you fancy spoon!” Mimi giggled, rubbing her cheek against his head like an affectionate cat. “You smell like tea leaves and secrets!”

Ricardo burst into hearty laughter, slapping a hand on his knee. “Pwahaha! ‘Fancy spoon’?! What even is that, kid?! When did you get this chummy with our butler here?!”

Mimi huffed proudly from her perch. “We’re bonded! Like... like mystery buddies! He lets Mimi sit on his head, and Mimi tells him secrets!”

Ricardo nearly doubled over, his booming laughter echoing across the yard and drawing the attention of several knights and staff nearby.

The sound of approaching boots, measured and purposeful, cut through the laughter like the steady beat of a drum. Ricardo’s grin faded just a bit as he glanced sideways, and Mimi perked up, ears twitching before she leapt lightly from Cid’s shoulders with a soft thump.

Cid turned calmly toward the approaching figure, posture straightening.

Wilhelm van Astrea stood tall, his expression unreadable as his pale-blue eyes fixed on the butler. Dressed in his signature long coat, sword at his side, he looked every bit the seasoned warrior—sharp, composed, and carrying the gravity of command in his presence.

“Lucien,” Wilhelm said with quiet authority, his voice firm but devoid of hostility. “Where were you the whole day yesterday?”

Cid offered a dignified bow, his right hand across his chest, and his eyes lowered respectfully. “Sir Wilhelm, I humbly apologize for my unannounced absence. I was dispatched to the village bordering the southern hills to deliver correspondence from Lord Roswaal to the local magistrate, and I remained overnight due to a late return caravan.”

I dropped Roswaal’s name in a few of my lies, and it's instant credibility. That name’s like magic.

Wilhelm’s gaze did not waver. “I see.”

There was a moment of silence between them, tense but not unfriendly. Then the Sword Demon nodded, his voice lowering slightly.

“I chose to trust you,” he said, folding his hands behind his back. “But you must inform someone before vanishing like that. There are already those in the estate who are wary of you… and the last thing we need is confusion spreading through the ranks. Even one loose thread can unravel the whole cloth.”

Cid straightened, expression calm, voice resolute. “I understand, Sir Wilhelm. I harbour no ill intentions, and if needed, I am prepared to demonstrate that in any way required.”

Wilhelm turned slightly, his eyes sweeping across the estate grounds. “You have nothing to prove to me, Lucien.” His gaze settled briefly on the gathered knights, Ricardo, and Mimi. “But the ones inside…? They’re the ones you’ll have to convince.”

He began walking toward the main entrance, leaving those words to linger like a quiet test in the air.

Spotted that foreshadowing from a mile away. Time to level up my Lucien persona to god-tier.

Cid's attention wandered from Wilhelm’s retreating figure to the far side of the courtyard, where a small cluster of older soldiers stood beside a supply cart. Amid their rugged armour and weather-worn faces, one figure stood out: a dark-haired young man gesturing animatedly as he spoke, a blue-haired girl beside him, hands clasped politely, her expression serene.

Cid’s eyes narrowed slightly in recognition.

Subaru.

As if pulled by instinct, Subaru’s gaze lifted mid-sentence—and locked onto him.

Cid gave a subtle nod, expecting perhaps a casual wave in return.

Instead, Subaru’s expression twisted. Shock. Emotion. And then… fire.

“YOOOOUUUU!!!”

“Ah,” Cid muttered, just before Subaru charged.

In a flash, the boy closed the distance between them, Rem calling out his name too late to stop him. With a dramatic wind-up and a yell of sheer emotion, Subaru drove his fist straight at Cid’s face—

Thunk.

Subaru’s knuckles met the butler’s cheek with a clean crack... and Cid didn’t move an inch.

“Owowowowow!!” Subaru yelped, immediately shaking his hand in pain, hopping on one foot. “What the heck are you made of, granite?!”

Cid calmly raised a gloved hand to brush his cheek—no mark, no irritation. Just mild curiosity. “Forgive me, Subaru, but I must ask... what precisely prompted that display of physical affection?”

Subaru groaned, clutching his aching hand. “Trust me, I would have punched you five more times if I wasn’t trying to save my strength for later! What’s wrong with you?! You show up out of nowhere, all cool and composed, like you didn’t just disappear the whole day and give me a heart attack!”

Cid’s smile was polite but unreadable. “I see. So it was an emotional greeting.”

“Yeah! An emotional punch,” Subaru muttered, then paused.

He looked up at Cid, and for a moment, the fiery frustration gave way to a genuine, softer emotion. His brows relaxed. A smile tugged at his lips—just a bit crooked, but real.

“Don’t disappear like that again, alright?” he said, voice lower now. “Don’t do anything reckless. I still don’t know what game you’re playing or what you’re caught up in, but... just don’t vanish on me again.”

Cid tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable… yet there was something in his eyes. A flicker of curiosity.

Damn, Subaru, you’re really selling this ‘I missed you’ act—Oscar-worthy performance, my guy.

“I shall take your words to heart, Subaru,” he said, bowing slightly. “Though I must say, for someone concerned with recklessness, your greeting was anything but gentle.”

“Heh. Next time I’ll throw a flower instead,” Subaru snorted. “Or maybe just a bucket of ice water.”

From nearby, Rem approached with a patient smile, glancing between the two of them.

“I take it. This means you two are on good terms again.”

“More like I’m stuck with him,” Subaru grumbled.

Cid gave a small nod. “Indeed. A rather... spirited bond.”

Ricardo, still watching from the background with a grin, crossed his arms. “Heh. This hunt’s gonna be one hell of a show.”

Cid mused, eyes glinting with amusement. Then his expression sobered just a touch. “But pray tell, what exactly is happening here? The estate seems caught in a whirlwind of tension. What is it you are preparing for?”

Subaru scratched the back of his head, his usual bravado briefly fading. “Ah… yeah, well. That’s kind of complicated.”

“It is indeed,” Rem chimed in gently, stepping beside Subaru with calm grace. “We’re preparing to face the White Whale. Together with the Karsten camp, Lady Anastasia’s people, and the others who agreed to help. If all goes well… we’ll be able to return to the manor in time to stop the Witch’s Cult. Just as Subaru predicted.”

Cid’s expression flickered ever so slightly. “Predicted…?”

Rem nodded proudly, the faintest blush of admiration colouring her cheeks. “Yes. Subaru-kun’s instincts never lie. He pieced together the timing, saw what no one else could… and with that insight, he masterfully persuaded both Lasy Crusch and Lady Anastasia to join forces with us. It’s thanks to him that we’re all united like this.”

“R-Rem!” Subaru flailed his arms, face heating up in embarrassment. “Don’t glaze me like that!"

Cid blinked, then slowly smiled, watching Subaru exhale and steady himself.

“…But yeah,” Subaru admitted, voice quieting. “Everything she said is true. I just… didn’t want to let anyone die. If we take down the Whale, we’ll have the numbers and time to stop the Cult. No one gets left behind.”

Cid bowed his head slightly, one arm folded neatly behind his back. “A most noble endeavour, Subaru. Your actions, though unorthodox, bear the mark of conviction… and results. I am, in all honesty, impressed.”

It’s clear now—even the blind can see it, and the oblivious can’t ignore it. Subaru has flawlessly manipulated everyone and every event to his advantage. Now, I believe he’s using this opportunity to demonstrate his true power to everyone.

Subaru let out a sheepish chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t have to thank me or anything. I’m just doing what has to be done. What’s right. And luckily, I’m not alone—everyone’s lending me their strength for this.”

Subaru scratched his cheek awkwardly, avoiding Cid’s gaze. "Oh, right! There’s, uh… one more thing. A tiny condition from Anastasia."

Cid tilted his head. "Oh?"

Subaru took a deep breath, then blurted out, "Anastasia demanded that you go with her to Kararagi for a week as one of her conditions!"

Silence.

Cid didn’t react.

Subaru fidgeted. "And, uh… I kinda already accepted on your behalf."

Still no reaction.

Then, Subaru quickly raised his hands in defence. "Look, I didn’t have much of a choice! She was being all smug about it, and we needed her support, and—"

Finally, Cid smirked. "If it helped secure the alliance, then I would be more than happy to oblige."

That girl’s loaded and greedy—heard she stacks cash like pancakes. Maybe if I lurk long enough, some bills will float my way.

Subaru immediately spun toward Rem, throwing his arms out triumphantly. "SEE?! I TOLD YOU HE’D SAY THAT!"

Rem let out a long, suffering sigh, pressing a hand to her forehead. "Lucien-san never fails to impress me… and also terrifies me with how casually he accepts these things." She began counting off on her fingers, her voice growing increasingly distressed. "First, Kararagi is a den of merchant schemes. Second, Lady Anastasia is notoriously cunning. Third, you could be kidnapped, poisoned, swindled, or—"

Cid raised a gloved hand, his grin serene. "Now, now, Lady Rem. Have a little faith. Nothing untoward shall befall me."

Subaru snorted. "Famous last words."

Rem’s eyes narrowed. "Fourth—he returns with an entire trading company under his name."

Cid placed a hand over his heart, feigning offence. "I would never engage in such… mercantile distractions."

Subaru and Rem exchanged glances.
"Liar," they said in unison.

The laughter hadn’t even faded from the air when a sharp voice cleaved through the courtyard like a blade.

“Lucien!”

The name echoed, clear and commanding. Every head turned.

Cid’s smile faded.

Standing at the edge of the assembled group, flanked by knights in full armour, was Crusch Karsten. Her military coat fluttered in the wind, the sharp glint of her ceremonial sword strapped to her hip. Her golden eyes narrowed, fixed like a hawk’s on the butler in black.

Cid slowly turned to face her, posture relaxed but spine straight, as though he had expected this moment.

Crusch stepped forward with the poise of a general and the presence of a storm.

“How dare you enter this place so casually, so unbothered, after vanishing without a trace?” she said, her voice a firm crack of thunder in the silence that followed.

The air grew still.

Cid glanced around—the eyes of the camp were upon them now. Ricardo looked wary, Wilhelm tensed, and even Rem stepped slightly closer to Subaru, her hand inching toward her flail.

Alright, diving into the group interrogation scene—classic MC cringe territory. Gotta tread lightly, or I’ll end up a meme by morning.

Cid bowed at the waist, one arm across his chest, the perfect image of a loyal servant.

“My deepest apologies for my sudden disappearance, Lady Crusch. Circumstances arose, which required my immediate—”

The tip of a blade gleamed inches from his throat.

Crusch’s sword was drawn, steady in her grip, unwavering.

“Spare me the rehearsed niceties.” Her eyes, usually composed, now burned with cold suspicion. “No one slips past my watch. No one vanishes in plain sight and returns untouched unless they’ve chosen to remain unseen.”

Cid did not move. His smile was gone.

Crusch began to speak again—this time not to him, but at him.

“You could’ve been gathering intelligence. Spying for another camp. Poisoning wells. Stealing documents. Meeting with the Witch’s Cult. Or perhaps…” She leaned in, her voice low and sharp as her blade, “simply waiting to strike.”

A murmur rippled through the onlookers.

Crusch ain’t the type to get played, but her vibe is pure ‘politely savage’ with a side of ‘try me, I dare you’—all wrapped in a royal command.

Cid opened his mouth—

“And,” Crusch cut him off coldly, her eyes piercing, “can you prove, here and now, that you have not done at least one of these things?”

Cid lowered his eyes for a brief moment, then straightened, gaze unwavering.

“…No,” he said clearly. “I can not prove anything.”

The air snapped taut, as if the world itself were holding its breath.

At once, voices rose in alarm.

“He admits it?”
“What’s he playing at?”
“This can’t be real—”
“Has he gone mad—?”

Crusch didn’t flinch. Her sword remained poised, glinting with a promise.

But Cid raised a hand, not in defense—but in control. Calm and commanding.

“And yet,” he said, his voice carrying above the rising noise, “I returned. Of my own will. Alone. Knowing full well what kind of fire I would be walking into.”

The crowd began to still.

“I made no effort to sneak back in. I offered no excuses. If I were truly dangerous, truly a traitor… would I not choose to vanish forever, to strike from the shadows?” He looked up, eyes gleaming—not with arrogance, but something sharper. “Or would I, perhaps, be the kind of man who confronts the storm with his head held high, trusting that those with sense will look deeper than fear?”

Crusch's blade did not move. But something flickered in her gaze.

“I underestimated your audacity,” she said coldly. “But do not make the mistake of underestimating me. You stand there because I chose to give you the benefit of the doubt—for Subaru's sake. But know this—” she stepped closer, blade kissing the skin of his throat, “—Crusch Karsten does not hesitate when betrayal threatens her people. If your loyalty wavers even once, I will not blink before spilling your blood.”

Ah, the classic visual novel moment where every choice either ruins your life or the dev just gave up and wrote one ending.

Cid didn’t flinch. “I would expect nothing less from you, Lady Crusch.”

A tension pulsed like a second heartbeat in the air—unrelenting.

Wilhelm, ever the sword and shield beside her, stepped forward. His voice was low, heavy with quiet warning.

“Lady Crusch…” he said slowly, “should you pursue this path… it may spark a rift with Emilia-sama’s camp. The boy belongs to them. Even if there is suspicion… a misstep here could fracture the alliance we’ve struggled to create.”

Crusch didn’t look at him. Her eyes never left Cid.

“I am aware, Sir Wilhelm,” she said coolly. “And I will bear every consequence. If he is a threat, I must act. Even if that means shouldering the weight of a fractured alliance.” Her grip tightened on the hilt. “That is my duty.”

“STOP!”

The word tore through the courtyard like a thunderclap.

All eyes turned to Subaru, standing with fists clenched and eyes blazing.

Crusch’s gaze snapped to Subaru, her sword still at Cid’s throat. Her voice rang out, clear and sharp, slicing through the tension like her blade.

“Why do you dare interrupt me, Natsuki Subaru?”

Subaru didn’t flinch. His fists trembled at his sides, but his eyes burned with conviction.

“Because this—all of this—feels wrong!” he shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. “This isn’t justice. This is fear wearing armour and suspicion wielding a sword!”

The crowd murmured again, but Subaru didn’t care. He stormed forward, ignoring the gasps, ignoring even Rem’s startled call behind him. He stopped only when he stood beside Cid, shoulder to shoulder, placing himself between the blade and his friend.

He's totally hijacking my moment to flex his 'enlightened take' aura—being that guy who shuts everyone down with 'logic.'

Cid blinked, surprised, his calm mask flickering for just a second. Subaru didn’t look at him. He stared straight ahead as if addressing the world itself.

“I know what it’s like,” Subaru said, voice low but fierce. “To be seen as a risk. A liability. A wild card. I know what it’s like to have people doubt you, to be watched, questioned, isolated… just because you’re different. Because you don’t fit.”

Cid’s eyes widened faintly, a flicker of recognition in their depths.

“But I also know what it means to have someone believe in you anyway,” Subaru continued, turning his head to look at Rem and then, locking eyes with the man beside him. “To have someone stand by your side even when you can’t prove your worth."

Crusch’s voice cut in, still stern but quieter now. “Then tell me this, Subaru. Why are you so certain? What makes you place such faith in this man?”

Subaru turned to face her fully. His voice rang with unshakable certainty.

“Because I know—without a shadow of a doubt—that if it meant keeping me safe, Cid would throw himself into the jaws of death without hesitation. I know that.”

And for a moment, the courtyard stilled again.

Crusch’s breath caught—only for an instant, but enough for those closest to sense it. Her blade remained at Cid’s throat, but her eyes flickered with astonishment.

She could feel it.

The truth.

Her Divine Blessing—the power that let her detect lies, sense sincerity—it burned in the space between them. Subaru’s words had struck like a hammer on steel. They rang with truth so raw, so fierce, it seared the air between them.

“…You truly believe it,” she murmured, golden eyes wide. “Your conviction… it shines like a beacon.”

Then she turned her gaze to Cid once more, her voice dropping to a whisper that carried the weight of command.

“Tell me… Lucien. Is your connection to this boy truly that strong?”

I guess I sold this one to Subaru, so I might as well play his game.

Cid was quiet for a beat. Then, slowly, a grin curved his lips.

“Lady Crusch,” he said, his voice silk and steel, “I have faced different kind of persons… but none of them compare to the sheer force of will that is Natsuki Subaru.”

He gave a chuckle, proud and dangerous.

“To stand beside him? It is not a duty. It is an honour."

The wind blew through the courtyard like a breath let free. For just a moment, Crusch’s blade lowered—by an inch, but an inch hard-won.

Subaru’s voice trembled, but it rang out once more, louder than before:

“…Then if you still don’t believe in him—!”

Cid’s hand rose, gentle yet firm. “That’s enough, Subaru.”

Subaru froze. The fire in his eyes refused to dim, but he stepped back, allowing Cid to take a step forward.

Cid turned to face Crusch directly. The tension between them was a taut wire strung in silence.

“If, Lady Crusch, you still doubt me… I do not blame you.” His voice was calm, not defensive—resigned, but resolute. “Trust is not owed. It is earned. And words, no matter how sincere, are mere air to one who bears the weight of command.”

Crusch said nothing. Her sword remained level. Her eyes narrowed, golden irises flickering.

Cid’s voice dropped to a murmur, almost reverent. “Judging by the emotions in this moment, I feel like trusting you. But—”

She cut in coldly. “But no great decision was ever made on emotion alone.”

A beat of silence.

Then Cid smiled—a butler’s smile. Soft, respectful, polished. “As expected from the lioness of House Karsten. Your reason is as sharp as your blade.”

His smile faded, replaced by something hollow… and grim.

“Then, as trust has yet to sprout, I have no choice.”

In one smooth motion, before anyone could move—

Cid reached forward and touched the blade.

Gasps tore through the crowd.

Steel split flesh.

Blood sprayed crimson into the air.

And his left hand fell to the ground.

Clink.
A gloved, severed hand. Fingers still curled. Lifeless. The courtyard went silent.

“Lucien!” Subaru’s scream cracked the stillness.

Felix cried out in horror. “Wh-What are you doing, you idiot?!”

Even Crusch staggered a step back, her blade slipping from its killing angle as disbelief cracked her composure. “What in the hells—?!”

Wilhelm’s eyes widened—but he said nothing. He knew. He understood.

Cid knelt slowly, deliberately, and picked up his severed hand with his remaining arm, cradling it with a quiet grace that defied the agony surely coursing through him. His voice, when it came, was a whisper forged in fire:

“I will join you, Lady Crusch… in your grand mission. To bring ruin upon the White Whale. To end the Witch’s Cult and the horrors they’ve wrought.”

He raised the hand toward her, blood trailing down his wrist, staining the ground beneath him.

“But if… even once… you feel I have betrayed your cause, your people, or your trust—then let this hand be my punishment. A debt paid in advance. Proof of intent, carved in flesh.”

Could’ve hit ‘em with the ol’ ‘I’ll seppuku,’ but nah—kept it breezy and just lopped off a hand. Western vibes, you know?

The silence was thunderous.

Crusch stood still, her breath caught in her chest. The blade at her side quivered faintly. She stared—not at the blood, not at the wound—but at the man.

And slowly, she exhaled.

“…You are reckless,” she said softly, “and mad. But there is clarity in your madness. You gamble your flesh for faith…” Her voice shook slightly, but it rose with purpose. “A soldier may swear with words. A liar may weep with sincerity. But only one without fear—only one with conviction—would offer up his own body.”

Her eyes burned with renewed intensity.

“Lucien… I do not know who you truly are. But in this moment, you have earned my trust.”

Cid smiled faintly, his face pale from blood loss, but his eyes were still gleaming.

“Then that alone… is worth the pain.”

He turned to Felix, who was already trembling with worry and fury in equal measure.

“In the event that I am proven not a traitor,” Cid said, his voice faint but composed, “I trust Sir Felix possesses the capabilities to preserve this hand… and perhaps even restore it to its rightful place when all of this is over.”

Felix blinked, then sniffled, both horrified and touched. “You’re such an idiot, nya…”

Crusch stepped forward, slowly lowering her blade.

“Lucien,” she said, “fight with us. And gods help you if you fall behind.”

He gave a short bow, blood dripping freely to the stones.

“I would not dream of it, my lady.”

Later on...
The caravans rumbled down the trail like a miniature army on parade—banners fluttering, wheels creaking, soldiers muttering. The White Whale hunt was on, and every able warrior was on edge, their breaths heavy with tension and anticipation.

In the distance, the fog-choked valley loomed like a beast lying in wait.

Cid, however, was not riding an earth dragon like the rest of the more dignified party. No—he was perched awkwardly on the back of one of Anastasia's large, wolf-like ground beasts, tail swishing behind him like it had its own opinions on this arrangement. More specifically, he was sharing the beast with one of Mimi’s younger brothers, who was very earnestly handling the reins like a seasoned veteran.

Up ahead, Subaru sat confidently atop Patrasche, his earth dragon steed, with Rem riding it. When his eyes landed on Cid and his not-so-regal mount, his brows shot up.

“Lucy?” Subaru called out. “What are you doing back there? Why aren’t you on your own earth dragon?”

Cid, somehow managing to remain elegant, turned calmly toward him.

“I do not know,” he said solemnly. “But it appears all of the earth dragons… refused me.”

Rem blinked. Subaru blinked twice. Even Patrasche seemed to snort with judgment.

“…Wait. All of them?”

Cid nodded. “There was a collective resistance. I believe I have somehow offended the herd.”

Subaru grinned like a cat, catching sight of a mouse. “What’d you do? Insult their scales? Steal one’s hay?”

“I merely approached with courtesy,” Cid muttered. “And one spat at me. I took the hint.”

Subaru laughed loud and shameless. “Pfft—what are you, a dragon repellent?!”

Cid sighed with martyr-like grace. “This wolf is perfectly adequate. And this young fellow has been… accommodating.”

At that, he turned slightly to address his ride-mate. “Forgive me, but I neglected to ask. What is your name, sir?”

The boy sat up straighter and puffed out his tiny chest, his voice suddenly taking on a tone of practised dignity.

“My name is Hetaro Pearlbaton, sir! And I have agreed to assist you today because Sis Mimi told me to.”

Cid nodded with regal approval. “Your dedication is admirable. Your sister’s will is clearly a guiding star.”

Hetaro beamed. “Thank you! I’ve only crashed into three things so far!”

“…Yes,” Cid said softly, gripping the wolf a little tighter, “I noticed.”

Cid then lifted his chin. “I shall embrace my new steed...”

The wolf chose that moment to bark and leap over a rock, sending Cid briefly airborne.

“…With honour,” he repeated flatly, adjusting his cravat.

Later on...
The procession of carriages came to a slow halt, wheels crunching to stillness atop the soft grass. Murmurs of awe and reverence rippled through the convoy as all eyes turned forward. There, towering above the mist and forest, stood the Flugel Tree.

It wasn’t just tall—it was ancient, divine, mythic. Its silver bark shimmered faintly in the moonlight, veins of pale gold pulsing like a living thing. The branches disappeared into the clouds, and even from a distance, its presence was humbling—like standing before the judgment of time itself.

Cid dismounted silently from the wolf-beast, brushing dust from his coat with a refined flick of his fingers. Slowly, he walked forward alone, each step measured and steady until he stood at the edge of the clearing, staring up.

He tilted his head back. His eyes, usually sharp and unreadable, widened in awe. The wind played with the fabric of his coat, tugging at the ends like the world itself wanted to draw him closer.

This spot oozes main character energy.

A voice broke the quiet behind him.

“Well, look at you. Didn’t think the butler could still be surprised.”

Cid didn’t turn. A smile tugged at his lips. “I am often surprised. I simply do not advertise the fact.”

Subaru stepped up beside him, grinning wide. “That so?”

“It is a tree worthy of reverence,” Cid said softly. “A monument to what once was… and what still dares to remain.” He finally turned to face him, that same calm mask in place. “It humbles even me.”

Subaru chuckled, then looked down at Cid’s side. “How’s the hand?”

Without missing a beat, Cid raised the arm. His left sleeve was pinned neatly at the elbow, a fresh white glove tucked beneath the folds as though still waiting to be worn. He waved the stump lightly in the air with dry poise.

“Surprisingly well. Sir Felix has applied a blend of healing arts and sheer profanity to stabilize the wound. I am told the hand remains preserved in ice. Awaiting... reunification.”

Subaru winced. “Still can’t believe you did that.”

Cid arched a brow. “Coming from you, that means little.”

Subaru huffed, then laughed under his breath. “Yeah… I guess I earned that one.”

Cid's eyes watched him closely now, not with judgment, but with something deeper. “A day ago,” he said, “you were pacing like a caged wolf. Cursing yourself. Mourning. Drowning in things left unsaid.”

Subaru didn’t answer at first. He stared forward—at the tree, at the people gathering around it, at the soldiers preparing for what might be their last stand.

“…I’m still mad at myself,” he said at last, quietly. “I can’t say I’m not. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop being mad at the things I'll let happen. But…”

His voice wavered, then steadied like a flame regaining strength.

“…I had to learn the hard way. About trust. About losing it. About what it really means to fight alongside someone, not just for them.”

He turned, eyes fierce with conviction.

“So now I’m trying something different. I’m pushing my luck—seeing if maybe I can fix things. Not by doing everything alone… but by standing with people. Letting them stand with me.”

Subaru’s background persona is getting glow-ups and character arcs while mine was stuck in the ‘default settings’ era. Iconic. Art. A masterpiece.

Cid studied him for a beat, then nodded once, slow and solemn.

“A foolish gamble, perhaps. But then again…” A smile returned, thin and knowing. “Foolish gambles are the only kind that change the world.”

Then Subaru’s breath caught.

His lips trembled, his hands clenched. The fire that burned in his chest—grief, guilt, courage—swelled all at once, and for a moment, it nearly overwhelmed him.

Cid said nothing. He simply looked away, letting Subaru have the moment. Not offering comfort, not prying. Just being there—present and patient.

Tears streaming, dude’s shook by his own talent.

Bootsteps approached—calm, sure, steady.

“Is it time?” came the low voice, like steel drawn halfway from its sheath.

Subaru turned. “Sir Wilhelm… Not yet. We’ve still got about thirty minutes before the whale shows up.”

Wilhelm nodded, expression unreadable beneath the pale moonlight. He looked past Subaru, eyes falling upon Cid. His gaze was hard, but not without a glimmer of respect.

“I saw what you did,” Wilhelm said quietly. “With Lady Crusch. The hand.”

Cid inclined his head, unfazed. “I did what must be done.”

Wilhelm was silent for a moment. Then, softly, he repeated the words—“What must be done.”

His gaze drifted, no longer focused on either of them. Lost in the dark.

“If I had that kind of resolve… back then…” His voice cracked, just faintly. “Maybe things would have turned out differently.”

Subaru stepped forward, voice strong despite the emotion in his throat. “Sir Wilhelm… tonight, we end this. And I swear—you will avenge your wife.”

Wilhelm’s out for revenge for his wife—knew the old dude was a total legend, but he’s got that tragic backstory, too.

Yep, that’s it. When I grow up, I’m gonna be just like him. Goals.

Wilhelm’s lips quirked—not quite a smile, not quite a frown. A line weathered by time and sorrow. He looked up at the moon, its pale glow bathing the valley in silver.

“Theresia…” he murmured. “What would she think, I wonder… seeing me like this now? A wrinkled old man swinging a sword for vengeance. I remember her laugh. The way she always scolded me when I picked fights. She hated violence… but she wasn't afraid of it.”

He paused, eyes distant. “She would always stand in front of danger, never behind. A flower blooming on the battlefield. Graceful. Unyielding.”

The words hung in the air like a prayer.

Okay, so I’m 100% not schizophrenic, but I think I've met a girl who’s basically Wilhelm’s wife’s clone. Life’s wild.

Cid’s voice came gently, as if he weren’t speaking at all, but remembering for them.

“A sword that weeps can not protect. Lift it with your heart, not your regrets.”

Wilhelm froze.

His breath caught, eyes wide as he turned toward Cid.

“Those words… Where did you hear them?”

Cid looked back, calm but distant. “I met a girl once. Long ago. She sounded far too similar to the woman you just described. A gaze like a spring storm—tender, but hiding thunder."

Wilhelm stared. Then slowly, he smiled—not out of joy, but something deeper. Recognition, maybe. Or peace.

“…I see,” he murmured. His eyes swept across the clearing, where soldiers tightened armor, whispered prayers, and shared the silence before battle. “…Fate is a strange thing. We think it bends to us… but maybe it just circles back, again and again. Showing us the same truths through different lives.”

His eyes fell to the moon again.

“And perhaps… even in this cursed world, there are no coincidences. Only meetings waiting for their hour.”

Later on...
The procession had come to a halt along the ridgelines, spreading out like the jaws of a waiting trap. Carriages locked into defensive formations. Soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder. Lances were planted in the earth.

Crusch Karsten sat tall atop her earth dragon, regal and resolute, her cape fluttering behind her like a battle standard. At her right was Rem her morning star gripped in both hands, a soft resolve lighting her face and Subaru—eyes scanning the fog with a grim determination, Patrasche snorting with nervous energy beneath him.

Directly behind them, standing on the grassy were Wilhelm van Astrea and Cid.

Wilhelm was silent, his blade already drawn. His back was straight, and the wind toyed with his white hair. Next to him, Cid stood with his coat billowing, his severed arm draped neatly across his chest, the empty sleeve pinned with soldierly precision. His remaining hand rested lightly on his hip. Calm. Collected. Watching.

And then—

RIIING. RIIING.

The unmistakable sound of a cellphone echoed across the valley, unnatural and jarring amidst the hush.

Subaru flinched. His hand dove into his coat. He looked down.

A numberless screen. A warning from a cruel world.

His throat tightened. His breath caught.

“…It’s here,” Subaru breathed, then shouted, voice cracking through the stillness. “It’s here!”

Crusch raised her sword high, her voice a war drum that shook the soul.

“All forces—PREPARE FOR ENGAGEMENT!”

Shouts followed. Armor clanked. Warriors mounted up. Archers knocked their arrows and lined the cliffs. The fog began to churn—twisting and boiling like something massive stirred within it.

Cid lifted his gaze.

And there—above them, parting the clouds like a nightmare given form—the White Whale descended.

Its body was a mountain of flesh and horror, and a mouth that screamed with no throat. It cut through the sky like an omen, trailing shrieks and stormwinds in its wake.

The sound it made tore through the heavens.

A scream of madness and memory.

Crusch braced herself. Wilhelm said nothing, his eyes locked on the target.

And Cid?

Cid grinned.

Eyes glinting as he whispered in the fog.

“Sensational.”

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and the story so far. Your support and feedback have been invaluable, and I truly appreciate the time you’ve taken to engage with my work.

However, I’ve come to realize that I haven’t been giving this story the full effort it deserves. Your responses have only reinforced that feeling. After careful consideration, I’ve decided to put this story on an indefinite hiatus. I need time to refine my approach and deliver something I can truly be proud of—and, more importantly, something you’ll genuinely enjoy.

I apologize for the pause, but I believe it’s necessary. When the story returns, Cid and Subaru will be entering a critical phase, and I want to do it justice.

Thank you for your understanding. I hope you’ll look forward to what’s next.

Wishing you all the best.

Chapter 25: L'Appel Du Vide

Notes:

Hey everyone, I’m back!

It’s been almost two months since the last update. I know some of you probably thought I dropped this fic, but nope! I’ve just been super busy with school and part-time work.

That time away actually helped me brainstorm some better plot ideas for what’s coming next.
Sorry for the delay. Now let the chaos of Cid Kagenou continue!

"All troops, on alert—!"

At Crusch’s command, the expeditionary forces tensed as one. According to Subaru, the White Whale would emerge mere moments after his strange device—his "cellphone"—sounded its alarm. If his words held true, the colossal demon beast could already be swimming through the night sky at that very instant. The device had signalled; the location was confirmed.

Doubt lingered in the back of her mind, but Subaru had given her no reason to distrust him. Crusch pushed aside her reservations, sharpening her focus as she braced for the beast’s arrival.

Silence.

No sign of the monstrous creature.
Her expression remained firm, but as seconds stretched into a full minute with no change, unease crept in. Had there been an error in the information? A miscalculation? Some unforeseen twist of fate?

The Lifaus Highway lay still, shrouded in an oppressive quiet. The moon’s glow was veiled by drifting clouds, casting shifting shadows over the plains—

Then—

"—!"

Crusch’s breath caught as she realized her mistake.

The moonlight hadn’t merely dimmed—it had been swallowed.

The shadow above them was no cloud.

It was something far more monstrous.

A demonic leviathan drifting through the sky like a titanic fish.

As Crusch inhaled sharply, the realization rippled through the expeditionary force in unison. Then, as if sharing a single mind, their gazes snapped toward her—

They were waiting for the order.

The plan had worked. They had seized the advantage, catching the White Whale the moment it appeared. Now, all that remained was to strike first and claim the battle’s momentum.

Crusch steadied herself, drawing in a slow breath—

But before she could issue the command—

"—Nail it!!"

A voice cut through the tension.

"—Al Hyuma!!"

The incantation rang out, and the world itself seemed to shudder.

Pillars of ice—massive, dense, and razor-sharp—erupted from the earth, hurtling toward the sky with terrifying speed. Four glacial spears, each as thick as a mansion’s central pillar, pierced the White Whale’s torso in a brutal, synchronized assault.

A heartbeat later—the beast screamed.

Blood rained from the sky as the demon writhed in agony.

Crusch whirled toward the source of the attack—

There, charging ahead of the vanguard, was the land dragon carrying Subaru and Rem. Clinging to Rem’s waist, Subaru thrust a fist into the air, his voice raw with triumph.

For a heartbeat, Crusch could only stare.

Then—her lips curled into a fierce, exhilarated grin.

"All troops, follow those two reckless fools!"

Her command shattered the lingering hesitation.

With a thunderous roar, the expeditionary force surged forward. Dust billowed in their wake, and above, the White Whale’s pained cries split the night air.

 

The battle had begun...

The White Whale’s scream tore across the plains, its deafening roar shuddering through the air, strong enough to numb eardrums. Yet, despite the overwhelming force of its cry, the pitch-black land dragon carrying Subaru and Rem charged forward without hesitation.

They had not acted recklessly. The moment the White Whale appeared, the expeditionary force had faltered—just for an instant, but that hesitation could have cost them everything. Seizing that critical pause, Subaru and Rem struck first, turning the tide before the battle had even fully begun.

The moment their attack landed, the embedded magic crystals erupted, unleashing torrents of fire, ice, and light. The spells tore through the wound Rem had carved into the beast, sending thick, soot-black blood cascading onto the highway below.

As the bloody rain fell, their land dragon pivoted with practised agility, circling behind the White Whale—just as planned.

"I’ll draw its attention—force it to turn its back to the expeditionary forces!" Subaru shouted over the chaos.

Rem’s sharp eyes caught the flicker of light above. "The sky!" she warned. "They’re using Night Banisher—close your eyes!"

Subaru obeyed just in time. A heartbeat later, the world exploded in blinding radiance.

White light engulfed the battlefield, searing away the night in an instant. Even through his clenched eyelids, the brilliance burned, overwhelming his vision. When he dared to look again, the darkness had vanished—replaced by an artificial sun, casting the plains in midday brightness.

"Whoa! That’s even more insane than you described!" Subaru gasped.

The Lifaus Highway was now bathed in relentless light, turning night into day. High above, a cluster of enchanted stones—Night Banisher—blazed like a miniature sun, their combined power banishing all shadows. Normally, such stones emitted only a feeble glow, but with enough resources and mana, they had created something far greater.

"Tracking the White Whale in the dark would’ve been impossible," Rem explained, her voice steady despite the chaos. "Now, it has nowhere to hide."

The White Whale turned toward them as they galloped low to its right, circling toward its tail. Subaru and Rem pulled away from the expeditionary force, drawing the beast’s massive, unblinking gaze. It's maw—wide enough to swallow a dragon carriage whole—yawned open, revealing rows of millstone-sized teeth. A deafening roar loomed, and Subaru braced himself against his land dragon, anticipating the crushing wave of sound.

Then—

“To turn away, you must have greatly underestimated me—!!”

A defiant cry split the air, followed by an invisible slash. The blade of wind carved a shallow gash across the White Whale’s stone-like hide, drawing fresh blood. Subaru whipped his head toward the source and saw Crusch at the vanguard’s lead, standing tall atop her land dragon, her arm extended in the aftermath of the strike.

“She’s not holding anything…?!”

“A formless blade that ignores range,” Rem murmured. “Lady Crusch’s legendary swordsmanship can strike a hundred men in a single stroke.”

The claim was staggering, but the proof was undeniable. Though seemingly unarmed, Crusch’s unseen slash had halted the White Whale’s advance. Seizing the opening, the magic crystal cannons roared to life, bombarding the beast with relentless volleys. Each impact drove it lower in the sky, its pained shrieks echoing across the battlefield.

Now, with the White Whale hovering just above the ground—

“Within… blade distance.”

A lone land dragon surged forward, its powerful legs launching it skyward with impossible agility. To the colossal beast, the rider must have seemed no more than an insect—until the flash of steel split its snout in a vicious upward slash.

This was no spell, no cannon’s blast, not even Crusch’s invisible strike. This was raw skill—a blade honed by human will, cutting deep into the monster that had haunted the world for centuries.

“—Fourteen years.”

The swordsman—Wilhelm van Astrea—drove his second blade into the wound, twisting it deeper. Blood sprayed as he wrenched the steel free, his presence radiating such hostility it seemed to warp the air itself.

“For all that time, I dreamed only of this day.”

The White Whale thrashed, rolling midair in a desperate attempt to dislodge him. But Wilhelm stood firm, his vengeance carved into flesh and mist alike.

Wilhelm van Astrea, the Sword Demon, loomed over the monstrous creature, his blue eyes burning with bloodlust. A malevolent grin twisted his lips as he spat out his condemnation.

"Here you shall fall, and your corpse shall rot—filthy monster!"

In an instant, his body became a blur of motion. Twin blades flashed as he sprinted across the White Whale’s back, from its head to its tail, carving deep into its supposedly impenetrable hide. Each slash sent arcs of soot-black blood spraying into the air, painting the sky in the beast’s suffering.

The White Whale writhed, its enormous form twisting in a desperate attempt to dislodge him. But Wilhelm only laughed—a cold, merciless sound.

"Good of you to help me slice you more!"

As the beast rolled midair, Wilhelm leapt, driving his sword downward. The momentum of the White Whale’s own movement dragged the blade through its flesh, splitting it open in a gruesome, self-inflicted wound. Blood misted the air, drenching Wilhelm’s torso, but he only laughed harder, his blades never ceasing their relentless assault.

He landed on the beast’s flank, his swords carving a vicious "V" into its flesh before he was forced to retreat. The White Whale’s tail whipped toward him with killing intent—but a streak of movement intercepted him. A land dragon, swift as the wind, snatched Wilhelm from the air mere moments before impact.

The beast roared in fury, its attention snapping toward its elusive prey. But before it could give chase, a booming voice cut through the chaos.

"Hey, don’t look away, moron! Yer facin’ the lot of us, too!!"

Ricardo’s massive cleaver smashed into the White Whale’s jaw with bone-crushing force, sending yellowed teeth flying. Mounted atop his wolf liger, the ferocious warrior rode across the beast’s face, his agility unmatched. The White Whale, now caught between Wilhelm’s relentless blades and Ricardo’s crushing strikes, had no time to recover—its fate was already sealed.

Ricardo’s roar, more feral than any beast’s, tore through the chaos as his massive cleaver carved into the White Whale’s hide. The liger beneath him surged forward, its momentum driving the blade deep—shattering flesh and bone in a single, devastating charge.

Behind him, the battlefield erupted in motion.

“All riiiight, let’s goooo!”

The lieutenant twins, Mimi and her brother, astride their own swift ligers, split apart, their voices sharp as they barked orders to the mercenary band. Like a storm of claws and steel, the Iron Fangs descended upon the White Whale, their mounts leaping onto its colossal form with predatory grace. Swords flashed, spears thrust—each strike a stinging wound, a swarm of wasps tormenting a titan.

The White Whale thrashed, its enormous bulk betraying it. Every movement was sluggish, every attempt to shake off its assailants futile. The very size that made it a terror now rendered it vulnerable—until Crusch’s command sliced through the fray.

“All troops, move away!”

In perfect unison, the mercenaries disengaged, their ligers landing nimbly on the scorched earth. The White Whale, sensing freedom, wheeled to counterattack—only to expose its flank.

A fatal mistake.

Crusch’s blade struck first, a gleaming arc splitting the air as it tore into the beast’s side. But the true devastation came next.

The magic squad, silent until now, unleashed their gathered power.

“—Al Goa!”

A second sun bloomed upon the battlefield—a roiling sphere of flame, thirty feet of incandescent fury. The heat seared the air, warping vision, stealing breath. Even from a distance, Subaru felt his skin prickle, his eyes drying beneath the blaze’s radiance.

Then—it moved.

The fireball hurtled forward, accelerating with terrifying speed before crashing into the White Whale’s wounded belly. The explosion of flame seared through its flesh, boiling innards, scorching sinew. The beast’s scream was a chorus of agony, its massive body convulsing as fire consumed it from within.

Mercenaries scattered, dodging the rain of embers and molten fragments. Subaru and Rem retreated with them, their gazes locked on the burning leviathan.

For a fleeting moment, victory seemed assured—the White Whale, crippled and aflame, unable to retaliate.

But in the heart of the inferno, something stirred.

Standing at a safe distance from the flames, Subaru clenched his fist as he watched the White Whale from the back of his land dragon.

So far, their assault had been overwhelming—surely they had dealt significant damage. Given the failure of the Great Expedition fourteen years prior, he had braced for a gruelling battle, but now, victory seemed tantalizingly close. Their meticulously laid plan had worked flawlessly, luring the beast into a devastating ambush. The sight of the colossal creature engulfed in flames filled him with exhilaration.

Yet Rem, standing beside him, shook her head, her sharp gaze fixed on the burning demon beast.

"It's not over," she said firmly. "If our attacks had been truly decisive, the White Whale would have already crashed."

Subaru’s eyes widened. He turned back to the creature, reassessing the situation.

The great magic had scorched half of the beast’s body, the flames still licking hungrily at its fur. The magic crystal cannons had left deep wounds, blood dripping from its injuries in steady streams.

But despite it all—

"Its altitude… ain't droppin."

The White Whale remained suspended in the air, calm and unmoved. It wasn’t flying so high that a mounted charge couldn’t reach it, but without it crashing to the ground, their next phase—melee combat—would be nearly impossible.

Ricardo trotted up beside them, his massive cleaver resting on his shoulder, his canine muzzle smeared with blood.

"We threw everything we had at it right from the start," he growled, his ears twitching. "If that didn’t bring it down, then this thing’s just built tougher than we thought." He snorted, baring his fangs. "We landed some solid hits, but most weapons won’t pierce that hide. Unless you’ve got raw power like mine or Mr.Wil’s precision, you’re just chipping at it."

"Magic seemed effective, though," Subaru countered.

Rem sighed. "Appearances are deceiving. The White Whale’s fur disperses mana, weakening spells. My magic didn’t deal as much damage as it seemed."

Subaru frowned. Now that he looked closer, the wounds were numerous but shallow—painful, perhaps, but not debilitating. Still, there was one silver lining.

"At least the fire spells burned off a lot of its fur," he noted.

"Exactly," Ricardo agreed with a savage grin. "Burn away that mana-dampening fluff, and we can carve right into its hide." He patted his liger’s back, readying himself for another charge. "Alright, let’s empty the rest of our arsenal! Crusch, hit it with another blast if you can!"

As the smouldering inferno raged in the distance and wounded soldiers regrouped, Subaru narrowed his eyes. Among the shifting ranks and clamour of shouting mercenaries, one man moved with unwavering calm.

Wilhelm van Astrea walked with heavy purpose through the assembled troops, who instinctively parted before his presence. The Sword Demon’s bloodied blades gleamed faintly under the artificial sun, and his weathered face was a mask of grim focus.

Yet, he was not headed for the front.

Instead, he made his way toward a solitary figure standing tall amidst the chaos—calm, composed, untouched by dust or blood.

A man in a spotless black butler uniform, posture perfectly straight, left arm missing below the elbow and replaced with crisp, bandaged cloth. His one gloved hand rested behind his back as if awaiting an order that never came.

Wilhelm stopped in front of him.

“I believe... it’s time you lent us your strength,” the Sword Demon said lowly, loud enough only for nearby ears.

Subaru turned sharply. “Wait, Lucien...?”

He looked again at the figure—Cid. His best friend, his loyal ally. He who never drew a weapon, never raised his voice, never fought—because he had made a vow. A promise that his hands would no longer be used for violence.

But now—

Wilhelm’s gaze never left him. “I've seen your eyes. You’ve watched. Calculated.” He stepped aside.

“Lucien,” he said with deliberate weight. “We need you.”

All eyes shifted toward Cid.

I pulled the 'I'll just sit and watch' move, just to flex when I finally joined this raid.

The butler adjusted his collar, the smallest of grins curling his lips. His posture didn’t change, but the air around him did. It was as if the battlefield had quieted—just for him.

“A most raucous display,” Cid said, voice refined and smooth. “The coordination was admirable. Your blades struck true, and your magic burned with purpose. Indeed... a perfect overture.”

He looked toward the White Whale, its flesh blackened, its movements growing more erratic.

Check out this mad lil’ creature—cha-ching! Black market’s gonna love it.

“A grotesque symphony of flesh and mist,” he murmured. “Its presence is oppressive, its intellect underestimated. But now that the mask is cracked... the final act may commence.”

Wilhelm nodded slowly. “You’ve seen how it fights. And you’re sharp enough to know how to deal with it.”

“I am merely a humble servant,” Cid replied, bowing slightly. “But even a servant may swat a fly... when the dinner table is under siege.”

There was something in his tone—something unshakable.

Wilhelm’s jaw tightened. He had faced monsters, men, legends—but this man? He couldn’t read him. He didn’t know what Cid’s fighting style was, or even if he had one. But his instincts—refined through decades of battle—screamed one truth:

This man was not to be underestimated.

Cid—no, Lucien—lifted his head. His crimson eyes glinted beneath his fringe, and in that gaze was a storm Subaru had never seen before.

Everyone knew Cid had vowed never to use violence again. And yet, the way he stood now, calm and unflinching in the face of one of the world’s deadliest beasts, made it painfully clear that he did not fear it at all.

Alright, so the boss has floof armour that tanks hits and a health bar longer than Ram’s patience.

Shadow could’ve solo’d this, but nah—teamwork makes the dream work. Lucien mode activated.

Subaru hurried through the thinning ranks, nearly stumbling as he rushed to where Cid stood beside Wilhelm. His heart thudded wit.

“Lucy, wait!”

Cid turned his head slightly, his gaze meeting Subaru’s. There was no fear in his eyes—only calm calculation. But Subaru pressed on.

“That thing out there—it’s killed thousands. It's not just some oversized beast—it’s death made flesh!” Subaru’s voice was hoarse with emotion. “You don’t have a weapon. You don’t even have both hands anymore. You can’t just—!”

Cid looked at him. He tilted his head ever so slightly, one gloved hand brushing invisible dust from his pristine lapel.

“Subaru,” he said softly, his voice smooth as silk and twice as sharp. “Forgive me, but I must respectfully decline your concern.” He offered the faintest of bows. “A butler, after all, does not shy away when his household is threatened. He merely... tidies up the mess.”

Before Subaru could respond, heavy footsteps thundered behind them.

“Oi, I got what you asked for, Bro!”

Ricardo skidded to a halt beside them, a grin splitting his blood-smeared muzzle. Draped over his shoulder were massive iron chains—long, thick, and cruelly spiked at the ends. They clanked with menace as he lowered them, the links heavy enough to leave dents in the earth.

Subaru’s jaw dropped. “W-Wait... What are you two even planning to do?!”

Wilhelm’s brow rose slightly, his grip tightening on his blades.

Cid gave a small, approving nod toward Ricardo. “Splendid timing, Mr. Ricardo.”

Then he turned his gaze to Subaru, and something in his voice shifted—still polished, still poised, but now laced with dangerous finality.

“We intend to end the performance.”

Subaru blinked. “What—?”

But then Crusch’s voice cut through the din of the camp, her tone stern, commanding, and edged with worry.

“Lucien! Don’t you dare try anything reckless!”

Her figure stood tall atop her land dragon, eyes fixed on the trio with open concern. Around her, soldiers paused, watching the exchange in stunned silence.

Cid glanced over his shoulder, then gave a slight nod of acknowledgement, hand resting behind his back once more.

“Lady Crusch,” he said, tone as proper as ever. “From this point on, I must humbly ask that you merely support us from the rear. We shall handle the rest.”

Without waiting for permission, he turned forward.

Three dudes walking out in front of the entire army to take on a giant monster together?
So, hype!
I’m always surprised how much the script pops off halfway through each chapter.

And together—with Ricardo hefting his chains, Wilhelm unsheathing both blades, and Cid walking between them—the three advanced toward the still-hovering White Whale. Their pace was calm and deliberate. Each step echoed like a war drum in the stunned silence of the army.

Wilhelm’s swords gleamed as he slid into his fighting stance, his coat flaring in the wind. Ricardo rolled his shoulders, the chains rotating with a heavy whrrr, like the grinding of gears in a siege engine.

Cid, between them, reached up and calmly loosened his bow tie, allowing it to fall. The gesture was smooth, unhurried, as if he were merely preparing for an evening dance.

Then, a grin curled his lips—confident, razor-sharp.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, his voice carrying with theatrical clarity, “the hunt has begun.”

The tension in the air was electric.

Ricardo and Cid moved in perfect sync, their muscles coiling as they heaved the massive iron chain taut between them. The links clanked ominously, the spiked ends digging into the earth like anchors. Wilhelm didn’t hesitate—his boots scraped against the ground before he launched himself onto the chain, his swords gleaming under the artificial sun.

With a mighty heave, Ricardo and Cid swung the chain like a living whip, catapulting Wilhelm through the air with terrifying speed.

SWOOSH.

Wilhelm’s coat flared behind him like wings as he rocketed through the smoke-filled sky. His twin blades gleamed in the inferno’s light, his gaze locked on the White Whale’s exposed back.

“HRAAAAGH!!”
He came down like a reaper, slamming into the beast with a CRACK of steel and sinew. The White Whale screamed—a deep, echoing roar of pain—as Wilhelm’s blades drove deep into its hide, carving through the burned fur and seared flesh like a sculptor through marble.

Check him out—dude's out here avenging his wife like an absolute legend, looking insanely badass mid-fight. Taking notes, brb.

Below, Ricardo grinned, his fangs gleaming. “Heh. Showin’ off as always…” He turned to Cid. “Alright, Butler Boy. Your turn.”

Cid gave a single, curt nod, his grip tightening on the chain. His crimson eyes burned with quiet intensity.

Then—whrrr—the world blurred as Ricardo yanked with monstrous strength, hurling Cid forward like a black-clad comet. The wind roared past his ears as he arced through the air, his coat flaring behind him like the wings of a vengeful crow.

"Hah! Two birds, one stone!" Ricardo barked, watching both warriors land atop the beast. "Now carve it up, boys!"

THUMP.

Cid landed elegantly beside Wilhelm, the chains coiled in his grip like a serpent ready to strike.

The White Whale twisted, bellowing, but Cid didn’t flinch. He merely brushed a stray lock of hair from his eyes and tilted his head.

“Truly, the houseguest has overstayed its welcome,” he said coldly, the weight of his words slicing sharper than any blade. “Allow me to show it the door.”

SCHING.

Wilhelm tore his blades through the beast’s hide, slicing a gaping wound that sprayed black ichor into the air. He carved a bloody path with the rage of a man possessed, his strikes relentless and precise.

Cid moved in tandem—not like a warrior, but like a surgeon. While Wilhelm opened the wound, Cid thrust the chains inside with clinical precision, the CLINK of iron meeting bone echoing across the battlefield.

Wanna take down the final boss? First step—debuff the heck outta him!

“Now,” Cid murmured, gripping tight, “let us secure the centrepiece.”

The White Whale SCREEECHED, convulsing violently. It thrashed midair, trying to dislodge the invaders clawing at its spine.

Cid was flung from his foothold.

WHOOSH—THUMP!

He fell, the ground rushing up—but his hand snapped to the chain, halting his fall in a teeth-rattling jolt.

CLINK—SWING!

He twisted midair, his coat fluttering like a banner as he arced around the beast’s flank.

Below, Ricardo growled, bracing himself as he yanked the chain back with all his strength. The links clattered taut, and Cid swung through the air like a pendulum before kicking off the Whale’s side and flipping back onto its seared hide.
His landing was flawless.

"Annoying," he muttered. Then, his crimson eyes locked onto the Whale’s thrashing form. "But not unmanageable."

“Gotta admit…” Ricardo growled, eyes shining with excitement. “You two are some real freaks.”

“I prefer the term exceptional,” Cid said, not even sparing the writhing beast a glance. “But freak will do.”

The battlefield held its breath.

Crimson eyes glinting, chains wrapped like vipers around his arm, Cid advanced down the beast’s spine toward Wilhelm—calm as ever, dangerous as hell.

“Let us end the opera with a proper crescendo.”

The battlefield pulsed with chaos, yet below the whirlwind of motion and violence, Crusch Karsten stood tall upon her land dragon, her gaze fixed unflinchingly on the sky where the trio waged their impossible war atop the White Whale.

Ferris stood beside her, mouth slightly agape, the usual playfulness drained from his tone. “Y’know… I always figured I’d see Reinhard, Julius, and myself fighting side by side like that someday. Different camps or not, fate’s weird like that…”

His voice dropped a touch. “But this? Watching those three? It’s somethin’ else entirely.”

Crusch didn’t answer at first. Her eyes remained skyward, watching Wilhelm tear across the monster’s flesh, Ricardo yanking the chains with beast-like might, and Lucien—Cid—dancing between them like a specter of precision.

“…They’re doing the work of an entire army,” she said quietly, “with nothing but willpower and resolve.”

Ferris followed her gaze, blinking at the surreal sight above. “Wil’s always been a force, and Ricardo’s got enough muscle to knock over a fortress... but I didn’t expect Lucy to keep up with either of them."

Crusch’s voice hardened. “Don’t misunderstand.”

Ferris turned, surprised. “Huh?”

Her eyes never left the sky. “Wilhelm’s experience lets him execute without hesitation, adjusting instinctively to whoever fights beside him. Ricardo’s raw power and honed instincts let him support them both as an unshakable anchor.”

She paused, her tone becoming low, reverent.

“But Lucien… Lucien is the one connecting them.”

Ferris blinked. “…Connecting?”

“Yes.” She finally turned her head slightly, the wind tugging at her long green hair. “With minimal effort, he’s bridging the raw destruction of Ricardo and the refined skill of Wilhelm. No wasted movement. No command given. He moves in tandem with them as if he’s rehearsed it a thousand times. But this is no performance.”

Crusch’s eyes narrowed as if trying to pierce through the air itself.

“It’s as if he’s been orchestrating this entire battle from the moment he stepped forward. He’s not just keeping up—he’s the conductor of this symphony of violence.”

Ferris looked back up at the black-clad figure, now dashing down the White Whale’s spine, chains coiled like instruments in his grip, movements too fluid to be improvised.

“…You’re serious.”

“Watch him closely,” Crusch said softly. “Even Wilhelm is adjusting his strikes to match Lucien’s timing. Ricardo’s throws—each one perfectly aligned with where Lucien needs to be. He doesn’t order them. He influences them. He doesn’t command the stage—he shapes it.”

High above, Cid pivoted gracefully on the whale’s undulating spine, wrapping the chain tight, drawing it taut in tandem with Ricardo’s next throw. Wilhelm didn’t even glance—he felt the moment and leapt, blades outstretched.

A perfect rhythm.

A terrifying harmony.

Ferris shivered.

“Guess that vow of pacifism wasn’t weakness,” he whispered. “It was just restraint.”

Chains writhed like serpents under Cid’s command, their spiked ends buried deep in the White Whale’s flesh. The great beast bucked and thrashed, but Cid stood tall atop its heaving form, perfectly balanced.

Then, with the elegance of a man adjusting fine silverware, Cid whipped one chain around the massive, gnarled horn of the White Whale. It coiled with mechanical precision—tight, deliberate. The spikes clinked into place, locking around the base like a hunter’s snare.

He tugged—just once. The links groaned in protest as the tension surged through them. With his left hand gripping the chain, he raised his right boot and planted it atop the horn like it was a mere stepstool.

The world froze.

Crimson eyes narrowed, and with the poise of a man straightening his cuffs, Cid looked down at the struggling monstrosity beneath him.

“My apologies, sir beast,” he said smoothly, tone calm as falling snow. “But I simply cannot allow such unruly guests to disturb the household. Consider this... your eviction notice.”

Ooooh, wonder how much this horn’s gonna go for... might as well call dibs and take it as my war trophy.

Down below, Subaru stared in awe, slack-jawed. “He—he’s making the Whale look like some untamed mutt!”

Rem’s voice was breathless. “To think… that I’d see someone conquer the White Whale like it was nothing…”

But then—

SSSSHHHRRRAAAA!

A sudden hiss.

Cid’s sharp eyes flicked downward just as a pore split opened beneath him, mist spewing forth with the violent force of a geyser. It struck with a thunderous hiss, blasting him skyward like a ragdoll.

Guess it finally responded to our raid—readers were about to think the lazy writing curse struck again!

Wilhelm roared from below, “LUCIEN! BE CAREFUL!”

The White Whale’s massive eye followed the airborne figure. Its mouth opened wide with a furious, otherworldly shriek—preparing to swallow him whole.

And then—

SCHWING—SCHWING—SCHWING!

Blades of emerald light screamed through the air—Crusch’s sword slashes, launched like guided crescents.

Cid twisted mid-air, the attack passing within an inch of his face. A single lock of hair floated free, cut clean.

And he grinned.

Behind him, the slashes sank into the Whale’s open mouth, drawing a screeching wail as blood and mist burst from within.

THUD!

Cid landed on the scorched earth below with practised grace, his coat fluttering dramatically around him. Dust plumed around his boots.

Crusch’s voice rang out, sharp and full of disbelief. “Lucien! What in the world was your plan all along?!”

Now I just gotta explain my genius plan like a total boss, hit a smooth bow, and watch this monster suffer.

Cid turned to face her and the army. The battlefield was quiet, expectant.

“The chains,” he said, voice cutting through the smoke, “are not merely restraints. They are conduits—drawing tension from both Ricardo’s strength and the Whale’s own thrashing. Soon, they will snap… and in that moment, the creature’s movements will falter.”

He paused, then took a breath.

His right foot slid behind his left, crossing neatly. His right hand pressed against his chest. And with a perfect, practised grace, he bowed.

“Please prepare to finish the performance when the curtain falls, milady.”

RUMMMMBLLLE—CLINK—GRRRAAAHH!

The chains began to glow faintly, tightening like a vice. The Whale howled, its limbs spasming as the bindings crushed deeper into its core.

Cid straightened, eyes glowing like embers.

And in a voice low, final, and sharp as a guillotine, he whispered:

“Now… kneel, cur.”

RUMMMMBLLLE—CLINK

The chains pulsed with energy, Ricardo’s strength, and the Whale’s own weight, forcing them tighter and tighter. With one final, echoing SCREEEECH, the White Whale convulsed violently—and then… silence.

A stillness swept across the battlefield like a falling veil.

All eyes turned skyward.

The White Whale hovered, trembling, blood dripping from its wounds, its form shuddering—but not moving.

Frozen.

Too still.

Crusch’s lips parted slightly. Ferris’ ears twitched. Even the wind seemed to halt.

Then—CRACK.

The chains snapped.

The beast slumped forward slightly.

And in that exact moment, Subaru’s voice broke through the quiet, raw, and panicked:
“LUCIEN!!!”

All eyes snapped toward the lone figure standing with his back to the now-free monster.

Cid didn’t move.

But he could feel it.

The eye.

The killing intent.

Like a mountain of malice pressing down on him. The very air curdled behind him as the White Whale reared its head. The pressure of its bloodlust rolled off it in waves—hungry, vengeful.

A lesser man might’ve gone crazy.

Cid… chuckled.

A soft, composed sound—like gentleman clearing his throat before tea.

“Hmph,” he murmured, brushing ash from his sleeve. “I sincerely hope the marketplace will accept White Whale hide in exchange for a new coat. This one is… about to be discontinued.”

Uh-oh, the beast is taking it personally now and coming for me. Too bad—once someone loses their cool, the one who stays chill takes control.

In one swift, practised motion, he shrugged off his tattered butler jacket, letting it fall behind him.

FWUMP.

The black coat sailed through the air like a shroud.

And just as the White Whale lunged—

THWACK!

The jacket smacked into its eye.

The beast reeled, blinded for a single, precious second.

When the coat slipped away—

Wilhelm was already there.

“RAAAAAAGHH!!”

Steel screamed.

SPLORTCH.

The old swordsman drove both blades into the Whale’s massive eye, carving it free with a surgical gouge. The creature howled, thrashing with pure agony as black ichor exploded from the ruined socket.

On the ground, Subaru gawked. “He—he used his coat?! Who does that?!”

And then—a voice, echoing from above.

“Subaru!”
Cid’s voice rang from the beast’s back, cool and commanding.

No way I’m letting it attack the army—they’ll just hog all the loot once this fight’s done.

Subaru blinked, looking up to see Cid casually standing atop the beast again, coatless but composed, chains wrapped elegantly around one arm like a sash.

“A bit of assistance, if you’d be so kind. Draw its gaze.”

Subaru scoffed. “Tch. What, so you can get knocked off again?”

But then…

He grinned.

“…Fine, you overly dramatic butler!”

He spun toward the Whale, raising his arms with a taunting flourish.

“HEY, UGLY! I CAN RETURN BY-!”

The Whale’s remaining eye snapped toward Subaru, its fury reigniting.

Cid gave a pleased nod, speaking softly under his breath.

“…Excellent stage partner.”

Smoke curled around the wounded behemoth, mist, and blood hanging heavy in the air as Cid stood tall upon the whale’s trembling back. The chains coiled around his arm glinted faintly, their edges dulled by gore but no less menacing.

He gazed down—cold, calculating—at the quivering expanse of scorched flesh beneath his boots. Crimson eyes narrowed behind a few wind-tossed strands of hair.

A heavy thud sounded behind him.

Cid didn’t turn. He didn’t need to.

Ricardo loomed at his side, cleaver hoisted lazily over one broad shoulder, his fur matted with soot and battle-sweat. The beastman grinned, tongue flicking across one fang.

“So, Butler Boy,” Ricardo said, his tone rough but tinged with respect, “what’s your next insane plan?”

Cid exhaled slowly, placing his right hand elegantly on his hip. The motion was so casual that it felt like he was merely preparing to adjust a dinner setting.

All I need is to flex a little and sound like I know what I'm talking about.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he replied smoothly. “We strike the fatal spot. The beast is weakened—it won’t take much more.”

Ricardo raised a bushy brow, amused. “Good idea. But, uh… how the hell do we know where that is?”

Cid finally turned his head, a confident smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His eyes glinted like rubies under pressure.

“Perhaps,” he said, voice velvety with assurance, “it lies in the same place as a normal whale.”

I have zero fucking idea where that place usually is.

Ricardo blinked, the White Whale shifting violently beneath them as it struggled to stay aloft.

“You serious?” he growled. “You know where that is?”

Cid gave a polite nod, as though he were merely confirming the day’s tea selection.

If all else is failing, I’ll just talk bullshit with big ‘I know what I’m doing’ energy.

“But of course,” Cid said, and then—his gloved hand rose. With practiced precision, he pointed to a very specific point along the monster’s ridged back. “Ah, here—just beneath the dorsal ridge. You see, the nervus convergens converges with the spina reflexa, creating a critical nexus. Overstimulate this junction, and the creature’s entire neuromuscular system will short-circuit. A bit like overloading a leyline conduit, really.” He paused, as if considering the elegance of it. “One well-placed strike, and… well, let’s just say it won’t be getting back up.”

Ricardo stared, then let out a loud, barking laugh.

“You’re way too handy for your own good, you know that?!”

He shifted his stance, lowering his cleaver from his shoulder. Muscles coiled. Eyes burned.

“The spine it is!”

With a howl of pure joy, Ricardo launched himself forward, cleaver gleaming, smoke trailing from his heels.

Cid watched him go, coatless, chains still coiled around his arm like the regalia of a battle-hardened conductor.

Then, as the Whale shrieked in mounting desperation, Cid spoke one more time—voice smooth, final, and dangerously calm.

“Do aim true, Mister Welkin. I’d hate to repeat the performance.”

THWACK!

Ricardo’s cleaver slammed down onto the White Whale’s dorsal ridge with a devastating crack, the impact rippling through its flesh like a thunderclap. The beast let out an ear-splitting SCREECH, its body convulsing violently beneath them.

And then—

Its remaining eye flared.

A deep, unnatural red.

Subaru’s breath hitched. From atop Patrasche, riding with Rem, he felt his stomach twist.

“That eye—! Guys, move! Something’s wrong!”

Wilhelm’s voice boomed from below. “Get off—NOW! That thing is about to erupt!”

The Whale’s entire body quivered, muscles bulging unnaturally. Then—

SHHHHHHHHHHHRAAAAAHHHH!!

Dozens of pores along its flesh split open in sync, spraying torrents of dense, white mist like ruptured steam vents. The pressure was explosive, chaotic—blasting outward with such force that Ricardo and Cid were launched skyward, swallowed by the haze.

Alright, final boss is leveling up and we're moving into phase two of the raid!

Ricardo twisted mid-air, coughing and growling. “DAMN YOU, YOU STINKY OVERGROWN FOGHORN! What the hell are you, a beast or a broken teapot?!”

Beside him, Cid spun gracefully, completely composed even as the storm of mist roared around them.

“We split,” he said calmly.

Ricardo blinked. “Split?! That’s a terrible ide—”

Then he saw it.

Cid’s grin.

That slow, confident, infuriatingly elegant grin.

Ricardo snorted. Then, he laughed.

“Don’t go dying, you pompous butler bastard.”

With a shared nod, their feet collided mid-air.

THUMP.

A burst of force. They kicked off one another—Ricardo rocketing left, Cid veering right, parting like twin arrows fired from the same bow.

Cid descended, twisting through the thickening mist with fluid grace.

He landed in a crouch, one knee pressed to the bloodstained earth. The force of his fall sent a plume of dust curling around him.

The battlefield had changed.

Screams echoed from the fog—panicked, disoriented. Shapes flickered in the mist. The White Whale’s presence loomed, larger than ever, its roar now a guttural dirge that made the very ground tremble.

Cid stood slowly. Crimson eyes glinted beneath his tousled hair.

His smirk returned—cool, sharp, knowing.

“Hmph,” he murmured, brushing phantom dust from his shoulder with a practiced flick. “The boss raid entered its next stage.”

The mist churned like a living thing, thick and blinding. Through the veil of white, distorted screams echoed—some filled with pain, others with a madness far worse. Shapes moved in the fog—some human, some not. Men who had moments ago stood with courage were now clutching their heads, eyes wide and wild, brought low by the mind-rending cries of the White Whale.

And above it all, the beast roared.

A sound that didn’t just echo—but invaded. It slithered into the mind, scraped against the soul, unmade the senses.

Cid stood at the center of it, untouched.

He gazed around with an eerily calm expression, his coat still absent and blood-spattered dust curling at his boots. His crimson eyes studied the breakdown of order with quiet intensity.

Soldiers were dropping their weapons, shaking. Others vanished into the mist, their last sounds wet and final.

Should I just say 'screw it' and go full Shadow mode? Wrecking the whole place sounds kinda fun, not gonna lie.

“Hmm,” Cid mused aloud.

He placed his only hand against his chin, two fingers resting elegantly beneath his lips. The pose was casual—deliberate. A thinker’s gesture amidst the slaughter.

Hmm, that might not be the best move right now. Subaru called all of us here for a reason—he probably has some big plan in mind. If I show up as Shadow, it could mess things up.

Then—

BOOM—CRRRRSSHHHH!!!

A thunderous eruption tore through the mist as the ground beneath him shattered like porcelain. Out of the white came the colossal maw of the White Whale, gaping and filled with glistening rows of serrated teeth, lunging straight for him—intent to devour.

But Cid didn’t flinch.

Not a twitch. Not a blink.

Instead—

He lifted his leg.

One smooth, precise motion. Heel forward.

And with effortless grace—

THOOM!

He planted the sole of his boot directly onto the Whale’s lower jaw—stopping it cold.

The earth split. Rocks screamed beneath the pressure.

But Cid? Cid merely looked down at the creature beneath his heel with the mild disinterest of a man inconvenienced by a barking dog.

Maybe I should just stay as Lucien for now and stick close to Subaru. Worst-case scenario, Lucien gets wrecked as collateral damage when Subaru goes all out with his true power.

The Whale snarled and pushed, trying to overpower him, mist coiling madly. But Cid didn’t budge.

Instead—

His eyes lit up.

“Ah—Eureka,” he said, snapping his fingers with a gleam of inspiration. “Of course.”

He finally acknowledged the creature straining beneath his foot. His smirk returned—cool, unbothered, razor-sharp.

“Your skull may be thick,” he said pleasantly, “but I assure you… it makes a splendid springboard.”

And with a flawless, dancer-like motion, Cid kicked.

CRACK—WHOOOOOM!!

The Whale’s head snapped to the side, its massive bulk hurled away like a ragdoll, vanishing into the fog with a howling screech and a tremor that rattled the world.

Silence reigned for a moment.

Then—

“Lucy!!” a familiar voice cried out.

Subaru, astride Patrasche, burst through the mist, Rem clutching his side, her Morningstar ready. Both skidded to a halt at the sight of Cid standing alone, mist swirling dramatically around him.

“Are you okay?!” Subaru called out.

Cid slowly turned toward them. His hair ruffled slightly in the wind.

He placed a hand to his chest and gave a polite half-bow, as if they had interrupted nothing more than afternoon tea.

“Of course,” he said coolly.

Rem’s expression tightened as the mist closed in around them, thick and suffocating. Her grip on the reins firmed.

“We need to find the others,” she said urgently. With a swift motion, she swung her Morningstar in a wide arc.

WHOOOSH—CRACK!

The heavy weapon tore through the fog, blasting a momentary path of visibility through the dense white.

Cid nodded silently and moved to follow, his pace elegant even at a run.

As they pressed deeper into the battlefield, screams rang out from beyond the mist—panicked, desperate, ending in sickening, abrupt silence.

Subaru’s jaw clenched.

“This is bad,” he muttered, knuckles white against Patrasche’s reins. “The situation’s… really bad.”

Cid, running just beside them, spoke without turning.

“And yet,” he said, voice cool even amidst the chaos, “you seem quite incapable of backing down, Subaru.”

Subaru blinked, surprised. He turned his head to look at Cid—

Then smirked.

“Tch… Of course I’m not going to give up,” he shot back, eyes burning. “I’m not leaving anyone behind.”

Cid's eyes gleamed in the mist, a flicker of approval hiding behind his usual detached calm.

“…Excellent,” he murmured, almost too softly to hear.

Subaru and Cid spotted Wilhelm barely clinging to his land dragon as they fled the mist’s encroaching grasp. It wasn’t until Subaru shouted from behind that Wilhelm realized the truth—

The demon beast was upon him.

Emerging from the dense fog, the White Whale loomed, its massive maw gaping wide as it surged forward in silent pursuit.

“—Run!”

“Nn—?!”

Wilhelm sensed the danger at the last possible moment, but the warning came too late. Before he could react, the beast struck—

A single, devastating bite.

Should I save him? Nah. I know character development when I see it, and Wilhelm van Astrea is definitely my next project.

The ground vanished beneath him. The land dragon, the earth, Wilhelm himself—all were swallowed whole in an instant. The Whale’s jaws scraped across the terrain, gouging out everything in its path.

“Aaah…!”

Subaru’s cry was echoed by Rem’s, her voice trembling with horror, whiel Cid was speechless. The old swordsman’s vendetta against the beast made the loss even more crushing. But beyond grief, a chilling realization set in—

Without their strongest warrior, their chances of survival had just plummeted into the abyss.

Cid’s crimson eyes followed the arc of destruction with detached precision as the White Whale surged forward and devoured Wilhelm whole—land dragon, steel, flesh, and all—vanishing into its gaping abyss of a maw with terrifying finality.

Honestly? I have no clue why some of my mana is stuck inside Wilhelm. I don’t just hand it out randomly—there’s gotta be a reason, right?

But instead of shock…
Instead of grief…
Cid smirked.

A slow, knowing curl of the lips—like a man who had just seen a puzzle piece fall perfectly into place.

Still, I can totally reach out to him through that bit of my mana inside him and wake up a whole new version of him.

The ground still trembled with the beast’s momentum, and the mist churned madly with the force of its advance. But Cid didn’t wait.

He turned sharply toward Subaru and Rem, who were still frozen in horror.

“Run!” he barked, voice slicing through the chaos like a whip. “Now! Move before it’s our turn!”

Rem’s eyes widened. Subaru snapped from his daze, tugging at the reins. “Patrasche—go!!”

But Wilhelm—
Wilhelm was no longer in the world of fog and steel.

---

---

He opened his eyes.

The world around him was wrong.

The battlefield was silent—eerily so.
Not just quiet, but hollow, like the breath had been sucked from reality itself.

The ground was littered with countless corpses, sprawled in grotesque stillness across a plain bathed in ash.

And the sky—
It was red.

The moon hung like a bleeding wound, swollen and full, casting its eerie glow over the landscape like a watchful god.

Wilhelm staggered to his feet, eyes narrowing.

His breath misted, though there was no cold.

Slowly, he raised both hands in front of him.
The familiar, aged skin. The callouses. The trembling strength.
“...Is this hell?” he whispered.

He turned, taking in the sea of corpses. Hundreds. Thousands. And the strangest thing—

All of them still held swords.

Some clutched them with frozen rigor. Others had fallen in death grips, blades sunk into enemies long dead. It was a graveyard of warriors.

Wilhelm exhaled, shoulders heavy.

“This land…” he said softly, “is soaked in honor… and drenched in regret.”

He looked up at the crimson moon above.

A whisper left him—quiet, aching.

“...It seems I won’t be seeing you after all, Theresia. A soul like yours… would never come to a place like this.”

A silence followed.

Then—

“Wake up, Sword Demon.”

The voice was low, guttural, inhuman.
It rumbled like thunder rolling through bone, coiling with menace and familiarity.

Wilhelm turned instantly, dropping into a stance, eyes sharp—
And there, not five paces away—

A lone figure sat upon a mountain of corpses.

A hooded silhouette, draped in shadow like a funerary shroud, unmoving save for one hand…

That hand rested lazily on the hilt of a sword—
A black blade driven deep into the chest of a fallen warrior.

The figure did not rise.
It simply stared with unseen eyes from beneath its cowl, presence suffocating.

And Wilhelm, the Sword Demon of legend, felt his heartbeat quicken.

This was no phantom.
This was something ancient.
Something that remembered him.

"Shadow!"

---

Meanwhile...
The White Whale roared behind them, a tidal wave of hunger crashing through the mist. Patrasche sprinted at full speed, hooves pounding the torn-up earth, her breaths ragged. On her back, Subaru gripped the reins tight, knuckles pale, heart pounding louder than the beast’s cries.

Cid ran alongside, coat fluttering behind him like a cape in the wind, chains clinking rhythmically against his side. Every movement was deliberate. Controlled. Composed. Even here—at the edge of death.

Subaru cast a glance back. The Whale was gaining.

“It’s getting closer!” Subaru shouted, voice fraying. “We can’t even tell where we’re going!”

Cid’s eyes narrowed. “Then leave it to me.”

Subaru’s eyes went wide. “Wha—Oi, wait—don’t you dare try anything stu—”

Rem interrupted, leaning forward with determination, voice strained but steady. “We can outrun it—if we push just a little harder!”

Cid abruptly stopped.

This is gonna be my next big masterpiece—risking it all to save others while looking totally fire.

Cid’s shoes dug into the soil, mist curling around him as he turned to face the oncoming terror.

He bowed, gracefully, as if introducing himself at a ballroom instead of a battlefield.

“Fear not,” he said, voice cool and smooth as silk. “I have no intention of dying here. But alas, I must ask one thing of you—”

He straightened, eyes gleaming crimson.

“—Wish me luck.”

Subaru twisted around in the saddle, eyes wide in horror. “LUCY!! GET BACK HERE!! YOU DAMN—”

But it was too late.

Patrasche surged forward. Subaru’s scream was swallowed by wind and fog.

Cid stood alone.

I’m obsessed with this madness—love how everything’s spiraling into chaos. But you know what would be even better?

More chaos.

The White Whale’s immense mouth gaped open, its breath a storm of decay and madness. The sky above churned white, the air soaked in tension.

And Cid…

He calmly unwrapped the bandage around his severed left arm, the fabric falling like snow to the ground.

Blood dripped from the wound, seeping into the earth. The crimson sizzled where it touched the soil.

Cid exhaled.

“I had hoped,” he said softly, “to never use this technique.”

Okay, imma do a whole dramatic summoning—gibberish incantations, big energy, the works. Just for the aesthetic.

He twisted the open wound.

The ground hissed. Blood bubbled with unnatural heat.

Then he began to chant.

The language was not human.

It scraped the ears. Twisted the gut. Words made of shadows, of old things buried and best forgotten. The mist recoiled from the syllables, as if the battlefield itself feared what was being called.

Rem, still watching from behind, eyes wide with dread, whispered, “He’s… summoning something…”

Cid's grin returned, blood trickling down his arm, pooling at his feet.

I’m gonna open a portal just like the one that brought me here, but this time I’ll reverse it and see what comes through.
If it’s not what I’m hoping for? Eh, I’ll just take care of it and pretend it never happened.

A crimson sigil etched itself into the ground beneath him. Dark energy pulsed from its edges like a heartbeat from the abyss.

“Arise, ye who feed on sins and silence prayers,” Cid intoned, voice rising with every syllable. “Heed the pact written in blood and flame—”

He raised his hand high.

“—Come forth, Devil of the Black Star, Devourer of Kings, Nameless Bane of Heaven—”

The Whale’s jaws engulfed him.

CRRRRSHHHHH—!!!

A shockwave tore through the mist. Subaru flinched violently, twisting back in the saddle. Rem’s breath caught in her throat.

Silence.

The Whale reared back, its colossal maw closing, satisfied with its prey.

Subaru’s eyes trembled. “No…”

“Lucien…!” Rem murmured, voice tight with disbelief.

Then—

A sound.

A howl.

Feminine.

Bestial.

Fierce.

It echoed from within the Whale itself—warped, guttural, impossibly loud. A sound like a wolf claiming dominion over death. Like the birth-cry of a nightmare.

The Whale shuddered.

Mist exploded outward from its body as its skin rippled, convulsing as though something inside it had awakened.

Subaru’s eyes went wide. “What… what was that?!”

Rem, frozen beside him, whispered in awe and horror:

“Something… answered his call.”

Notes:

That’s it for this chapter, I hope you enjoyed it!

As you can probably tell, we’re not just speedrunning the White Whale Subjugation arc. With Subaru doing everything he can to get back to Emilia, Wilhelm chasing revenge for Theresia, and Cid… well, trying to flip whale parts on the black market lol, things are gonna take their time.

Also, you might’ve noticed I made the White Whale way tougher in this version. Because the canon one probably wouldn’t survive Cid’s chaos for long. I’ll be making a few more tweaks too, but don’t worry, I’m keeping the core spirit intact.

Quick heads-up: I’ll be switching to weekly updates from now on. Your author isn’t exactly living the summer vacation dream so I gotta grind to cover those student life bills lol

Take care, and see you in next week’s chapter!

Chapter 26: Casualties, Corpses, and Courtesy

The silence did not break. It deepened—like the breath of the world had caught in its throat.

Wilhelm van Astrea stood alone amidst the sea of swords and corpses, the weight of ash settling on his shoulders like snowfall in a graveyard. His sword remained at his side, not drawn—yet. But every muscle in his body was coiled, his instincts screaming.

The hooded figure—Shadow—remained seated atop the heap of the dead, unmoved, unbothered. The black sword embedded in the chest of the fallen beside him gleamed faintly beneath the moon's bleeding light.

Shadow did not speak at first. He simply watched. Or… perhaps it would be more accurate to say he waited.

Finally, the figure shifted, lifting his chin just enough for Wilhelm to see the faintest glint beneath the hood: not eyes, but something deeper. A presence that knew too much. That had seen too far.

“You’ve come far, Wilhelm,” Shadow said at last—his voice not inhuman in the monstrous sense, but inhumanly calm. Measured. Cold, like steel quenched too long.

Wilhelm narrowed his eyes. “You are not from this place.”

“I’m not from any place,” Shadow replied. “I am what is left when purpose dies. When names are discarded, and only intent remains.”

The words rang out softly, but they struck Wilhelm like distant thunder.

“You speak like a man,” Wilhelm said. “But that’s not what you are.”

Shadow tilted his head, just slightly. “No. I left that behind. Long ago.”

A slow wind stirred the ash between them, lifting motes like snowflakes through hellfire light.

“You are not the first swordsman I’ve spoken to,” Shadow continued, his tone neither threatening nor curious—simply observant. “But you are the first who still believes the blade is a tool for something good.”

Wilhelm’s brow furrowed. “It can be.”

“To protect?” Shadow asked. “To redeem? To carry love?” A pause. “Those are lovely illusions. I once knew men who clung to them, too. They died.”

Wilhelm’s voice was granite. “Then they died with purpose.”

Shadow rose.

He did not draw his sword. He simply stood. And yet, the weight of the world shifted as if gravity had turned to face him.

“This is why you interest me,” Shadow said. “You still resist. You bear the name ‘Demon,’ and yet carry a human heart in your chest. You still look to the sky and speak of love.”

He looked up—up at the crimson moon.

“Tell me, Wilhelm van Astrea,” Shadow asked, “if a man kills a thousand in the name of love… is he a hero? Or simply efficient?”

Wilhelm’s gaze never left him. “That depends. Did he regret the thousand?”

Shadow was silent.

Then, a low, humourless laugh.

“You feel, Wilhelm. That is your weakness.”

“No,” Wilhelm replied. “It’s what makes the blade mine.”

The words lingered, sharp as drawn steel.

Shadow finally moved—one step forward, ash swirling around his boots.

“You see death as a burden. I see it as a rhythm. A pattern. The world corrects itself through blood, again and again. Empires rise, ideals rot, heroes fall. But the sword... remains.”

Wilhelm slowly drew his weapon, its edge gleaming with weary defiance.

“And if I break that pattern?” he asked. “What happens then?”

Shadow’s head lowered.

“Then perhaps... you truly were more than legend.”

The wind howled.

The battlefield held its breath.

Shadow stepped down from the mountain of corpses, slow and deliberate. Each footfall stirred the ash like whispers of the dead, like echoes in a broken cathedral.

“You still speak as if choice matters,” he said. “As if we are more than the echoes of what others made us.”
He stopped a sword’s length away from Wilhelm, gaze unseen but felt—oppressive, ancient, inevitable.
“So then, Sword Demon… answer me this.”

His voice became something deeper—less sound, more gravity.
“Would you trade your soul… if it meant saving hers?”

Wilhelm’s grip on his sword faltered, just for a moment. The name—Theresia—hung unspoken in the air like sacred ash.
He closed his eyes.

And he remembered—
A laugh like wind chimes. A smile like spring breaking through frost. A blade held gently, with purpose—not pride.

Then he opened his eyes.
“No,” he said softly.

Shadow tilted his head. “…No?”

Wilhelm nodded, slow but resolute.
“She wouldn’t want my soul paid for hers. She’d want me to carry her love—not lose it.”

He lowered his blade—not in surrender, but in conviction.
“Theresia… would say that love isn’t something to be repaid. It’s something you protect, until your last breath. And maybe after.”

Silence.

Shadow stood motionless, the black sword still planted in the chest of the dead.
But then—his hood shifted. A subtle motion. A change in presence. Not anger.
Respect.

“I see,” he said. “Then you’ve passed the test.”

The ground trembled faintly. From beneath the corpses, from the ash-choked earth, a dull purple light began to glow.

Shadow raised a hand, palm facing Wilhelm.

“I offer you something ancient,” he said. “The Fire Beyond Purpose. A power that bends not to fate but corrects it.”

The wind screamed now, the ash swirling into spirals around them, as if the battlefield itself had turned to watch.

“But it has a price,” Shadow continued. “It feeds on your life. Each time you wield it, you step closer to the end. Your flame burns hotter… and faster.”

Wilhelm said nothing for a moment.

Then—he sheathed his blade.

He stepped forward and placed one calloused hand against Shadow’s open palm, eyes unwavering.

“I've lived long,” he said. “Too long, perhaps. If I can buy a future for someone with the end of my story… then let my death be loud.”

A beat.

Shadow did not smile. But the wind changed.

So did the moon.

The red light surged.

The corpses around them ignited—not with fire, but with memory. Glowing silhouettes of swordsmen, warriors of every age, rose in flickering echoes before dissolving into ember.

Then—

Shadow thrust his black sword into the ground between them.
The earth cracked.
And from the wound in the world, fire erupted—not orange, not gold, but a deep, burning white, rimmed in crimson.

The fire did not consume. It branded.
And it seared into Wilhelm’s chest like a second heartbeat.

He gasped—but did not fall.

Instead, the ash that once weighed on him now lifted. His skin did not wrinkle but glowed faintly with ancient sigils. His blade, untouched, now pulsed with that same white fire—like a soul remembered by the world itself.

Shadow stepped back, voice low.

“Awaken, Sword Demon. And let the fire speak your truth.”

Wilhelm drew his sword once more—
The edge was no longer just steel.
It was purpose, ignited.

And when he swung it, once—just once—
The wind shattered.

The sky split.

And for the first time since he arrived, the battlefield wept light.

---

Meanwhile, with Cid...
Subaru yanked the reins so hard Patrasche let out a whinny of protest, hooves skidding through mud and blood-slicked grass. The world blurred around him—mist, chaos, the faint aftershock of the White Whale’s shriek—but all he could see was that spot in the fog where Cid had vanished.

He leapt from the saddle without thinking, hitting the ground running.

“LUCIEN!!” he shouted again, legs burning, lungs heaving. “DAMMIT, GET BACK HERE!!”

But before he could push more than a few paces into the swirling white, an arm slammed across his chest—firm, unyielding.

“Subaru, stop!” Rem’s voice was sharp with panic.

“No—Rem, let me go!” Subaru struggled against her grip, desperate, frantic. “He’s still there! We have to get him back!”

Rem held on. “You saw what happened! The Whale swallowed him whole—charging in blind won’t save him!”

“And doing nothing will?” Subaru snapped, voice cracking. “He stood there alone to buy us time! And we just ran! We can’t let it end like this!”

Rem’s expression flickered, pain crossing her features. But then her grip softened, not with weakness—with trust.

“You have to believe in him,” she said gently. “He’s not someone who dies that easily… not him.”

Subaru stared at her, chest heaving. The world was still trembling around them.

Then—
A sound.

A howl.

Long. Fierce. Unnatural.

It pierced the air like a blade of ice, resonating through mist and marrow. The timbre was unmistakably feminine but warped—feral. A voice forged in blood and born from void.

Both Subaru and Rem turned sharply.

The White Whale reared up, its massive body thrashing, its wails turning panicked.

“W-What was that?” Subaru whispered, voice barely audible.

Rem stepped in front of him, her Morningstar unravelling with a metallic hiss, the spiked weapon glowing faintly in the fog-choked light. Her stance was defensive and protective.

Her eyes scanned the haze ahead, narrowed with caution.

“It looks like…” she said slowly, voice tight, “…something answered Lucien’s call.”

She lowered into a battle-ready crouch, and Morningstar held steady.

“And I don’t have a good feeling about it.”

From deep within the Whale’s vast body, the fog churned and twisted as if something was forcing its way through—something dark, wild, and wrong.

And far off, within that unnatural wind, came another howl—quieter now, but laced with something terrifyingly sentient.

Subaru stepped closer to Rem, barely breathing.

“…Lucy,” he murmured. “What did you summon…?”

Rem didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

The mist thickened.

It pressed around them like a living thing—swallowing light, muting sound, turning the world into a white, choking blur. Subaru and Rem could barely see beyond a few paces, shapes warping like ghosts in the shroud. The White Whale loomed, its enormous bulk twitching, growling, the fog clinging to it like a shroud of the damned.

Then—

SKRRRRK-KKRAAAK!

The sound came like bones snapping under godly pressure. The White Whale let out a shriek—SKREEEEAAAH!—a sound of pure animal agony, so loud the very air seemed to ripple.

It's back bulged.
Then twisted.
Then split.

SPLORTCH!!

Blood and bile erupted in a geyser, hot and steaming, painting the mist crimson. Meat and bone peeled away in slabs, wet and viscous, flung into the air like butcher’s refuse. Something was forcing its way out.

A hand, clawed and dripping, dug into the flesh—followed by a low, pained growl, deep and guttural.

Something crawled out.

One arm.

The other.

A figure pulled itself free of the ruined flesh—gore-streaked, steaming but unmistakably alive.

Then she stood.

Tall. Still. Predatory.

A girl with large canine ears, twitching irritably, flecked with blood. A fluffy tail swayed behind her, the tip curling like a fuse ready to ignite. Her purple eyes, slit like a beast’s, glowed with unmasked fury beneath dark bangs.

She was clad in a black bodysuit, sleek and skin-tight, trimmed with golden lines that shimmered faintly through the blood. The suit clung to her like a second skin—designed for violence.

She glared at the White Whale with pure, feral malice.

Then—GRRRRRRRRRRAAAAHHH.

A growl burst from her throat—somewhere between beast and woman. Her fangs bared.

“You...” she hissed, voice like knives on bone.

“You dared to lay hands on my Boss…”

She stepped forward, slow and deliberate, each step crunching gore and bone beneath her boots.

“You’re going to pay…”

A flicker of something wicked passed through her smile—fangs flashing beneath bloodstained lips.

“…greatly.”

And just then—

 

“Ugh… I think I got the syllables wrong…”

From the still-gaping wound of the White Whale, another figure tumbled out.

SPLAT.

Cid, covered in Whale innards, slid down the slick slope of the beast's back and hit the bloodied ground with a grunt. He sat up slowly, blinking, viscera dangling from his hair.

“I meant to summon a demon or a killing machine, not… Delta…”

He paused. Looked up. Realized.

“Ah. Right.”

But Delta didn’t hear him.

She blurred—disappearing in a gust of air that sent chunks of flesh flying.

SWOOSH—!

And then she reappeared—right in front of the Whale’s massive, panicked eye.

She grinned.

Her foot twisted back, muscles tensing, tail flicking once—then—

CRACK-KA-BOOM!

Her leg shot forward like a missile, her boot smashing into the beast’s skull with a sound like shattering mountains.

The entire White Whale lifted off the ground.

Not staggered. LAUNCHED.

FWOOOOM—!!

Its massive bulk, all tons of muscle and horror, went flying—screaming, limbs flailing, mist spiralling in its wake.

Unfortunately, Cid was still standing far too close.

“Ah—”

WHOOMPH.

A shockwave hit him like a divine backhand and catapulted him skyward alongside the beast.

He pinwheeled through the air, somersaulting, blood trailing like ribbons behind him. Suspended in weightless chaos, his eyes half-lidded with calm.

He let out a long, exhausted sigh.

“…Same old Delta. Attack first… talk never.”

Cid was still hurtling through the sky, end-over-end with blood and bits of whale trailing in his wake, when suddenly—

“BOOOOOSS!!”

A voice cut through the air like a cannon blast wrapped in glee.

Before he could react, something blurred toward him—something fast, fluffy, and dangerously affectionate.

THUMP—!!

Delta collided with him midair in a full-body pounce, locking her arms around his neck and wrapping her legs tightly around his waist like a human missile of joy. Her fluffy tail whipped excitedly behind her like a metronome on hyperdrive.

“Delta found you!!” she cried out, squeezing him so tight he saw stars. “Delta missed you, Boss!! A lot! A lot a lot!! Delta looked everywhere! The others missed you too, but Delta missed you more!”

“Delta—ack—Delta I—”

“And Delta smelled your scent, and it got stronger and stronger, and then Delta entered a weird circle, and now you are here, and Delta will never let go and—!”

Now that she’s here, I guess I’ll just hang with her.

Explaining who Delta is to everyone sounds like way too much effort, so I’ll just tweak her aura to feel more like a spirit and seal off a bit of her power—don’t need her turning the place into a horror movie piñata.

Cid sighed. Midair. With a very animated murderpuppy clinging to him like a vice.

He calmly raised a finger…
…and gently poked Delta in the mouth.

Right between her lips.
Boop.

“Mm?” Delta blinked, confused mid-ramble, her tail freezing mid-wag. “Boss…?”

Cid’s voice was calm, if slightly strained.
“I’m happy to see you too, Delta.”

She beamed, her tail instantly wagging again.

“But if you don’t loosen up right now, I’m either going to die from suffocation…”

He glanced below.
“…or from falling approximately three hundred meters.”

Delta blinked. Then gasped.

“Oh. Right!”

She uncoiled just enough to give him air—but still clung like a devoted limpet. “Sorrysorrysorry! Delta was just… so happy!”

“I can tell,” Cid muttered, brushing whale guts from his face.

Delta tightened her grip again (gently this time) and rested her cheek against his shoulder.

“Delta will help you with anything, Boss,” she murmured. “Just say the word. Delta will smash, tear, maul—whatever you need.”

Cid turned his gaze toward the battlefield below.

The White Whale they’d just burst from was spiralling down in slow, burning arcs—like a celestial corpse.

But it wasn’t alone.

Already, two more of the monstrous beasts had broken through the mist—bellowing and churning through the chaos like titanic nightmares.

Cid raised an eyebrow.

“Huh,” he muttered dryly. “So they come in packs. Lovely.”

Delta’s ears perked, sensing the shift.

Cid slowly extended a hand, pointing toward the plummeting carcass below.

“Delta…”

Her head snapped toward where he pointed.

“Fight?”

Cid smirked.

“Fight.”

Delta’s grin could’ve split mountains.

“YEEEEEES!!”

And with that—

She launched from him like a missile, howling with laughter and fury, a gold-streaked blur crashing back down toward the earth with vengeance in her eyes and joy in her roar.

From what I can tell, the other two whales are just knockoff versions—bootlegs, really—so no need to waste my time on them.

Cid, now suddenly freefalling solo again, exhaled long and slow.

“…Still never waits for the rest of the plan.”
He flipped once in the air.
“…But damn if it’s not effective.”

The White Whale copy, half-alive and wholly confused, screamed as it spun through the mist like a doomed comet. Its eye—bloodshot, rolling, frantic—caught a glimpse of her just before the end.

Delta.

Descending.

No—hunting.

“RAAAAAAAHHHHH!!”

She was upside down in the air, boots toward the sky, arms spread like wings, tail coiled like a fuse ready to detonate.

And detonate she did.

THOOM—!!

Her kick met the whale midair. Not just a blow—a judgment. It hit with the sound of thunder trapped in a cage. Bone shattered audibly. The impact wasn’t just force—it was intent, raw, and primal.

The whale’s body bent around the strike—bent—before exploding outward in a storm of flesh and white mist.

Chunks of meat the size of wagons flew in every direction.

Blood rain. Whale hail. Chaos absolute.

—

Cid, meanwhile, was still falling.

Limbs loose. Eyes half-lidded. Casual.

Debris to the left?

He tilted his head. A slab of whale rib missed him by inches.

Delta’s second kick?

He spun like a lazy corkscrew, the shockwave ruffling his shirt just enough to look dramatic.

Chunks of blubber?

He tucked a leg in, letting the projectile zip past with barely a breath of clearance.

“Not bad,” he muttered, watching Delta teleport across the whale’s remains like a ricocheting bullet, slamming her fists and knees and elbows into what was left. “Still got that raw overkill vibe going…”

Delta spiralled past him, eyes manic with joy, laughing as she punched clean through the remains of the beast’s skull and emerged out the other side, leaving nothing but trailing gore and white mist.

She flashed him a grin mid-air.

He gave her a polite thumbs up.

Then, he flipped horizontally to dodge a flying eyeball the size of a shield.

“...Gross,” he muttered.

—

Below, in the fog—

Subaru was still holding his breath, barely able to track the whale’s descent through the mist. He couldn’t see the fight—just the sudden bursts of light, the thunderclaps, the sound of something dying badly.

“Wh-what the hell is happening up there!?” he gasped.

Rem’s knuckles whitened on her Morningstar. “I don’t know. I don’t think I want to.”

Another whale scream rang out—only to be cut off mid-wail, like its lungs had been crushed.

Then, a shape dropped through the mist.

A massive rib. Then, a chunk of spine.

Then—

“—oh, hey,” came Cid’s voice, calm as ever, as he landed gently on his feet behind them, splashing slightly in a shallow pool of gore.

He dusted off his shirt. Whale lung slopped off his shoulder.

Subaru spun, eyes wide. “LUCY!? How the—what the—you were just—”

Cid, ever composed even while dripping with gore, reached into his inner pocket and retrieved a surprisingly pristine handkerchief. With one fluid, theatrical motion, he unfolded it and began to dab gently at his face—wiping away blood, whale bile, and a suspicious bit of cartilage clinging to his cheek.

He cleared his throat softly.

“I do apologize for the mess,” he said in a perfectly crisp, butler-esque tone. “But as always… your humble servant does not fail. No matter the circumstance, success is but a matter of presentation.”

Subaru blinked, utterly lost.

“A what now—? Who talks like that after getting launched out of a WHALE!?”

Before Cid could respond, a loud THUD shook the ground near them. A massive slab of whale blubber—roughly the size of a small wagon—splashed down just a few feet away, steaming and twitching.

Subaru recoiled, eyes wide. “Okay, no seriously—what is going on? Who’s turning that thing into meat confetti!?”

Rem’s eyes narrowed sharply. Her grip on her Morningstar tightened as she stepped in front of Subaru protectively.

“Something’s coming,” she said quietly. “Fast.”

The fog shifted.

Then—

SKRRRRRRRRRCHHH!

A blood-drenched blur skidded into view on all fours, claws digging through mud and viscera. Her purple eyes blazed like twin infernos, her tail whipping behind her with wild enthusiasm. The blood didn’t seem to bother her—in fact, she wore it like a badge of honour. Whale bits clung to her boots, her face, even the tips of her twitching ears.

Delta.

She grinned wide, fangs glinting beneath the crimson mask of battle.

She planted her claws into the earth and lifted her head proudly.
“Boss!!” she barked with unrestrained joy. “Delta turned the big fish into tiny pieces! It screamed and cried and went ‘WAAAGHHHHH’ and then—BAM!!—Delta made it explode like splosh splat squish!!”

Cid smiled faintly. “Excellent work, Delta.”

He reached forward and gently placed a hand on her head. Her ears perked, tail pausing mid-wag.

Then—

“Aaaaaahh~”

Delta visibly melted under the affection, her entire body going limp like a pleased puppy. Her eyes half-closed in bliss, and she leaned into the pat, claws curling in the dirt.

“Delta loves Boss pats…” she murmured dreamily.

Subaru stood in stunned silence.

Not the stunned kind that comes from being overwhelmed.

No, this was the overloaded kind. The kind where the brain politely packs up its thoughts shuffles them into boxes labelled "I give up", and sits in a corner with tea, waiting for things to make sense again.

Delta—still half-drenched in gore, tail wagging like a happy sawblade—sat obediently at Cid’s feet, smiling up at him with the unwavering joy of a dog who’d just murdered Christmas and wanted a treat for it.

Subaru opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

He tried again.

Still nothing.

At last, he simply turned to Rem, eyes wide, jaw slack.

Rem didn’t lower her weapon. Her eyes flicked between Delta and Cid with careful calculation, every movement guarded.

Finally, she spoke. “…Who is she?”

No surprise, Subaru’s keeping it pretty chill about Delta showing up. Pretty sure he’s already figured out who she really is, but out of respect (or maybe just for the fun of it), he’s playing the whole ‘shocked and confused’ act.

Cid turned toward them slowly, his expression as composed as ever—despite looking like he’d just crawled out of a meat grinder. He adjusted his collar, then placed a hand gently on his chest and offered a slight bow, voice crisp as fresh parchment.

Since Delta’s totally caught up in her little act, I should probably help her out so no one gets suspicious. My game plan? Just wing it and talk my way through—easy.

“Ah. Yes. Allow me to explain. In light of the...escalating situation,” Cid said, casually gesturing toward the carnage Delta had left in her wake, “I was forced to deploy a certain forbidden technique—one I acquired from a particularly eccentric shaman during my brief stay in the capital. A failsafe, should matters grow...grievous.”

He turned slightly, one hand extended toward the now-preening Delta, whose ears twitched proudly at the gesture.

“I present to you… Delta. My newly contracted spirit.”

Subaru blinked. “Your what now?”

Rem’s expression didn’t shift. If anything, it grew more sceptical. Her Morningstar remained firm in her grasp, but her voice was level.

“…I can feel something from her,” she murmured. “The presence… it’s spiritual. Similar to a summoned being. But her body—her energy—she feels like a demi-human. Not a pure spirit.”

Read the room—we ain't got time for this Sherlock Holmes fanfic energy.

Cid offered a mild chuckle, brushing a bit of whale sinew off his shoulder.

“Quite perceptive, Lady Rem,” he said approvingly. “Delta is indeed a spirit—but a rather... unique one. Her attachment to demi-human culture runs unusually deep. As a result, when given the choice of form, she chose this appearance on her own accord.”

Delta turned to Rem, leaning forward slightly, eyes bright with interest.

“You smell like flowers and kindness,” she said bluntly. “And your arms are strong. Delta likes that.”

Rem blinked. “…What?”

“Wanna wrestle?” Delta added cheerfully, tail wagging like a pendulum of destruction.

Cid stepped smoothly between them, holding up a hand. “Delta. Later.”

She pouted but obeyed, dropping into a crouch and gnawing lightly on one claw, clearly still vibrating with barely-contained murder-energy.

Cid returned his gaze to Rem, calm as ever.

“Due to the nature of our contract,” he explained, “Delta possesses a... slightly broader range of autonomy than most conventional spirits. One might say she has a will all her own.”

Gonna drop these last words before Delta pulls some unhinged nonsense—you’re welcome in advance.

Rem studied Delta in silence—eyes narrowing, senses tuned—but despite the blood, the claws, the barely restrained hurricane of violence radiating off her frame, there was… no hostility Not toward them.

Only loyalty.

Only joy.

Rem exhaled slowly through her nose, the tension easing from her shoulders as she lowered her Morningstar.

“…I believe you,” she said at last, glancing at Cid. “There’s no animosity coming from her. Just…” She looked back at Delta, whose tail had started wagging again at the attention. “…a lot of enthusiasm.”

Delta beamed.

“My name is Rem. I serve Lord Roswaal and support Subaru in all matters related to the camp. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Delta.”

Delta blinked. Then, he grinned so wide it nearly cracked her cheeks.

With a quick hop, she rose to her feet—mud, blood, and whale gore flying—and struck a proud pose, one fist on her hip, the other thumping over her heart.

“Delta!” she barked cheerfully. “Boss’s loyal servant and strongest partner in his pack!”

She puffed her chest, tail flicking high like a banner.

“And Delta likes you, Flower Maid! You smell trustworthy. Delta thinks you’d be a good nap buddy!”

Rem blinked. “That’s… sweet?”

Before anything else could be said—

CLAP!

The sound startled both of them.

Subaru clapped his hands together, forcing his scattered thoughts into a fragile semblance of order.

“Okay! Okay… I think I’ve finally caught up.” He took a deep breath, then pointed rapidly as he spoke.

He turned to Cid, frantic urgency rising again.

“While I appreciate that you just dropped a murder wolf out of the sky to even the odds, we’ve still got a battlefield full of soldiers, fog, and monsters that haven’t stopped coming!”

Rem nodded gravely. “He’s right. Sir Wilhelm needs us. Lady Crusch is strong, but without proper command, the soldiers are scattered.”

Subaru looked at them all—Rem, Cid, Delta—and took another breath.

“We have to regroup. Fast. Before the tide turns completely.”

Delta raised a claw. “We smash more whales, right?”

Subaru nodded. “Smash, yes. But tactically.”

She blinked. “...Tac-ti-kally?”

Subaru’s confidence is radiating like a 5G tower, so I'll let him have his main character moment while I prepare those whale parts for the black market’s finest.

Cid placed a hand gently on her head again. “Strategically, Delta. Follow the plan.”

Delta saluted—poorly, but earnestly. “Yessir, Boss!”

“Hey, hey! Subaru-nii! Luu-kun~!”

Subaru blinked, eyes crossing slightly. “Huh—what the—!?”

Then—POP!

A small, energetic bundle of motion practically launched from the mist and landed smack on Subaru’s head like a purring cannonball.

“Found yaaa~!” Mimi sang, perched triumphantly on his hair like it was a personal throne. Her oversized red cloak flapped behind her like a cape, her tails wagging erratically. “I knew I smelled scaredy-Subaru and serious-face Luu-kun over here!”

Subaru stumbled, arms pinwheeling. “Wh- MIMI! You can’t just land on people!”

Mimi puffed up proudly, hands on hips as she posed atop his skull. “Captain Mimi can do anything! And you smell like nervous sweat and awkward yelling—so it was easy-peasy to find ya!”

Subaru wheezed beneath her. “Okay—but really, off my head, please—my spine isn’t built for cat generals!”

Mimi hopped off with a nimble twirl and landed neatly between them, arms wide.

“Anyway! Good news!” she chirped. “My faction’s safe! Big bro Ricardo’s with ‘em, barking loud as usual, and Crushy-lady said she’s coming this way! She told me to scout ahead—so ta-daaaa!”

Subaru’s eyes widened. “Wait—Crusch is coming? ”

Mimi beamed. “Yupyup! She’s bringing her favourite fancy speeches and everything!”

Then Mimi’s ears twitched. Her gaze flicked past Subaru—and locked onto Delta.

Delta, who was currently tilting her head with visible confusion.

Their eyes met.

Silence.

One cat.

One wolf.

Staring.

Twitch.

Tail.

Twitch.

Ears.

Then—

“NYAAAAAAAAAAAA!!”
“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAWR!!”

They launched at each other—not to fight, but in that awkward, animalistic “are-you-a-friend-or-food?” Way, paws and claws spinning as they rolled across the muddy battlefield like two elemental furballs in a tumble dryer.

“WAIT—STOP—NO—NOT AGAIN!” Subaru lunged after them, arms flailing as the cat and wolf zipped past him in a whirling blur of yowls, barks, and joyfully chaotic violence.

Jumping into two girls' petty beef is basically signing up for a one-way ticket to Clown Town. Subaru’s truly a genius.

Subaru threw his hands out. “WE DON’T HAVE TIME FOR CAT-WOLF WRESTLING—!”

“DUCK!” Rem suddenly shouted.

Cid moved in a blur.

One hand snapped forward, gripping Subaru’s head like a watermelon.
He yanked him down.

FWOOOOOOSH—!!

A silver arc sliced the air where Subaru’s neck had been a second earlier. The pressure alone whipped his coat into a flutter.

Cid straightened smoothly, hand still on Subaru’s skull.

Subaru blinked. “What the—what was that!?”

They all turned.

From the mist ahead—
A thundering CLACK of armoured claws.

Then—

Crusch Karsten rode in astride her land dragon, her armour glinting with streaks of blood and silver. Her emerald eyes burned with command, and the gleaming sabre in her hand still hummed faintly with residual mana.

Crusch pulled the reins of her dragon to a halt, silver hair catching the wind as her emerald eyes swept the battlefield. Her soldiers slowed behind her, wary, bloodied, but intact.

She exhaled slowly.
“…I’m glad to see you’re all still alive.”

Oh, she says that like she didn’t just yeet a blade an inch from our heads.

Crusch’s tone was calm, clipped—but beneath it, relief stirred faintly like a breeze before a storm.

Then she noticed her.

Blood-soaked. Grinning. Ears twitching. Tail swaying.

Crusch’s gaze hardened like frost, forming on a blade.
Her sabre lowered just slightly, but her voice grew colder.

“…Who is she?”

At this point, I might as well introduce Delta to the OG squad—Socrates, Plato, Aristotle.

Cid took half a step forward, ever composed, one hand delicately resting on his chest.

“Allow me to introdu—”

“I’m Boss’s best favourite servant!” Delta interrupted, beaming, chest puffed with pride. “Stronger than storms, faster than fire, fluffier than clouds!”

She grinned. “Delta!”

Cid paused. Then, with a low chuckle, he nodded.

“…I could say that is correct.”

Too tired to correct her.

Crusch’s eyes narrowed briefly. She glanced at Subaru.

Subaru offered a sheepish shrug. “She… definitely serves for him.”

Rem nodded, her expression calm. “She’s chaotic. But loyal.”

Crusch let out a slow breath, then gave a curt nod. The steel in her eyes didn’t dull, but her grip on her sabre relaxed.

“…Very well. But are you aware of our current situation?”

Subaru opened his mouth to respond, one hand gesturing vaguely behind him.
“I mean, I just saw Delta butcher a flying nightmare the size of a castle and send it flying through the air like a squealing blimp, so…”

He squinted at the fog, still curling thick around them.

“…but something’s off. The mist isn’t clearing.”

Crusch turned her full gaze on him, brows furrowed.

“This isn’t the time for jokes,” she said sharply. “There is no trace of the White Whale being defeated.”

Silence fell like a dropped blade.

Subaru’s jaw tightened.
“What? No—No, I saw it. It exploded! Delta tore it apart!”
He turned toward Rem.
“Tell her!”

Rem nodded firmly. “It’s true. Delta destroyed the creature. There’s no way it survived that.”

Subaru snapped his gaze to Delta.
“Right?! You blew it up! Like—KABOOM!”

Delta, who had been idly licking some blood off her claw, perked up.
“Oh yeah!” she chirped. “Big fish screamed and went splosh splat boom! There was bone and meat and chunks, and DELTA KICKED ITS HEAD OFF!”

Crusch’s gaze drifted over the carnage-smeared field.

Since Subaru’s out here playing the clueless dude, guess I’ll have to hit him with the big brain support card.

Cid, suddenly more serious, took a measured look around, his hand brushing Delta’s shoulder with a subtle gesture of pause.

“…Her tale aligns with what we saw,” he murmured, “but Lady Crusch… your words ring true.”

His voice dipped lower.

“There is no corpse. No remains. No blood trail. It’s as if the beast was never here.”

Suddenly—fsshhhhhhhhh.

The blood on Delta’s body hissed.

It began to dissolve. Vaporizing.

Not steaming. Not drying.

Turning to mist.

Within seconds, she was clean. Her golden lines gleamed once more against the black bodysuit.

Subaru looked up.

The chunks of the whale—the gore, the bones, the massive slabs of flesh—they were gone. Evaporated. As if rewound from the world’s memory.

Then came the sound.

SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE—!!!

The fog pulsed.

Three immense shapes surged through it.

White. Hulking. Howling.

Three White Whales now stalked the field as much as Cid and others could tell by their noises—titans emerging from the storm.

Cid’s eyes narrowed behind his calm mask.

“…Well. That complicates things.”

Delta dropped to all fours, tail twitching, fangs flashing.

“OH! More fish! BIGGER fish! THREE fishes!!”

Subaru stepped back, breathing quickening.

“No… No no no… I saw it die. We all saw it.”

Rem placed a hand on his arm, steadying. “This isn’t normal.”

Crusch’s jaw was tight, her sabre raised once more.
Her voice, grim.

“…This battlefield is cursed. We kill them—but they don’t stay dead.”

She looked toward Cid.

“Tell me. Can your servant kill what isn’t allowed to die?”

Cid met her gaze evenly.

“That, Lady Crusch…” he said, adjusting his glove with quiet finality, “…is exactly what we’re about to find out.”

Okay, so this boss is basically pulling a 'create-a-clone' glitch and has unlimited 1-ups? Cool, cool.

Quick strat: AOE spam to nuke the clones, save your big burst for the main one, and maybe pack a silence/stun to cancel the revives.

Subaru slapped both cheeks—hard.

“Okay—okayokayokay!” he said, shaking off the shock. “We need a quick regroup! New tactics, better formation, and—most importantly—” he paused, turning sharply to the group, “does anybody remember Old Man Wil!?”

Everyone blinked.

Delta tilted her head, tail swaying slowly. “...Is that a snack?”

Crusch stepped forward, eyes narrowing with faint concern. “Of course we remember Wilhelm. Why do you ask that like we wouldn’t? Is the fog affecting your mind?”

Subaru let out a breath of pure relief. “Oh thank gods—so he’s still alive! That means he’s out there somewhere, still fighting… but he’s been gone a while! He got swallowed by one of those flying nightmares, and we haven’t seen a trace!”

Wilhelm is out there having his main character glow-up and these dudes really think he's just stuck in a whale's mouth?

Cid cleared his throat gently, stepping forward with practised elegance.

“If I may, Subaru…” he began, dusting a bit of phantom mist from his cuff. His voice was composed, but with a certain note of gravity. “There is a possibility the good Sir Wilhelm has… not remained idle within the belly of the beast.”

Everyone turned to look at him.

Cid gestured calmly to the thick fog ahead, gaze turning to Crusch.

“Lady Crusch. Might I trouble you for a single, precise slash? Toward that direction.”

He pointed toward the densest part of the mist.

Crusch’s eyes narrowed. “You believe he’s that way?”

Cid nodded once. “I would stake my dignity upon it.”

She sighed—just slightly—then stepped forward, sabre flashing as she dropped into a ready stance. “Then I’ll trust your judgment.”

With a cry, she swung her blade in a wide arc.

FWASHHHHH—!!

The mist split, the fog parting in a brilliant arc of green mana. Light poured in for the first time in minutes—

Only for a monstrous shriek to explode from the newly cleared corridor.

SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE—!!

A White Whale—larger than the rest—charged directly toward them, maw wide and howling, eyes ablaze with madness.

“Retreat!!” Crusch shouted, sabre snapping to the ready again. “Fall back—!”

But Cid didn’t move.

Instead, he smiled faintly, one gloved hand resting behind his back.

“…He’s coming.”

The whale bore down on him, fog swirling around its titanic form. It opened its mouth wide—

And suddenly—

GLIMMERS OF LIGHT sparked inside its throat.

SHING—!

SLASH—SLASH—SLASH—!!

Blades sang from within. Dozens of precise, impossibly sharp cuts burst from the creature’s insides, carving it open from within its own gullet. Blood sprayed like a geyser. Bone cracked like thunder.

Before the beast could even realize it was dying—

It was already in pieces.

Chunks of whale rained down in a red storm, one massive slab of meat spinning through the air—

—and landing with a wet THUD just inches before Cid.

Calmly, he placed one polished boot upon the steaming chunk.

Watch him flex like it's just another Tuesday.

With a small nod and the faintest smile, Cid announced in his crispest butler voice:

“Wilhelm van Astrea has just made his comeback.”

Wilhelm stood amidst the steaming wreckage, chest heaving, his white hair soaked crimson. The blade in his right hand dripped with the remnants of the beast. The left gripped a second sword—reclaimed from the battlefield, perhaps, or conjured by will alone. His body trembled not with exhaustion… but with energy. Renewal.

He looked down.

At his hands.

At the blood.

At the blades.

And slowly, softly, as the wind howled around him and the mist recoiled like a living thing, he whispered:

“…It was true, after all.”

He flexed his fingers. The swords hummed with a rhythm that felt… familiar. Intimate.

“I feel younger,” he said, the words almost a breath. “No… not younger. I feel stronger.”

For a long moment, none dared move.

Then—

“Old Man Wil!?” Subaru cried, disbelief cracking his voice.

The fog thinned as Wilhelm stepped into view, blood still painting his face like war paint, but his posture tall—his gaze alive.

Rem’s eyes widened faintly in surprise, then softened in awe.

Crusch’s breath caught. “…Wilhelm…”

He approached them with measured, deliberate steps, the air around him rippling faintly with the same white fire that now lived within his soul.

Subaru rushed forward first, eyes wide. “Are you alright?! I thought—when the whale swallowed you—!”

Wilhelm placed a hand gently on his shoulder.

“I am more than alright, Natsuki Subaru.” His voice was steel and spring wind. “I’ve never felt this alive.”

He looked past the boy, to the shifting mist.

“But we must not linger in awe. The battle is still on. We must continue our battle.”

Crusch rode forward, her sabre still raised. “I’ve managed to rally the majority of the force. Ferris and Ricardo are holding the lines to the south—but without a proper formation or plan, we’re nothing more than scattered ants before the whales.”

She glanced over her shoulder, eyes sharp. “We need leadership. Strategy. Or they will crush us one by one.”

But then—

A hiss.

A shimmer.

Everyone turned.

The blood on Wilhelm’s armour began to vanish—just like Delta’s before him. It evaporated not naturally but unnaturally. The red bled away into the air like stolen ink dissolving into water.

Behind him, the colossal corpse of the White Whale twitched once—then melted.

Skin first. Then bone. Then mass.

Until nothing remained but mist.

Just like before.

Cid’s eyes narrowed. “So it’s true. No remains. No trace. It’s not death—it’s memory. Being rewritten.”

Wilhelm looked to the spot where the beast had fallen—now bare earth and swirling fog.

And Subaru’s voice cut the quiet.

“…This is an endless loop.”

Everyone turned.

Subaru’s expression was grim. Determined. “We kill them… but it doesn’t stick. Like time or space or reality itself is resetting the battlefield.”

Rem stepped beside him, eyes fixed ahead. “Then no matter how many we destroy…”

“They’ll just come back,” Crusch finished.

THUMP-THUMP-THUMP—

The rapid beat of hooves tore through the mist. A blur broke through the fog, kicking up mud and blood-soaked earth.

A land dragon skidded into view, its rider perched with feline grace.

“Ferris!” Subaru gasped.

The healer reined the beast in with a sharp tug, leaping down before it had fully stopped. His usually composed face was streaked with concern—but relief flooded his expression the moment he saw them.

“Thank the stars—Lady Crusch! Everyone! You’re alive!”

Crusch spurred her mount forward, brows knitting with urgency. “Ferris—what happened? Why are you here?”

Ferris turned, ears twitching. “I saw your blade swing through the fog earlier. Mana like that—only you. I followed it, hoping you were safe.”

He hesitated, voice dropping.

“But it’s worse than we thought.”

Everyone tensed.

Ferris took a breath. “There are three whales. One of them broke from the others—it crashed into our army’s left flank. Ricardo and the frontline forces barely managed to hold it back.”

Rem’s expression sharpened instantly. “Barely?”

Ferris nodded grimly. “They’re fighting like mad—but they weren’t ready for a second one. Ricardo told me to come find you—said if he keeps going at this rate, it might be fatal.”

Crusch’s eyes flared. “Damn it…”

She clenched her gauntleted fist, voice tight with self-recrimination.

“I shouldn’t have left them alone.”

The words fell like iron.

The battlefield pulsed around them, every breath now laced with tension. Fog still rolled, thicker and heavier, like a storm refusing to pass.

Subaru looked around. “So while we were here fighting one, another was tearing the army apart…”

Cid's gaze drifted toward the horizon. “And the third?”

“Unaccounted for,” Ferris said. “But if it strikes while we’re scattered…”

Everyone stiffened.

Alright, folks, we’ve officially entered the ‘this could go horribly wrong’ portion of the chapter. Buckle up.

Delta’s tail stopped wagging. She rose slowly to her feet, eyes narrowing, the bloodlust in her dimmed by something more primal—instinct.

A hunter’s wariness.

“We’re being surrounded,” she muttered. “Three fish circling the pack.”

Rem spoke then, voice clear and sure.

“Then the only solution…” She looked at Crusch, at Wilhelm, at Subaru. “…is to slay all three. Quickly. Before they can cycle again.”

Crusch nodded, jaw tight. “Agreed. But we need to hit them together. At once. No more scattered strikes.”

Ferris stepped forward, voice urgent. “Before I left, Ricardo told me something else. Said to tell you—two of the whales felt… weaker. Not just wounded. They weren’t as strong.”

Subaru blinked. “Wait—you mean…”

Ferris nodded. “He thinks one of them is more difficult to deal than others.”

A long, heavy silence.

Then Wilhelm stepped forward, the fire still glowing faintly at his chest.

His voice was low. Cold. Measured.

“…You’re suggesting that there is an original.”

“Then, my lords and ladies… if I may suggest with due urgency—Sir Ricardo’s forces require our immediate aid. But we must not proceed blind.” Cid cast a sharp glance to the fog. “Before we ride, we must know where the whales are. Charging in unaware would be… uncivilized.”

Gotta snag those whale parts ASAP—before they become someone else’s treasure hunt loot.

Wilhelm’s lips curved—just slightly. “Then allow me to be of help.”

He raised one of his blades, its gleaming edge now faintly laced with threads of glowing fire.

And then—he swung.

Once.

A smooth, vertical arc.

FWAAAAASH—!!

The mist howled—and parted.

Cleanly.

Effortlessly.

The sky above, long hidden, split open like drawn curtains. The clouds trembled. The heavens cleared.

Wow, color me shook—Wilhelm’s using my powers like it’s nothing.
Major Zeta vibes, honestly. Girl picked things up freakishly fast too.

And there—suspended in the blood-lit sky like titanic omens—

Three White Whales floated in silence, their massive forms turning slowly in the air, blank eyes watching the world below with eerie calm. Shadows of dread on wings of fog.

All eyes turned upward.

Delta crouched low, tail twitching. “There they are…”

Crusch’s sabre flared with mana.

“Then let’s strike—while we still have the chance. We kill all three now and end this!”

But then—

“No,” Subaru said suddenly.

Everyone turned.

Subaru stepped forward, face tight with conviction. “There’s no need to kill all three.”

Crusch’s gaze hardened. “Explain.”

Subaru pointed to the sky. “Those two—on the flanks. They’re weaker. Ferris and Ricardo felt it. And I felt it too. When Delta killed the first one… it vanished. Like it was never there. The battlefield reset.”

He took a breath. “But only after it died.”

Rem’s eyes widened faintly. “You’re saying…”

“We don’t have to fight three,” Subaru finished. “We just need to find the original. The one that anchors the rest. Kill it—and the others go with it.”

A pause.

Then Wilhelm asked, his voice grave, “And you’re certain of this?”

Subaru hesitated.

“…No.”

Another breath.

“But we’re not going to find out unless we gamble it.”

A heartbeat passed.

Then Wilhelm gave a slow, respectful nod.

“Then let’s bet on it, boy.”

Crusch raised her blade.

Cid adjusted his glove.

So Subaru's pulling a Hannibal Barca, marching his army through the Alps—if he pulls this off, it’ll be legendary.
Generational W.

In the distance—the whales began to stir.

Crusch glanced at Subaru, a rare softness breaking through her usual steel.

“Then you should tell us the next step.”

Subaru blinked. “Me?”

A beat. He looked around, expecting someone—anyone—else to speak up. “Why me?”

Crusch smiled faintly, voice firm. “Because you’re the one who made all of this possible in the first place. Yes—Lucien, Ricardo, Wilhelm… they’ve done more than anyone could ask. But without you laying the foundation, none of this would’ve even begun.”

Subaru lowered his eyes, uncertain. “I’m not… I mean, I’m not all that.”

He looked at Cid.

The butler gave a small nod—sharp, affirming. You’ve got this.

Wilhelm stepped forward, calm and resolute. “Then lead the way, Natsuki Subaru.”

Subaru drew in a breath.

“…Okay.”

He turned to the others. “We need to split into three groups. One will take on the original whale. The other two—handle the clones. Keep them busy, and draw them away. Minimize casualties.”

Crusch nodded. “It sounds like a solid plan. But how do we divide ourselves?”

Subaru scanned the faces before him, then settled his gaze.

“I’ll go for the original,” he said. “Rem, you’re with me. And… Lucy—”

“I can’t,” Cid interrupted gently, raising his hand.

Subaru froze, confused. “What—?”

Cid lifted his left arm.

Or rather, what remained of it.

The bandages were soaked through. His face pale.

“I’ve lost too much blood. I’d just slow you down up there.”

Gotta be down here when the whale takes its last gasp so I can yoink the loot low-key.

Subaru swallowed, heart sinking.

Then his eyes moved—met Wilhelm’s.

The old swordsman’s voice was almost wistful. “As much as I’d love to be the one to slay the real one… we both know I’m better off clearing the field. I can kill one of them. Alone, if I must.”

“But…” Subaru hesitated. “How do I even kill the original? How do I keep its attention while trying to kill it?”

A pause.

Then—

“I’ve got an idea,” Cid said suddenly.

All eyes turned.

Cid tilted his head toward Delta.

Delta, crouched and blinking, tilted her head back. “Huh?”

Subaru’s eyes widened as Cid nodded toward Delta.

“Wait—you want her to come with me?” he blurted out, unable to hide his disbelief. “I—I can’t handle someone like her! She’s… I mean, she’s not exactly what I’d call a team player!”

Rem turned her gaze to him, soft but firm. “Subaru-kun… I understand how you feel. But if we want a real shot at killing the original, Delta’s our best option.”

Subaru looked like he wanted to argue, but the certainty in Rem’s eyes held him in check.

Cid turned to Delta. “Delta,” he said, voice low but clear, “I need you to help Subaru. Just for a while. Do what he says.”

I need to keep Delta busy and Subaru always gave that reliable babysitter vibe to be honest.

Delta blinked lazily. “Nope.” She popped the word like a bubble, standing up slightly straighter but not budging. “Delta only takes orders from Boss. He’s the strongest. This guy—” she tilted her nose toward Subaru, “—he smells like soggy bread. Weak. Not worth listening to.”

Subaru recoiled slightly. “Soggy bread? That’s… that’s not even a real insult, that’s just mean!”

Cid sighed. “Delta… if you do this, I’ll treat you. Meat pies. The good kind.”

Delta froze.

“…Really?” Her ears perked up.

Cid nodded solemnly. “Really.”

There was a beat—then, with sudden glee, Delta sprang to her feet and padded over to Subaru, cracking her knuckles with a noise like popping bones. She towered just enough to loom playfully.

“Well then, Suba-woo,” she chirped, grinning wide. “Delta’s gonna help you, since she's super nice and generous like that. You better keep up.”

Before he could protest further, movement drew his eye.

Wilhelm turned silently, heading toward the field where the clones would roam.

Crusch, Ferris, and Cid—Mimi nestled atop his head, grinning wildly—began to move toward the other flank.

And Subaru, with Rem at his side and Delta bouncing excitedly behind, strode toward the original whale.

The battle was about to end...

Notes:

I hope you all enjoyed this bit of mayhem, uh, I mean chapter lol

Before anyone starts flooding me with questions, let me get ahead of a few:

So, unlike in canon, I made it so the White Whale clones can come back after being killed. I mean, Cid alone was enough of a challenge, but throw in Delta, the literal Killing Machine from Shadow Garden, and the poor White Whale wouldn’t stand a chance. I kinda pulled a Gege Akutami move and did my best to keep the villain from losing its relevance!

As for Delta looking like a spirit: Cid, being Cid, tweaked her aura to give off that vibe. You might wonder, “Why didn’t he change her smell or something too?” Well, the idea is that aura is the core thing that defines a being. Once that’s changed, Cid can pretty much cover the rest with his usual bullshit. Fun fact: he actually based her aura off Puck’s, with a few adjustments to fit Delta.

And about Wilhelm, Shadow just loves making things extra dramatic, doesn’t he? All he really did was awaken a power he’d already given Wilhelm ages ago, but Wilhelm had been suppressing it without realizing. And Shadow totally lied about it draining Wilhelm’s lifespan. Because what’s a power-up without some over-the-top stakes for the plot?

Anyway, I hope this helped clear things up a bit and made the story easier to follow! Thanks for reading, and have an awesome day, everyone!

Chapter 27: Ballad of Victory and Vow

The mist was a curtain of memory—thick, veined with magic, and pulsing faintly like it was breathing. It clung to Crusch’s armour like damp silk, soft but cold. Every footstep from her dragon squelched in the muddy battlefield with a slow, hollow rhythm. They were heading toward the front line… but not fast enough.

“Still no flare?” Ferris asked, perched on the saddle behind her, sharp-eyed and tenser than usual. “Ricardo said he’d fire one the second they broke through…”

Crusch didn’t answer right away. Her fingers clenched tighter on the reins. “Then either they’re holding… or they’re being swallowed whole.”

Behind them, Cid walked as if the battlefield were a palace corridor. His posture perfect, his steps soundless, one hand folded behind his back.

Mimi peeked out from atop his shoulder, her small body vibrating with nervous energy. “Lulu…” she whispered. “It’s getting heavy. Heavier than before.”

“The air?” Ferris asked.

“Nope,” she replied, sniffing, tail twitching like a metronome. “The pressure. The kind that squashes your ears before the monster even gets here.”

Cid inclined his head slightly. “We are close, then.”

Ferris glanced back at him, frowning. “Are you really going to keep this up?”

“This?”

“This butler act,” Ferris said sharply. “The whales are killing people. You’ve seen what they do. And you’re still choosing… no violence?”

I’ve spent so much time building my Lucien persona, piece by piece — no way I’m giving it up just because of some whale that’s been killing for centuries and terrorizing everything in sight.

Cid’s expression didn’t change. His voice was even, almost gentle.

“A vow, when made in comfort, is merely a promise. But a vow held through fire and blood—that becomes truth.”

Mimi scrunched her nose. “Truth’s gonna get you eaten, Lulu.”

“Perhaps,” Cid said simply. “But I am not here to fight.”

Crusch turned her head, meeting his eyes with quiet steel. “Then what are you here for?”

He smiled faintly.

“To serve.”

SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE—!!

The shriek hit them like a tidal wave—closer now, too close. Crusch’s land dragon reared and bucked, but she pulled it down with practised control. Ferris drew his blade in a blur, fangs bared. Ahead, the fog parted—not gently, but as if ripped open by something enormous.

From within the torn mist emerged the clone.

White.

Vast.

Screaming.

It charged like a mountain loosed from the heavens, each beat of its wings churning the fog into chaos. Its eyes glowed with blank hunger. And below it—scattered forms. The remnants of Ricardo’s front line. Retreating. Bleeding. Dying.

“Contact!!” Crusch shouted, sabre raised. “Ferris—get to the wounded! Mimi—signal if you see movement in the trees! Lucien—”

She turned to him, pausing.

“Do what you can.”

Sounds to me like she’s telling me to go snag the whale’s loot for myself.

Cid simply bowed.

“Of course, milady.”

With Subaru...
Patrasche thundered across the battlefield, her powerful legs tearing into the soaked ground as fog streamed past like ghosts fleeing before the wind. Rem rode atop her with perfect balance, her blue hair streaming behind her, spear clutched tightly in one hand, eyes forward. Her posture was calm, but her grip said otherwise—ready, always, for whatever came next.

Subaru clung behind her, arms around her waist, his heart pounding—not just from the ride, but from everything looming ahead.

Behind them, Delta ran with gleeful ease. Bounding on all fours, she moved faster than seemed fair, each leap a blur, each stride an effortless ripple of muscle and magic. Her golden eyes gleamed like molten mischief.

Then—
A streak of glowing flame tore the sky apart.

Wilhelm’s blade had slashed the heavens again, parting the fog. And through the breach, light spilt down—

Revealing it.

The original White Whale.

Drifting. Turning.

Retreating.

Subaru blinked. “Wait a minute… Is it… running away?”

Delta cackled as she surged closer, bounding beside Patrasche’s gallop. “Heehee! Prey that runs is prey that thinks it can survive! That’s CUTE!” Her fangs flashed in a grin too wide to be sane. “Delta needs to assert dominance!”

Subaru grimaced. “We are not doing what you did to that poor clone—flipping it like a pancake and punting its head off—!”

He paused.

Thought about it.

Then slowly… smirked.

“…But you did give me an idea.”

Rem half-turned, her voice calm but curious. “Subaru-kun? What idea?”

He looked up again, eyes narrowing.

“…Asserting dominance it is.”

He cupped his hands to his mouth, heart already pounding, voice rising in challenge:

“HEY! YOU FLOATING MIST-PUFFED TURKEY! I know what you’re doing! You think you can run!? You think we’re afraid?! I’M NATSUKI SUBARU! I CAN RETURN BY—”

But the words died in his throat.

A sharp, stabbing pain slammed through his chest—like icy claws, squeezing his heart. He doubled forward with a gasp, the world tilting for a moment as pressure crushed against his ribs.

Rem twisted around instantly. “Subaru!”

Delta sniffed as she kept pace, her nose wrinkling. “Eugh. He’s starting to smell weird. Like… burnt wires and dead luck.”

The Whale stopped.

It's great, gleaming eye turned—locked onto Subaru like a hunter spotting a torch in the dark.

Then—

SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE—!!

The shriek was a wave of fury and madness, rolling over the battlefield like thunder over sea.

The White Whale dove, its wings pulling it in a spiralling arc—charging straight for them, the very air distorting around its mass.

Subaru grit his teeth, still wincing but forcing himself upright.

“Rem—!” he barked, voice rough but focused. “Now! Attack it while it’s focused on me!”

Rem’s eyes narrowed, her breath steady.

She raised one hand, palm open, frost beginning to swirl and gather at her fingertips. The air around them shimmered with biting cold as she took aim.

“Al Huma.”

A sound like cracking glass burst from her palm as a spear of ice took form—razor-sharp, ten meters long, shaped like a javelin carved from frozen starlight. With a flick of her wrist, she launched it forward.

The ice spear howled through the sky and slammed into the side of the White Whale, shards exploding outward in a brilliant spray. The creature shrieked in fury, banking to the side, bleeding mist and steam from the wound.

Subaru grinned, heart pounding. “We’re doing fine! Keep it up—!”

“Delta’s turn!” Delta growled with manic joy.

“WAIT—!” Subaru shouted, eyes wide. “Delta, not yet—!”

She hissed in annoyance, purple eyes narrowing. “Delta’s only listening to you, y’know… because Boss said so.” Her lips curled. “Doesn’t mean Delta likes it.”

Subaru took a breath. “Look… I know you could probably tear it in half with your teeth—”

“Could and would,” Delta interjected with a grin.

“—but if you do it your way,” Subaru pressed, “you might take everyone else with it. Crusch’s group is right up front. We can’t risk that.”

Delta snorted but didn’t argue further.

Patrasche skidded to a halt, mud flying. Rem turned at Subaru.

“Subaru-kun—what should we do?” she asked, voice calm but urgent. “It’s getting closer.”

Subaru looked at the massive form bearing down on them and made a decision.

“…Best idea we’ve got is me. I need to be close to that thing.”

Delta perked up. “I can throw you. Right at its face.”

Subaru paled. “No thank you.”

Rem’s eyes lit with inspiration. “I could cast Al Huma again. Shape the ice around you. If timed right, you could travel with the spell and land on the Whale when it hits.”

Subaru blinked. “…Extreme. But honestly, that’s a better idea.”

Then—

“Too slow.”

The voice came from behind him. Cold. Impatient. Grinning.

Subaru and Rem both whipped around.

“Wait—Delta?!”

But it was too late.

With a sharp growl, Delta lunged. She grabbed Subaru by the arm, yanked him off the saddle with one smooth motion, and pressed him tightly against her chest like a protective beast hauling a cub.

“Time to fly!” she laughed—and leapt.

The ground vanished beneath them as Delta soared skyward, bounding through the air with terrifying power.

“DELTAAAAAAA!!” Subaru screamed, flailing wildly. “THIS IS NOT CONSENSUAL AIIIIIIIII—!!”

“Subaru-kun!!” Rem shouted, eyes wide with horror as Delta rocketed into the sky with her precious idiot clutched like a poorly packed sack of groceries. Her arm shot out instinctively, even though they were already vanishing into the fog like some tragic balloon-child accident.

But it was too late.

THUMP. SPLAT. BONK. WHUMP.

Subaru landed like a tossed omelette.

One leg up. One leg out. Face squished against a strangely jiggly patch of mist-flesh. His arms splayed like someone hit pause mid-fall. A small toot of expelled air wheezed from somewhere under him as he tried to process what plane of reality he was now in.

“...Ughh,” he groaned into the whale’s back, voice muffled. “I’ve made bad choices before. But this? This is Olympic gold in bad decisions…”

Delta landed beside him with the smooth grace of a jungle cat. She stretched lazily and looked down at the human origami disaster she’d delivered.

“Perfect landing,” she announced.

Subaru flailed upright, limbs stiff and dignity long gone. “Perfect landing?! I bounced like a dropped pudding cup! You threw me into the stratosphere with NO WARNING!”

Delta tilted her head innocently. “But you landed. That means it worked.”

“I LANDED IN MY OWN SPINE, DELTA!!” Subaru yelled, rubbing his back.

Delta just sniffed, bored. “Tch. Nothing wrong with the weakest of the pack dying. That’s called natural selection.”

“I’m not even part of your pack!!”

Delta shrugged, entirely unbothered. “Then it’s not even sad.”

Subaru opened his mouth. Closed it. Raised a finger. Then, he just pointed at her like he was filing a complaint with God.

“Someone get me a lawyer,” he muttered.

The White Whale began to tremble beneath Subaru’s feet.

It started as a subtle vibration—barely more than a hum through the flesh-like mist beneath him. But it built fast. In seconds, the entire titanic body was quaking, twitching with unnatural spasms. Its shriek deepened into a guttural rumble, and strange, wet plorps echoed as bulges formed across its back like swollen blisters.

Then—

WHOOOOMP—!!

The whale’s back convulsed, and a sudden burst of pressurized mist exploded from a ruptured pore behind them. The blast hit like a hurricane wall—howling wind, icy sting, and zero warning.

“Delta, look out!” Subaru shouted—

Too late.

The detonation caught her mid-stride as she charged forward, claws raised, grin wicked. The sheer force launched her into the sky like a ragdoll fired from a cannon.

“DELTA!!” Subaru called out, stumbling on the whale’s slippery surface. “Gods, be careful—!”

“Subaru-kun!”
The voice cut through the fog like a beam of light—firm, clear, and grounding.

He whipped around. Rem stood there—perched on the same whale’s back just a short distance away. Her blue hair whipped around her like a banner in the gale, and her horn glowed bright and steady from her forehead, casting soft light over her face.

“Are you alright?” she asked, voice intense but full of worry.

Subaru blinked, surprised by the sudden calm she radiated despite everything. He managed a shaky thumbs-up. “Yeah—I’m good. I’m… mostly intact. Delta just needs to come with a safety warning.”

THUD.

Delta landed beside them with the grace of a meteor. Her feet hit the whale’s back hard enough to leave a dent, mist and pressure hissing out from under her heels.

She cracked her neck once, sharp eyes gleaming, claws flashing as she extended her Bagh nakh with a satisfied shnk.

“Alright,” she growled, fangs glinting. “No more games.”

Subaru started to object. “Delta, wait—!”

But Rem stepped forward instead, her stance tense. “No,” she said firmly, her voice rising with heat. “We’re not leaving this to you.”

Delta turned, one brow raising. “Huh? Why not?”

“We fight together,” Rem replied, stepping closer, her horn glowing brighter. “That’s what he would want.” She nodded toward Subaru without taking her eyes off Delta. “If you charge alone, you’ll die or take us with you.”

Delta rolled her neck, eyes narrowed. “Tch. Weaklings always say that before they get crushed. You two want to share the kill? Fine. But don’t get in Delta’s way.”

Rem’s expression didn’t budge. “And don’t underestimate us.”

The tension between them hung thick in the air—Rem’s quiet determination locked against Delta’s feral pride. Mist curled around them like a coiled serpent waiting to strike.

Subaru stepped between them, hands raised. “Okay! Okay! Love the intensity, really! But maybe we save the dramatic face-off for after we survive the giant screaming fog-whale?”

Delta snorted. Rem nodded stiffly.

For now…
They were on the same page.

And the White Whale was still very much in the mood to kill.

Subaru narrowed his eyes, scanning the Whale’s pulsing, mist-wreathed form. Its spasms were growing more erratic, the tremors beneath his boots rising like distant war drums. Then he saw it—something in the mist, the faint echo of movement far off in the haze, like distant ants scurrying over the hills.

His gut dropped.

“Oh no…” he muttered. “Wait. That ridge…”

Rem turned to him. “Subaru-kun?”

He spun toward her, heart hammering. “If my calculations are right—it’s changing course. It’s heading straight for Crusch’s line. Where the wounded are!”

Subaru froze for half a heartbeat.

His eyes widened—not at the whale, but at the memory.

A moment from another loop hit him like a lightning bolt: the sound of silence after carnage, fog peeled back like paper, and in the middle of it—Shadow.

No fanfare. No drama. No effort.
Just oblivion, swallowing the creature whole in seconds.
Subaru hadn’t even gotten the chance to breathe, let alone fight. It had just… ended.

Cloaked in that endless void of black, standing over the corpse of the White Whale like it had always been fated to die beneath him.

Subaru’s fingers trembled as he pulled out his cellphone.

The cracked screen flickered.
A countdown ticked silently—set manually.
It marked the moment Shadow would appear again. His insurance policy. His final trump card.

00:32:11
00:32:10
00:32:09

Thirty-two minutes.

That’s all the time they had. If they couldn’t kill the Whale by then, Shadow would. And with that kind of power… there’d be nothing left.

Not the battlefield.

Not the wounded.

Not even them.

Rem’s expression darkened. Delta growled low.

Subaru slammed his fist into his palm, a hard grin breaking across his face despite the tension in his voice. “We should kill it now—butcher it before it gets there.”

Delta’s ears twitched. She bared her fangs in a savage smile.

Rem’s grip tightened on her morningstar, her horn glowing like a northern star.

They both nodded.

And in the blink of an eye, the battlefield exploded into motion.

Delta moved first.

A blur of muscle and madness, she launched herself across the White Whale’s back, claws digging into the mist-flesh with meaty shunks. Every step was a slam, every movement of feral precision. Her path was unpredictable—she zig-zagged, flipped, slid under spouts of mist, and leapt high into the air with a shriek of joy.

Midair, she twisted—

And crashed down with both claws extended.

“RIP AND REND!” she howled, carving twin trenches into the Whale’s side. Blood-mist erupted upward like a geyser. The beast shrieked—a wall of sound that cracked the air.

The Whale bucked.

Delta laughed.

 

---

Rem surged next.

Unlike Delta, her motion was a ballet of purpose. No frenzy—just force.

She slid down a slope of the creature’s flesh, ducked a whipping tendril of vapour, and with a cry of focused rage—

“Haaah!!”

—she swung her morningstar in a crushing arc. The spiked head hit a mist-blister with a crunch, exploding it in a flash of steam and gore. The impact rattled the Whale, sent tremors across its back.

She didn’t pause.

Another swing. Another pulse of blue light.

She ducked under Delta’s streaking form, stepped aside from a sudden rupture, and whirled again, smashing a flailing tendril to pulp without missing a beat.

 

---

And in the middle of chaos—Subaru.

Ducking. Weaving. Yelling. Always yelling.

“Rem! Right flank’s building pressure again—don’t stand there!!”

“Delta, not the eyes—save that for the kill shot!”

Subaru skidded down the whale’s slick back, one hand dragging along a ridge of mist-flesh for balance, the other gripping the small dagger he barely knew how to use. It wasn’t a weapon—it was a joke. But right now, jokes were all he had.

And he was damn good at making the impossible funny.

Then he saw it.

A cluster of blisters—pulsing, hissing, forming a grotesque pattern spiralling near the base of the Whale’s dorsal fin. They weren’t just random wounds… they were vents. Release points for the pressure that was driving the Whale berserk. Like valves on a boiler—rupture them all at once, and maybe…

Just maybe…

He spun around, legs pumping, heart hammering.

“Rem!! Delta!!” he roared, voice raw. “I’ve got a plan! You see that spiral—five blisters, base of the fin! That’s its pressure circuit—it’s building too fast! If we pop all five in sync, we blow its balance—take it out of the sky!

With Cid...
Steel clashed against mist-born flesh as Crusch Karsten led the charge, sabre sweeping in wide arcs through the fog. The clone reeled from the onslaught, white wings folding in like broken bones as the troops pressed the assault.

“Hold formation!” she shouted. “Break the wings, then the spine!”

Beside her, Mimi darted in and out like a shooting star, blades flashing. Her brother, Hetaro, bulldozed through the mist like a war-beast, cleaving a path with rhythmic, brutal swings of his hammer.

“Take that, you ugly snowfish!” Mimi howled, leaping from her Hetaro’s back to land a stab square between one of the clone’s eyes.

The clone wailed—shuddered—and collapsed in a final heap of white, oily vapour. Its body began to melt before it even finished dying, steam pouring from its wounds.

Crusch exhaled sharply, sabre lowered. “We just killed it.”

She turned to the puddled corpse, disbelief creeping into her voice.

“…And it revived that fast?”

A few meters away, Ferris knelt beside Ricardo, hands glowing with pale green healing light.

“You’re stable,” he muttered, brow furrowed. “But don’t you dare move.”

Ricardo chuckled through the pain, one fang flashing. “Tch… just give me a minute. I’ll be back on my feet soon enough.”

“You’ll be back in a grave if you move too soon,” Ferris snapped, but there was no real heat in it. “Two more minutes. No less.”

“Deal,” Ricardo rasped. “But I ain’t missin’ the end of this dance.”

Crusch turned, her eyes scanning the rear—where Cid stood. His left hand was once again wrapped in fresh bandages, streaked with new crimson. It hung carefully at his side, restrained but not ignored.

She approached him.

“Your hand,” she said, voice low. “Is it alright?”

Cid inclined his head, that ever-present ghost of a smile returning to his lips.

“It is merely fulfilling its purpose, milady,” he replied, voice smooth and composed. “And I remain… prepared for the finale.”

I kinda love how my severed hand works as a plot device — it holds back Lucien’s powers just enough to make people wonder what I could really do if I had both hands. Gotta say, impressive buildup… all crafted with my own hands. Pun totally intended.

Cid took a step closer.

Crusch instinctively tensed—until Cid extended his right hand, offering it palm-up, fingers curled with impeccable poise. Then he bowed low.

“…May I,” he said, eyes gleaming beneath the mist, “have the pleasure?”

Crusch blinked, completely thrown. “…The pleasure?”

Ferris whirled on him from beside Ricardo. “Are you flirting with her right now?!”

Mimi gasped dramatically. “Whaaa?! Lulu, are you asking for her hand in marriage or to dance on a corpse?!”

“Either way, you’re bold, bro,” Ricardo chuckled, propping himself up on one elbow. “Damn.”

Crusch ignored the jabs, her gaze fixed on Cid’s face.

On that confident little grin, so subtle it barely existed—except it always existed. That look of calm he wore in the middle of the storm.

She had seen it only a few times before.

And every time, against all odds… he’d found a way.

Even against death. Even against despair. Even—out of Avīci itself.

She should have been thinking of the front lines. The wounded. The shifting battlefield. But instead—

There was something toxic about him.
Toxic and magnetic.
Like silk steeped in poison.
Like the quiet at the edge of a blade.

And before she could stop herself—

Her hand moved.

Crusch’s hand met his.

Cid’s fingers closed gently around hers, and his eyes met hers like they were already dancing.

“You’ve made an excellent choice, milady,” he said smoothly.

“Now—”
He gave a small, precise bow.
“It’s time for our dance.”

Cid turned his head slightly, eyes locking with Crusch’s.

Not gonna lie, fighting these whale clones is getting kinda boring — but hey, while the main quest’s still loading, might as well knock out some side quests in style.

In the dim battlefield light, they gleamed—not with power but with purpose. He didn't raise his voice, didn’t shift his tone. Just a quiet command, wrapped in velvet.

“Milady,” he said, his grip on her hand tightening just slightly, “please… hold my waist. Firmly, if you would.”

Crusch blinked. “Your—?”

But she obeyed without thinking, her gloved hand settling on his waist, the gesture feeling both strange and oddly natural in the chaos. Before she could ask why—

FWOOOSH—!!

The world dropped.

Then soared.

Without warning, Cid leapt, soaring into the air like a shadow launched from a catapult. The mists whipped away beneath them as they arced through the sky, rising above the battlefield like specters of nobility and madness entwined.

Below, jaws dropped.

Mimi gasped. “LULU CAN FLY?!”

Ferris shouted, “IS THAT EVEN LEGAL—?!”

Ricardo, half-propped up, muttered, “That butler’s got springs for bones…”

They landed clean—feet hitting the quivering, mist-veined back of a whale clone as if they’d simply stepped down from a carriage. Cid released her hand with practised grace.

Crusch staggered slightly, caught herself, and then turned to him with a narrow gaze.

“…What now?” she asked, sabre still clenched. “I’m no Wilhelm with the blade. And Ricardo’s down. You can’t fight, can you?”

She looked at him, voice quiet now. “So what are we even doing here?”

Cid’s smile didn’t falter.

“I seek no power from you, milady,” he said, voice silk over steel. “Nor strength. What I need… is you. As you are.”

Operation: earn Crusch’s trust — while wrecking the beast, because why fucking not?

Before she could respond, he reached out again—this time with unmistakable intention.

With his right hand, he gently guided her left arm, lifting it slightly, the sabre rising in rhythm to his own motion.

With his left arm, he slipped it smoothly around her waist.

And just like that—

Chest to armor. Breath to breath.

Their bodies pressed together in the middle of a trembling, fog-drenched battlefield.

Crusch’s eyes widened. “Wh—what are you—?”

Cid tilted his head, the faintest smirk at the edge of his lips.

“Milady,” he said, voice like a dark waltz, “permit me to lead you through a danse mortelle.”

A deadly dance.

The words wrapped around her like spellcraft.

She swallowed, caught off guard by the closeness—his voice, his warmth, the uncanny calm. Her face flushed ever so slightly.

“…You’re impossible,” she muttered.

Cid’s gaze didn’t waver.

“But reliable,” he said.

The White Whale shrieked again—one long, rending cry that fractured the fog like glass under strain. Its back pulsed and twisted, pores bubbling and erupting in steaming bursts of pressure mist. The battlefield trembled beneath them like a living thing dying in slow motion.

Crusch didn’t hesitate anymore.

Cid’s arm was around her waist. Her sabre was in her grip. But her movements were no longer her own.

They moved together.

Like wind through reeds. Like shadows in torchlight.

One heartbeat.

One rhythm.

Cid’s body twisted, guiding hers in a swift, precise pirouette. Her sabre slashed in a crescent arc, cutting clean through an emerging tendril of mist-flesh before it could harden.

SHUNK.

The blow landed with unnatural grace. Not hers. His.

He was using her hand like it was his own—as if her blade were merely an extension of his will.

“Step,” he whispered, voice low in her ear. “Pivot.”

She obeyed.

They swept left, her boot sliding smoothly across the slick misty surface. Cid’s back arched in counterbalance, his grip tightening just slightly. Their forms mirrored each other—two blades wrapped in silk and certainty.

“Lift,” he said.

She did.

SWOOSH.

Her sabre arced upward, the point missing the erupting geyser of fog by centimeters as they ducked and rolled, Cid pulling her close as he dipped her beneath a burst of searing pressure. Her armor hissed with condensation. His breath was steady.

Her attacks have decent range but don’t hit all that hard — so I’ll aim for the already wounded spots to boost her damage output.

Cid raised her again.

“Now—draw.”

She did.

CRASH—!

The blade swung in a diagonal slash, cutting clean through the bulging mist-vein stretching across the Whale’s back. The creature screamed, and a blast of mist blew outward—but the duo was already gone, spinning away in a corkscrew of motion.

They didn’t walk. They danced.

A step.

A flourish.

A feint that spun into a genuine blow—Cid guiding her weight from the hips as she leaned, blade-first, into another searing slash across the Whale’s dorsal spine.

THWACK. SLICE. SPIN.

Cid rotated her with surgical timing, one leg crossing hers, his hand gliding along her arm just before she slashed downward—severing a tendril.

Ferris gawked from the ground below, one hand still pressed to Ricardo’s bandaged shoulder, the other flailing dramatically in the air like it was trying to swat away everything he was seeing.

“What in the nine-tailed nyanity is that?!” he squawked, ears twitching like overcaffeinated radar dishes. “Are they seriously waltzing a whale to death?!” His tail lashed. “Lady Crusch never saber-danced with me like that, nyan!”

Mimi, still crouched on her brother’s back, eyes round as saucers and glittering with unfiltered excitement, gasped and clapped. “Mimi wanna dance too!! Like—like with spin attacks and boombooms and hair flipping in slow motion!” She bounced in place, her voice rising to a squeal. “Hetaro, throw me! Mimi can totally sparkle-slice something!”

Above them, the White Whale wailed—a raw, guttural cry like the air itself was tearing open. Its spasming back sprayed plumes of hissing mist with every rupture, each fresh wound trailing steam like blood turned vapor.

Between blows, between beats of their deadly dance, she exhaled sharply and spoke over the rising cacophony.

“This plan of yours,” she said, sweat lining her brow, “it’s… absurd. Ridiculous. And it’s working.”

Cid’s eyes gleamed, expression unchanged as he spun her with flawless timing.

“I find, milady,” he murmured, “that logic has its place… but poetry kills better.”

Cid’s voice came low, velvet-wrapped iron beside her ear.

“Milady… the cannons. If you would be so kind, now is the time to give the order.”

She blinked, stumbling a half-step. “What? Cannons?”

“Indeed,” Cid replied, still perfectly composed even as mist-blades hissed past them. “A coordinated bombardment. Focused on the mid-spine. Precisely five volleys, staggered by three beats of breath. A... theatrical flourish, if you will.”

Crusch turned her head toward him, incredulous. “You want me to order a full artillery barrage while standing on the target?!”

Every finale needs that classic fireworks scene to wrap it all up.

Cid offered a faint smile, elegant even in blood and fire. “It would be rather inconvenient if they missed, wouldn’t it?”

She opened her mouth to argue—but stopped.

Because behind her fury, behind the logic screaming this is madness, she had watched him: carving through the fog like it was silk in a ballroom, turning her blade into something more than steel. She had seen how every insane idea he touched turned into strategy dressed as art.

She didn’t know where this man’s madness ended.

But in this moment—she chose to believe in it.

Crusch inhaled, then turned toward the edge of the whale’s back, eyes blazing.

Her voice rang across the chaos like a war trumpet.

“ARTILLERY—PREPARE VOLLEY! TARGET THE SPINE—ON MY MARK!”

Below, the mages roared acknowledgment. Runes flared. Glyphs seared into cannon mounts ignited with raw magical charge. Arcane energy built to a blinding crescendo.

The White Whale howled—a scream like shattered reality—as if it sensed the death coming.

Crusch’s hand clenched, then sliced the air.

“FIRE—!!!”

BOOM—!!

The sky exploded in light.

Five great cannons belched arcs of burning power—magic-fire and compressed wind, lightning-laced orbs trailing trails of fury. They ripped through the mist like celestial lances, slamming into the whale’s back with thunder that split the air.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

The impacts tore flesh and mist, rupturing the spine and venting pressure in a blaze of light and gore. The White Whale shrieked—a final, broken wail—its great wings spasming as its body lurched, spine shattered, veins of fog erupting in gouts of white-hot steam.

Crusch staggered—but Cid caught her, one arm wrapping tightly around her waist.

She didn’t resist. Couldn’t.

Because they were still moving—still dancing.

Between the fires.

Between the ruptures.

Between the dying heartbeats of a titan.

Cid’s voice came again—soft but iron-hard.

“Milady… shall we conclude the performance?”

Crusch nodded, breathless. “With pleasure.”

He guided her—one last spin, one final lunge.

Her blade found the seam in the Whale’s fractured spine.

And drove home.

The White Whale spasmed once—twice—then collapsed in on itself with a low, groaning roar, like a mountain settling into death.

It hit the earth with an impact that knocked wind from lungs and light from sky.

Silence followed.

Steam rose.

Mist began to clear.

The White Whale’s clone was dead.

The battlefield was quiet.

For the first time since the shriek had first torn the sky, silence reigned. The White Whale—once a nightmare writ in mist and madness—lay broken and still, its vast form collapsed like a fallen god, steam curling upward from its shattered spine.

Mimi blinked from her perch on Hetaro’s shoulder, ears twitching. “Did we… win?”

Then—

Shapes emerged.

Two figures, walking calmly through the rising mist.

Crusch Karsten stepped out first—her sabre sheathed, her posture straight, her armor gleaming faintly even under the blood-colored haze of cannonfire’s aftermath. Her breath was steady. Her stride unwavering.

But what stunned everyone—

Was her hands.

She held them up for a moment, palms turned inward, as if in disbelief.

No cuts. No bruises. No blood. Not even a smear of dirt.

Her gloves were pristine. Untouched. As if war itself had forgotten to touch her.

The others stared, speechless.

Then another shape stepped through the haze behind her.

Cid.

He moved like the mist itself made room for him. The butler’s shirt was torn at the shoulder, and blood streaked the side of his face. His left hand was freshly bandaged, the cloth soaked in crimson. His right glove was missing, fingers scraped and raw from strain.

And still—his posture was perfect.

He paused beside Crusch, adjusted his ruined shirt, and swept a single lock of hair from his brow. Then he straightened, glanced over the crowd of silent, waiting warriors…

…and spoke with the elegance of a royal announcement.

“Apologies for the delay,” he said smoothly. “The lady’s dance card was full.”

He turned his head slightly, a faint smile curling the corner of his mouth.
“And as ever… I ensured she didn’t miss a single step.”

She walks out clean and untouched, while I’m the one bleeding and bruised — peak masculinity, right there.

A heartbeat of stunned silence followed.

Then—

The roar.

A chorus of warriors, of wounded, of friends and fighters and fools all crying out at once. The battlefield erupted in thunderous triumph—shouts echoing across the shattered hills, banners raised, blades thrust skyward.

They had won.

Because Crusch had stood tall.

Because Cid had guided her hand.

Because sometimes, the deadliest sword…

…is the one you never see coming.

A sudden, deafening sound tore through the celebratory roar like thunder cracking a cathedral bell.

BOOOOOOOM—!!

The sky trembled.

A shadow—vast, blotting out the rising sun—swooped over the battlefield.

“MOVE!!” Subaru’s voice bellowed from above, hoarse and urgent. “EVERYONE—GET OUT OF THE WAY!!”

Heads snapped up. Every fighter, every wounded soldier, every mage turned their gaze skyward.

There it was.

The main White Whale.

Its colossal, broken form tumbled from the heavens, spiraling in slow, terrible descent. Gouts of steam erupted from ruptured blisters along its spine, blood-mist trailing like ribbons behind it. Its wings were shredded. Its scream had died in its throat.

Clinging to its back were Subaru and Rem—arms locked around each other, bracing for impact.

And beside them—

Delta, laughing like a child on the world’s deadliest amusement ride, arms flung wide like she was embracing the chaos.

Crusch’s eyes widened in alarm as the full weight of the behemoth fell toward them.

“BACK!!” she roared. “EVERYONE, CLEAR THE FIELD!! MOVE—NOW!!”

Soldiers scrambled, wounded were lifted, carried, dragged. Magic-users flared spells for speed, shields, anything. The battlefield turned frantic once more—not with fear of death, but to avoid being crushed by victory.

WHOOOOMP—!!!

The Whale slammed into the earth like a meteor, throwing up a tidal wave of dirt, mist, and fractured rock. The shockwave rattled bones and knocked even the strongest fighters to one knee.

And here comes the hero, Subaru — bringing along my future fortune!

Silence followed again.

Then—

“Ow… ow… ow…”

From atop the toppled leviathan, a figure staggered upright.

Subaru.

Covered in soot, steam, and what might have been mashed whale-guts, he wobbled on two legs like a toddler trying to remember how walking worked.

He flailed his arms once.

Twice.

And slid gracelessly down the Whale’s side, landing in a heap at the base with a soft squelch.

Rem landed shortly after—calm, composed, and only slightly singed. She stepped beside Subaru and looked around the stunned silence of the survivors.

Her voice rose gently, concern rippling through it.

“Is everyone… alright?”

Cid stepped forward with Crusch, both miraculously untouched by the fallout. Mimi, Hetaro, Ferris, even Ricardo—all slowly straightened, blinking through the aftermath.

Before anyone could answer—

“BOSS—!!”

A blur of dark and purple streaked through the battlefield.

Delta crashed into Cid like an enthusiastic thunderclap, her claws retracting just in time as she tackled-hugged him with absurd force. Her arms wrapped around his waist, and she grinned up at him like a child showing off a scraped knee.

“DID YOU SEE?!” she crowed, tail thrashing wildly. “DELTA LED THEM! DELTA DESTROYED THE BIG WHALE! BOOM! CRASH! SLASH! WHOOSH! Did you see?”

Cid remained perfectly composed—if slightly tilted by the sheer kinetic energy of the wolf-girl’s excitement.

“I did indeed,” he replied calmly, steadying himself. “Your… enthusiasm was difficult to miss.”

“This one?” he said, voice tired but wry. “She’s the reason I got flung onto the back of a murderous fog-god like a sack of potatoes. No warning. Just yeet.”

Delta beamed. “You landed, didn’t you?”

“Barely!” Subaru groaned, rubbing his back. “I’ve got bruises in places I didn’t know had bones!”

Subaru looked at Rem… then at Delta… then at the massive, unmoving corpse of the White Whale behind them.

Then at Cid and Crusch—still standing in the aftermath of their grim waltz.

He sighed, long and heavy.

“…Okay. I’m not saying it wasn’t awesome. But next time someone volunteers to throw me into orbit, I’m writing a will first.”

Ferris stood atop a broken chunk of scorched stone, his ears twitching as he stared at the fallen White Whale’s unmoving, bloated form. Mist still curled from its wounds like dying breath, but the silence felt… wrong. Too quiet.

He narrowed his eyes, tail swishing with restrained unease.

“…Subaru,” Ferris said cautiously, his voice lacking its usual playfulness. “You sure it’s dead?"

Subaru glanced over, still half-covered in soot and whale guts. He opened his mouth to reply—

“Mimi saw it twitch,” Mimi piped up suddenly, eyes wide and glittering with poorly masked excitement. She crouched on Ricardo’s back, ears perked, tail upright. “Like… just a little squirm. Right near the big gross face part."

Subaru didn’t look alarmed.

He grinned.

A tired, dangerous kind of grin—the kind that comes after too many plans, too many near-deaths, and one very specific, very theatrical finale already in place.

“About that…” he muttered, brushing a smear of congealed mist-goop from his coat. “Yeah, it twitches. Because we left someone to give it the last word.”

He turned, eyes shifting toward Rem and then to Cid, who stood together amid the remains of their grim ballet. Subaru's voice rose just enough to carry.

“We figured if anyone had the right to deliver the final blow… it wasn’t us.”

Rem’s gaze softened, understanding instantly.

Cid said nothing. He merely inclined his head, eyes shifting toward the mist ahead.

To wrap this chapter the right way, it’s only fair that a certain someone gets their moment to shine.

Because something was moving.

Slow.

Steady.

Intentional.

The ranks of warriors parted, falling into quiet hush like wheat before wind. A hush fell, broken only by the whisper of boots over broken ground.

And through them walked Wilhelm van Astrea.

And through them walked Wilhelm van Astrea.

His coat fluttered behind him, singed and soaked in blood and mist. His blade hung low at his side, but his back was straight—tall as ever, even if his steps carried a weight far older than his body.

He walked past Crusch without a word.

Past Ferris, who stared with wide, uncertain eyes.

He passed Subaru, who turned and bowed his head, just slightly.

Wilhelm’s eyes never left the whale.

When he finally stood before it—mere feet from its vast, ruined head—he stopped.

"So it's all finally coming to an end."

Wilhelm did not move.

Not at first.

Then—slowly—his hands, worn and scarred, rose to the hilt of his blade.

He gripped it in both hands.

Lifted it.

Raised it high, the sword’s edge gleaming faintly in the pallid battlefield light.

Held it before him like a rite.

And closed his eyes.

The battlefield fell away.

The scent of blood and burnt fog drifted from his mind.

And in its place came flowers.

---

---

He was young again.

The kind of young where the sun still felt warm on bare arms and the future seemed like something he could cut a path to with a sword.

He stood at the outskirts of the capital, where the cobbled roads gave way to soft hills, and beyond them, the valley.

A valley painted in wildflowers.

Delicate. Untamed. A thousand shades of yellow and sky.

And standing amid them—

Was Theresia.

Her red hair stirred in the breeze like a candle’s flame, her fingers grazing the petals as though afraid they might shatter.

She turned before he could speak.

Her eyes found his with a gentleness he had never earned, and her smile—unworried, knowing—carved straight through him.

“You came,” she said simply, like she had always known he would. “After all.”

Wilhelm stiffened. Looked away. His hand drifted instinctively to the practice blade at his side.

“…I come here to train,” he said, quieter than he meant to.

Theresia chuckled.

“You sure do,” she replied, and the laughter in her voice was light—but the silence that followed was heavier than steel.

For a long moment, she looked back at the flowers.

“I heard what happened,” she said softly. “In Aihiya.”

His grip tightened around the hilt. His training blade cut again and again through phantom air. He didn’t respond.

Theresia’s voice drifted, almost too calm.

“An Archbishop… showing up in the middle of a decisive battle? Blowing up most of the huge swamp? Strange, isn’t it?”

Still, Wilhelm said nothing.

A breeze passed. The flowers stirred. So did her hesitation.

“…Were you scared?” she asked, and for the first time—her voice held no teasing. Just quiet truth.

Wilhelm’s next swing stopped mid-motion.

And in his mind’s eye—

He remembered it.

Shadow. He who had torn through demi-human lines like death given form. A black gale wrapped in mockery and void. Eyes like pits. A smile that didn’t belong on anything born of this world.

It hadn’t fought.

It hadn’t even moved like it needed to.

It had unmade.

And Wilhelm—then only a swordsman chasing ghosts of strength—had stood frozen behind a wall of dead and dying, heart hammering, mind numb.

He had watched helplessly as what he thought was power was simply dismissed.

And yet—

He didn’t run.

“If I’d been scared,” he said at last, low and cold, “I would’ve died there.”

He lowered his sword.

Turned.

Met her eyes—not the memory, but the weight behind it.

“If you’re that curious about that Archbishop,” Wilhelm said, steel bleeding into every word, “you should’ve come yourself.”

Theresia’s smile faded the moment Wilhelm's words struck the air like steel unsheathed.
His tone hadn't been cruel—only honest. But it cut just the same.

She didn’t argue.
She didn’t sigh.

She simply looked down.

Her hands drifted to the edge of her cloak, fingers curling in, gently wringing the fabric—
—not tightly, but with the same slow, unconscious tension of someone folding up an old pain and hiding it again.

She reached up—softly, slowly—and touched her collarbone, as if trying to press back a memory rising too fast to contain.
Her breath caught just slightly. Her lips parted.
A flutter in the lashes. A tremble in the hand.

Not weakness—
But something more dangerous.

Remembrance.

“I see,” she said at last.
Her voice was quiet.
Not cold.
Just distant.

The breeze moved the flowers.

But not her.

Not yet.

Wilhelm paused.

The next swing of his blade—planned, perfect, and purely habitual—hung in the air, unfinished. His arms stiffened, then lowered slowly.

And even though he didn’t look at her…
Even though he was Wilhelm the stoic, Wilhelm the blunt and unrefined—
Something in him had changed.

Because even someone like him—someone who understood nothing but the edge of a sword—had learned how to read her.

And what he saw now…

Was wound.

Old.

Hidden.

Unhealed.

He lowered the blade the rest of the way, until its tip kissed the soft soil.

He didn’t turn. Didn’t face her.

But his voice was lower now. Rougher. Not from anger. From something else.

“…I don’t know who that man was,” he said, each word dragging itself out of him like a reluctant truth. “The one from that battlefield. The Archbishop. He wasn’t like the others.”

His gaze dropped.

Not in shame.

But as if the weight of the thought pressed too heavily to bear.

“I felt something,” Wilhelm muttered. “Not fear. Not rage. Something… wrong.”

A breath.

“…Ever since that day, it’s like he didn’t just tear through our lines. He tore through me.”

His fingers flexed on the hilt.

He shut his eyes.

“There’s something between us. A thread I can’t see… but feel. I’ve tried to forget it. Deny it. Cut it away.”

Theresia looked at him—then, unexpectedly, she smiled.
Not the distant, practiced smile of someone managing pain.
But real.
Sudden.
Gentle and alive.

“…Maybe,” she said, her voice soft but steady, “that’s a blessing.”

Wilhelm blinked.
His grip tightened on the blade, brows drawing together.

“A blessing?” he echoed, stunned. “A blessing that I’m bound to a monster like that?”

He turned toward her, disbelief cracking the ice of his usual calm.
“The Archbishop that tore apart a battlefield and unmade men in seconds—that’s what you call a blessing?”

Theresia didn’t flinch.

She met his gaze—clear and calm as dawnlight on steel.

“Blessings,” she said gently, “don’t always mean peace.”

She stepped forward, her boots rustling the tall grass at the field’s edge.

“People think blessings solve things. That they make life easier. That they wipe away the hard choices.”
Her eyes softened, lashes fluttering just slightly.

“But the truth is—some blessings don’t remove the weight.”
She placed a hand gently over her chest.
“They just show you where to carry it.”

Her voice dropped, just above a whisper.

“They point. That’s all.”

Wilhelm clicked his tongue, his voice sharp in contrast.

“Tch. Point to what?” he snapped. “A new fight? Another wound to dig through?”
He looked away, jaw clenched.
“Sounds more like a curse.”

Theresia’s lips curled—not in hurt, but amusement.

She stepped closer, brushing past a patch of wildflowers.

“Still grumpy,” she teased lightly, tilting her head. “Even now.”

He stiffened.
His body tensed like he didn’t know whether to draw his sword or flee.

“You’re… too close,” he muttered, awkwardly straightening his collar. “And I’m not—grumpy.”

Theresia chuckled.

The sound—quiet, warm, familiar—cut through the weight like a ray of sun through stormclouds.

It echoed in his chest in ways he hadn’t realized he missed.

And—somehow—Wilhelm felt… lighter.
Just for a moment.
Just from that smile.

He looked at her again.
Really looked.

And in that silence—

She looked up.

Toward the sky.

The clouds were parting just slightly, strands of gold bleeding into the misted gray.

A strange stillness settled over the valley.

Then—

“I don’t know why,” she said softly, her gaze distant, unreadable. “But I’ve got this feeling…”

She paused.

Wilhelm waited.

And then she said it—

“…That this ‘Archbishop’…”
Her voice lingered on the name.

“…isn’t actually a bad guy.”

The air seemed to hold its breath.

Wilhelm’s eyes widened—just a flicker.

Not with rage—but with something heavier.

Something cracked and hollow.

“He killed thousands of demi-humans.”

His hand dropped from his collar, curling instead into a fist at his side.

“Not in a clash. Not in a struggle. He didn’t fight them—he erased them.”

Theresia didn’t look away.

She let the silence stretch, just long enough to honor what he’d said.

Then—softly, but with iron beneath it—she spoke.

“You’re mistaking power… for intent.”

Wilhelm’s brow furrowed slightly.

Theresia stepped through the flowers, the stems brushing her fingers like the past brushing memory.

“I’m not excusing him. I’m not justifying what he did. You know me better than that.”

She turned to face him again.

“But I’ve seen that kind of devastation before—once in a field painted red with swords, and once in a boy who didn't understand what strength was for.”

Her eyes met his.

“Do you remember how many men you cut down in the war before we ever met?”

Wilhelm's expression didn’t change—but something in his eyes flickered.

“You didn’t kill them in rage,” she continued. “You simply believed… if you didn’t end the threat first, it would end someone else.”

She stepped closer, her voice low but unwavering.

“And that’s what I see in him.”

Wilhelm’s lips parted—to argue. To deny.

But no words came.

Theresia watched him carefully—eyes steady, but lips beginning to curl with that unmistakable spark.

She stepped even closer, until the edge of her cloak brushed his coat, and without warning, she gently reached out—

And took his hands in hers.

She held them like something fragile.

And with that same old gleam in her eyes—the one that had undone him more times than any blade—she tilted her head and said, airily:

“Well, if you’re truly outraged by what I’ve said…”

She gave a faint, theatrical sigh and raised his hands up slightly, pressing them to her chest as though surrendering.

“…you’re welcome to arrest me for treasonous speech and toss me into the dungeon. I’ll even go quietly.”

A beat passed.

Then her smile turned sly—playful, teasing in the way only she ever dared with him.

“Though I imagine you’d visit.”

Wilhelm blinked—caught somewhere between disbelief and exasperation.

His shoulders, once tensed like drawn steel, now dropped by a hair’s breadth.

“…You always talk this much when you’re about to win an argument?”

Theresia leaned in just a touch, smile widening as she whispered:

“Only when I already have.”

And just like that, the wind carried a laugh through the wildflowers—quiet, brief, but unmistakably his.

---

Wilhelm opened his eyes.

The wind stirred. The flowers shifted.

And memory—unbidden, unstoppable—rose like a tide beneath his ribs.

He remembered.

Not the battlefield.
Not the blood.

But something older. Quieter.

He remembered the first time he met her.

He had been a raw, brash swordsman then—sharp-edged and silent, driven by the blade and nothing else. Just another dog of the military, clawing his way toward meaning. And there she was.

Red hair like firelight in dusk.
Eyes that held no fear, only questions.
A voice that didn't command—but invited.

"Do you like flowers?" she'd asked, tilting her head with that impossible gentleness.

He hadn’t known how to answer. He had never thought about flowers.
He had only known how to kill.

But she’d smiled anyway.

He remembered the next time.

"Why do you wield your sword?"

A question as simple as sunlight—and yet it struck deeper than any blade he’d ever parried.
He’d fumbled for an answer. Couldn’t find one.

Not then.

But Theresia had waited.
She always waited.

And somehow, in that silence, he’d begun to find himself—not in his sword, but in her.

He remembered the moment he almost died.

Cut down. Broken. Bleeding out on some godsforsaken field.
And her—small, slight, and impossibly strong—carving through steel and flame and death itself to reach him.

She had saved him.

Not because it was duty.

But because it was him.

Because she'd chosen him.

He remembered the burden she carried.
The name: Sword Saint.
The power. The expectations. The weight of a world too eager to use her and too blind to see she was still just a girl.

He remembered how it hurt her—how it cost her—how she smiled through it like a mask carved from grace and fire.

And he remembered—

The vow.

The one he said aloud, but forged in silence and scarred fingers and sleepless nights:

That he would take that weight from her.
That he would be her sword, if it meant she never had to raise hers again.
That he would stand in front of her, beside her—for her.

Always.

And now, standing in a dream of flowers and memory and a sky painted with parting clouds—

Wilhelm van Astrea remembered.

He remembered what the world had tried to make him forget.

He remembered why he fought.

He remembered who he fought for.

He remembered the answer he had never been able to give her before.

"Do you like flowers?"

Yes.

Yes, because she was one.

Fragile, fierce, and impossibly alive.

And above all—

He remembered how much he loved his wife.

Theresia van Astrea.

Now.
Then.
Always.

The world could tear itself apart and rebuild a thousand times.
He would find her.
In every one.

Because there was no sword without its saint.
And no saint without the man who chose to carry her burden as his own.

The dream of flowers had scattered, leaving only scorched earth and silence in its wake.

Before him lay the wounded White Whale—colossal, grotesque, and twitching still with a shred of cursed vitality. Mist hissed from its veins like the last breath of a vanishing storm. Its body, torn and broken, still loomed with a terrible gravity.

And yet Wilhelm stood tall.

Still.

Silent.

Then he spoke—low, sharp, and unmistakably final.

“…Thanks to that his power,” he said, voice like steel dragged through truth, “I can treat you as you truly deserve.”

The air shifted.

In an instant, the world moved.

Or rather—it didn’t.

Wilhelm moved.

Like light. Like judgment. Like inevitability.

His blade vanished and reappeared again and again—slashes too fast to follow, too clean to comprehend.

Steel sang.

Flesh parted.

And before anyone could blink, the massive corpse of the White Whale—

Fell apart.

Its titanic form collapsed into clean, consecutive pieces, each cleaved as if by divine ordinance. Slabs of white flesh and ruined bone tumbled like fragments of a dying god, and yet—

The head remained.

One ruin.

One witness.

Wilhelm stood before it, his sword dripping silence.

The mist curled one final time, and the beast’s enormous, fading eye locked with his.

And for a moment—only a moment—man and monster understood each other.

Their fates—twisted and ancient—met in that gaze.

Bound by war.

By grief.

By loss.

Wilhelm’s voice broke the silence, low and firm and unforgiving.

“I have no intention of cursing you.”

He took a step closer.

“There’s no point in preaching good or evil to a beast. No meaning in offering words to what cannot understand them.”

He raised his sword one last time—slowly.

“Between you and me… there is only the law of the blade.”

A breath.

“The strong live. The weak are cut down.”

His gaze narrowed, cold and resolute.

“And today…”

The sword gleamed like winter sunlight.

“…You are the weak.”

He leveled the blade—pointing it toward the last trembling eye.

“Sleep.”

A whisper.

Command and mercy entwined.

“…Eternally.”

And with a single, final motion—swift, quiet, absolute—he lowered his sword.

There was no roar.

No struggle.

Just stillness.

And then, the light—

The awful, ancient light in the White Whale’s eye—

Faded.

Gone.

Silence returned, not as fear… but as peace.

Wilhelm’s eyes—fierce once, now softened with the weight of time and memory—did not move from the fallen beast.

Then, at last, he whispered:

“It’s over, Theresia.”

The words were not triumphant.
They were not a warrior’s cry.
They were a husband's farewell.

Wilhelm turned his face skyward.

The clouds, once choked with mist, had parted just enough to let through a sliver of light—gentle, gold, and warm.

And then—

The treasured sword slipped from his hand.

It fell with a soft, final clatter to the bloodstained ground, no longer needed.

Wilhelm brought that now-empty hand to his face, palm trembling as it covered his eyes.

And when he spoke, his voice was cracked—raspy with age and grief and too many years spent silent.

But beneath all that wear…

There was love.

Boundless.

Undiminished.

Raw.

“Theresia, I…”
His voice shook. His shoulders trembled. His whole being seemed to unravel around those next words.

Words he had never said.

Not once.

Not even to her.

Not even when he had the chance.

“I love you—!!”

The cry tore out of him—not the Sword Demon, not the living legend, but the man.undeniably strong—and shouted with everything he had:

“WE WON!!”

The silence shattered.

A roar erupted.

The army behind him—tattered, exhausted, bloodied but alive—rose in unison, voices colliding in a storm of victory:

“WE WON!!”
“WE WON!!”
“WE WON!!”

They shouted until their throats burned, until the very sky seemed to echo it back.

They shouted until their throats burned, until the very sky seemed to echo it back.

And in the center of it all—

Wilhelm remained still, a tear-streaked smile on his lips, hand pressed to his face, heart bared at last.

The Sword Demon had claimed his vengeance.

But more than that—

Thay had won their first battle.

Notes:

So, the White Whale is finally taken down, thanks to Cid’s insanity, Subaru’s wits, and Wilhelm’s sword. Next up: Roswaal’s domain.

Chapter 28: Dominoes in the Dark

A pale morning sun cast soft rays over the field where the battle had taken place. The once-roaring chaos of war had quieted, replaced by the murmur of recovery. Soldiers moved slowly through the encampment—some with bandages wrapped around arms and foreheads, others helping their comrades walk or rest. The scent of burned mist and torn earth still lingered faintly in the air.

Subaru Natsuki sat on a flat rock near the main tent, his jacket off, revealing a tapestry of bruises and scrapes across his upper body. His legs dangled lazily, and despite his soreness, he wore a tired grin.

“Heehee~ Subaru, you really know how to fly, huh?” Ferris purred teasingly, narrowing one eye. “You were soaring like a tossed ragdoll back there. That girl, Delta, must’ve thought you were some kind of squeaky toy!”

Subaru groaned, rolling his eyes. “I’ll have you know, that was a very strategic aerial distraction maneuver. Totally planned. Very professional.”

Ferris gave him a playful jab on the shoulder. “Mmhmm. Sure, sure. You should teach a class—‘How to Get Launched Like a Human Firework 101.’”

Subaru was about to shoot back with a sarcastic retort when a calm, composed voice approached them from behind.

“Subaru.”

He turned his head to see Crusch Karsten walking toward him, flanked by Rem and a few guards. Her gaze was steady as always, though there was a note of quiet relief in her expression.

“Are you alright?” she asked, stopping just beside him.

Subaru struck a dramatic pose—flexing both arms despite the wince that followed. “I’m all good. Bit sore, but nothing a good nap and a hot meal can’t fix.” He tilted his head, expression growing more serious. “What about the troops? Any word on casualties?”

Crusch’s gaze shifted across the camp, where soldiers were resting and medics moved diligently between them. She gave a small nod, her voice measured.

“Most of the troops are alive. A few are seriously injured, but considering the scale of what we faced, the damage was minimal. We were fortunate.”

Subaru let out a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s… good. Really good. I was worried when the fog cleared. Things could’ve gone way worse.”

Crusch’s expression softened slightly. She glanced at him, a quiet smile forming at the edge of her lips.

“Much of that is thanks to you… and Lucien,” she said with a small chuckle. “Reckless as you both are, your actions shifted the tide more than once.”

Subaru chuckled, rubbing the back of his head as his usual lopsided grin returned. “Heh… you could say Lucy and I are a pretty crazy duo, huh?”

Crusch let out a quiet laugh, the kind that carried the weight of exhaustion but also genuine amusement. “That’s one way to describe it.”

But even as the laughter faded, something shifted behind Subaru’s eyes. The fog of adrenaline and relief began to lift, and the full weight of their actions crept in. The realization struck him—not just what he and Lucien had done to win, but who they had helped in the process.

He had fought with everything he had, desperate to survive, to return to Emilia’s side. But in doing so, had they overreached? Had they handed too much to the other side? The consequences felt like a stone dropping into his gut.

There was no going back.

A gnawing regret took hold—late, pointless, but persistent.

Crusch’s gaze lingered on him, picking up the subtle shift in his demeanor. Her tone was soft, concerned.

“Your face has become rather dark,” she said gently. “That is not the expression of the hero who brought down the White Whale.”

Subaru blinked, caught off guard by her words. He forced a laugh, scratching his cheek sheepishly. “Ehehe… Yeah, well, I think Lucy and I are about to get raked over the coals as Emilia-tan’s biggest traitors—Er, wait, hold on… what did you just say?”

Crusch met his eyes calmly, the flicker of a smile returning to her lips.

“The hero who brought down the White Whale,” she repeated. “I do not wish to be so shameless as to claim your exploits as my own house’s feats.”

Her voice carried the dignity of a noble, but also a rare warmth—genuine, unembellished respect.

Subaru blinked, surprised by the sincere glint in Crusch’s eyes. There was no prideful gleam or calculated diplomacy in her expression—only honest gratitude, shining with quiet strength.

Then Crusch gently placed a hand to her chest, over her heart, and said with measured conviction, “I cannot thank you enough for your cooperation. Were it not for you and Lucien, we would have failed to subjugate the White Whale. I would have surely fallen halfway along my path.”

Subaru froze, caught entirely off guard. The heat of her words sank into him, unsettling something deep. A noble—this noble—was offering him her thanks with such gravity, such dignity, that for a moment, he forgot to breathe.

No one in his life—not before coming to this world, and certainly not someone of Crusch’s status—had ever looked at him with such sincerity and spoken like this.

“Er, ah… no, cut that out,” Subaru mumbled, rubbing his arm and glancing away. “I… didn’t do anything big like that…”

But Crusch didn’t let him brush it off.

“You discerned the time and place the White Whale would appear,” she said clearly. “By your forces and Lucien’s, the expeditionary force—insufficient in strength—was bolstered. When the knights’ morale was broken, you roused them. You proposed a plan to rescue a hopeless situation at great danger to yourself, and you executed it. Splendidly, I might add. It was your actions that guided us to victory.”

Her words were calm, deliberate—spoken not as flattery, but as fact. Subaru could see it in her eyes: Crusch Karsten, who embodied resolve and truth, truly meant every word. There wasn’t even a trace of falseness or formality in her tone.

She was simply telling him what he had done.

Subaru’s throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t find anything to say. He looked down, his bangs shadowing his eyes, then gave a strained, sheepish smile.

He thought back to the night before their departure. The cool, businesslike manner Crusch had always used with him. The way she had spoken to Cid with detached professionalism. She had always been firm, guarded.

And now… now she was offering him something genuine. Not just gratitude—but respect.

Subaru scratched his cheek, glancing at Crusch with a tilted smile. “Y’know… I’m kinda surprised. Seems like your assessment of me has improved quite a bit.”

Crusch’s expression remained steady, but her eyes glinted with a touch of humor. “This is nothing to be modest about. And I am compelled to recognize that my view of you until a short time ago was very mistaken.”

She placed a hand to her chest once more, speaking with clear conviction.

“Properly speaking, a suitable repayment for such achievements would be to welcome you into my own house, but—”

“I’ll have to pass on that,” Subaru interrupted, raising a hand with an apologetic smile before she could continue.

Crusch’s eyes narrowed slightly.

But Subaru shook his head gently, his voice calm but resolute. “It’s not the same thing as loyalty, but my trust’s already been put where it ought to be. I genuinely feel like you’re a good person, and you’d probably do a great job if you became king, but…”

He trailed off, his gaze drifting toward the sky—pale and scattered with light clouds, just like the future he was trying to reach.

There was no doubt in his heart.

Crusch Karsten would make a noble king—of that, Subaru had no doubt. She had the strength, the dignity, and the will to endure hardship for the sake of others. And from what little he had seen, Subaru suspected there was someone—perhaps a mentor, a loved one—whose dream she now carried forward.

She had inherited more than just a cause. She had inherited resolve.

But even so.

Subaru looked back at her, eyes clear and firm.

“I’m gonna make Emilia king,” he said simply.

No bravado. No shouting. Just the quiet, immovable truth of his heart.

Crusch was silent for a moment, her eyes searching his face. Then, ever so slightly, she smiled.

“…I see.”

Then—without warning, without a single footstep heard—a smooth voice cut through the still air from just behind Subaru’s shoulder:

“Subaru, your flair for dramatic declarations remains truly peerless. I daresay the clouds themselves may begin to weep with inspiration.”

“GAH—!!”

Subaru jolted so hard he nearly slid off the flat rock he’d been perched on. Flailing for balance, he just barely caught himself before toppling, his hands slapping against the ground.

He whipped his head around, eyes wide.

“LUCY!?” he shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at the figure now standing calmly just behind him. “What the hell, man!? Could you not materialize from thin air like some kinda cryptid!?”

Cid gave a deep, courteous bow, utterly unbothered. “I merely refrained from interrupting such a heartfelt moment. To intrude before Lady Crusch had finished bestowing her gratitude would have been most uncouth.”

Subaru clambered back upright, bristling. “You didn’t ‘refrain from interrupting’—you ghosted in like a ninja in tails! Are you trying to get me to die of a heart attack!? Again!?”

Cid blinked once, then placed a gloved hand to his chest with serene composure. “Perish the thought, my friend. It is most unbecoming of a butler to assassinate his own allies, even inadvertently.”

“Oh, good—so it’s not off the table, just improper! That makes me feel soooo much safer!” Subaru threw his hands in the air, then jabbed a thumb toward Cid’s chest. “And where the hell have you been anyway?! You vanish the second the battle ends, and now you’re out here haunting the perimeter like some manner of creepy combat phantom!”

I pretty much jacked the valuable parts of the whale’s head and swapped them with high-quality slime that looks legit — only Charles Darwin type of person could tell they’re fake.

Cid straightened and folded his hand behind his back. “Merely tending to the wounded. There were scattered pockets of troops along the rear lines, and I sought to ensure none required immediate assistance. I administered field dressings where necessary and relayed the more serious cases to Sir Felix and the medics.”

Subaru took a deep breath and let it out slowly, brushing dust off his pants as he settled back down on the rock. He gave Cid a sidelong glance, and despite himself, his lips twitched into a small, reluctant smile.

“…Tch. You really are the worst at entrances,” Subaru muttered, then added with a quieter tone, “But… thanks. For helping out. I know I give you crap, but you’ve got good timing. Even if it is terrifying.”

Then, Subaru snorted. “So hey—what about Delta? You’ve been skittering around camp; you’ve had to run into her, yeah?”

Cid was silent for half a second too long. Then, in the most composed, ominously calm tone imaginable, he said:

“Subaru… my friend. I must implore you—trust me when I say this is one instance where you do not wish to know.”

Subaru’s eyebrows shot up. “…Seriously?”

I’ll leave it to the readers’ imagination to picture whatever gory chaos Delta’s cooking up.

Then, Subaru groaned and rubbed his face with both hands. “Okay. Okay. You know what? If she’s not actively detonating the med tents, I’ll just pretend she’s meditating somewhere. That’s good enough for me.”

A small, amused breath came from Crusch, who had remained nearby, her arms loosely crossed as she watched them banter.

“You two truly share a close bond,” she said, her tone light but sincere. “In a rather… unconventional way.”

Subaru squinted at Crusch, lips twitching. “Unconventional? Hey now, I’ll have you know this is a high-functioning alliance built on mutual trauma, snark, and Lucy’s inability to express human joy.”

He’s trying to downplay Lucien’s whole vibe to keep me lowkey — so it’s only fair I return the favor.

Cid, without missing a beat, adjusted his gloves. “And yet it somehow endures, despite your habit of leaping into danger with all the forethought of a sleepwalking lemming.”

“Oh, big talk from a guy who dresses like a butler but fights like a Shakespearean hitman.”

“A better image, I think, than a boy who strategizes like he’s lost a bet with physics.”

They locked eyes, brows raised.

A moment passed.

Then both cracked up at once, laughter echoing over the camp.

Crusch watched, shaking her head, smiling faintly. “Unconventional indeed.”

A sudden voice cut through the light mood.

“Lady Crusch~ I’ve got what you asked for~”

Ferris stepped into view, unusually subdued, his arms cradling a small, bandaged object with the utmost care. The linen was wrapped with delicate precision, as though shielding something sacred.

Subaru blinked, eyebrows raised. “That… doesn’t look like a snack box.”

I better be getting some top-tier gold or fancy jewelry out of that — or we riot!

Cid tilted his head slightly, sharp eyes settling on the parcel. “Indeed. Curious.”

Crusch turned toward Ferris, her expression unreadable. She accepted the item with both hands, then turned slowly to face Cid.

Her voice was calm—but weighty.

“I’ve thanked Subaru enough for now,” she said. “It’s time I fulfill another promise.”

Subaru straightened a little. Even the air seemed to still.

Crusch stepped forward. Then—gracefully, deliberately—she bowed her head.

A noble gesture. One rarely offered. Never insincerely.

“To you, Lucien,” she said, her tone unwavering, “I offer my apology.”

Cid’s eyes widened slightly.

“I doubted your intentions,” Crusch continued. “I spoke to you with suspicion. I forced your hand… and made you cut your own flesh to prove your worth.”

She raised her head.

“For that, I am sorry.”

So we’re jumping from suspicion to mutual respect now? That’s more character development than half the generic shows out there.

Cid stood silent for a heartbeat longer.

Then, ever composed, he lowered into a deep bow.

“There is no shame in vigilance, my lady,” he said softly. “Trust must be earned. If pain was the price, then I consider it… modest.”

Subaru rolled his eyes and gave Cid a firm nudge forward.

“Yeah, yeah. But let’s be honest—I made the plan, but you were the nutcase who jumped into the White Whale’s jaws first like you were trying to audition for ‘Monster Stomach Survivor.’”

Cid glanced at him sidelong, half-smiling. “An opportunity presented itself.”

“You leapt into a death trap,” Subaru shot back. “Without a sword. Alone. That wasn’t strategy. That was insanity.”

Now he’s hyping me up just so she'll get me a pricier gift — that’s my guy!

Crusch laughed gently.

“But it was necessary insanity,” she said. “You surpassed my expectations, Lucien. More than once.”

She held the wrapped item against her chest as she looked between the two.

“Your abilities were crucial. To all of this.”

Then she turned to Ferris, who nodded once without speaking.

Crusch’s gaze returned to Cid.

“Yet even now,” she said softly, “watching you fight tonight only filled my mind with more questions.”

She stepped closer. Her voice grew quiet. Almost tender.

“Who are you really, Lucien?”

Cid didn’t answer.

I’ll play it cool and stay quiet — hopefully she fills in the blanks with a flattering headcanon.

Crusch smiled faintly.

“But at least one answer is clear.”

She reached out—slowly—and placed the bundle in his hands.

“You are someone,” she said, “who deserves my utmost trust.”

Cid received the bundle with a grace that made it seem like ceremony. He lowered his head, cradling the item in his hands with the utmost care, his voice quiet but deeply earnest.

“My lady,” he said, “to be granted such trust is an honor far beyond anything I am owed. I will carry it with the same care I would a blade in battle, and guard it more fiercely still.”

Crusch’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, her expression unreadable.

Then—just subtly—she smiled. A genuine, quiet thing. It softened her noble composure without diminishing an ounce of her strength.

“Ohhhh~” Ferris crooned from the side, tail flicking like a metronome of mischief. “Still so proper, Lucy! You know, most men would swoon and stammer if a gorgeous commander gave them that look nyan.”

Cid turned only slightly, his tone unshaken. “I find it most unbecoming to mix romantic presumptions with moments of sincerity.”

This guy’s in it for the cash — 'cause hey, professionals have standards, right?

Ferris gasped. “No romantic presumptions!? So you are holding back nyan! You do think she’s gorgeous!”

Yeah a bag full of gold is gorgeous too.

Subaru choked on a laugh and looked toward Crusch—only to stop.

Crusch turned at them, composed herself with a dignified cough, and stood a little taller.

“Ahem. Let’s stay on task.”

She looked to Cid, her voice returning to that formal cadence.

“You’ve fulfilled your duty. And more than that, you’ve done so without complaint, and without reward.” She stepped forward. “So… it’s only fair that we reenact the matter of your left hand.”

Cid blinked once, eyes flicking to the bundle, then back to her. “My lady?”

Before Crusch could respond, Ferris was already moving.

With a playful bounce in his step, he sauntered over and grasped Cid’s left arm with surprising gentleness, beginning to unfasten the tight wrappings around it.

“Don’t mind me~ Just the licensed medical professional doing his job nyan~” Ferris said cheerfully.

Oh, come on — the gift was just my left hand? Seriously?

Ferris carefully began unbinding the linen strips, each layer revealing the healed—but scarred—remains of where flesh had been torn away.

From the bundle Crusch had given him, Ferris gently retrieved the preserved segment—the severed portion of Cid’s hand, carefully treated, kept whole.

I’m fuming right now, but I gotta stay in character — otherwise, I’m going full nuke mode.

Cid raised an eyebrow. “I'm impressed how well you preserved it.”

Ferris winked. “Of course! I never throw away good parts—especially the pretty ones.”

Subaru winced. “That’s… actually one of the more terrifying things I’ve heard today.”

Ferris gently cradled Cid’s arm in one hand and held the preserved piece in the other, his expression shifting to something far more serious.

“This is gonna hurt, Lucy,” he said softly. “Like, a lot.”

Then he smirked.

“But don’t pass out or scream, or I will tell everyone that Lady Crusch made you faint with a touch~”

Cid, for once, looked mildly perturbed. “…You’re a menace.”

Ferris beamed. “Compliment accepted nyan~ Now hold still, Romeo.”

Later on...
The midday sun filtered gently through the thinning clouds, casting dappled light over the slowly recovering battlefield. Laughter carried faintly across the field—light, high-pitched, and unburdened. In the distance, Delta darted in loops and arcs through the open grass, her shrieking giggles chasing after a small, sprinting figure.

“Waaahhh—stop chasing Mimiii!!” Mimi cried joyfully, tiny arms flailing as she ran for her life—if life meant being hunted by a wild-haired, chaos-gremlin of a girl who considered tag a full-contact sport.

Delta howled, hopping on all fours, “Mimi-run-run is fun-fun like snack-chase! Wheee!!”

Several soldiers, resting with bandages and wrapped heads, watched the scene with expressions torn between amusement and bewildered fear.

Crusch stood nearby, arms folded, watching it all with a complex but faintly contented look. At her side, Subaru mirrored her gaze—sitting on a broken wagon beam, elbows on knees, bruised but stable.

The peace held between them for a moment longer before her voice returned—quiet, firm.

“Your next step… is the Mather's Domain. That’s where the Witch Cult still lurks. You intend to confront them there, don’t you?”

Subaru’s smile faltered. Slowly, his gaze dropped to the ground, and his fingers curled into tight fists against his thighs.

The memories weren’t distant—they lived behind his eyes. The stench of rot. The madness in Petelgeuse’s voice. The screaming.

The deaths.

Over and over again.

“…Yeah,” Subaru said after a beat, his voice low. “It’s still waiting there. Like it always is. And I know what happens if we don't stop it.”

He looked up at her, pain tucked carefully behind the set of his jaw.

“Lady Crusch… I know Ricardo and a lot of your people are injured. You’ve already gone far for me—more than I could ask.” His voice dropped to a softer note. “I won’t ask anything reckless of you. Honestly… you’ve got to think about more than your feelings. You’ve got an entire faction to lead. You’re a ruler.”

He glanced away.

“Asking you to lend a hand beyond this is just…”

A voice interrupted from behind, gravelly but deep with unwavering strength:

“Then how about using these old bones until they fail?”

Both Subaru and Crusch turned.

Abruptly, a tall figure stepped into view, calm and unshaken despite the battered, blood-soaked state of his armor. Wilhelm van Astrea—his silver hair matted, his blade strapped to his back—walked forward with a presence that silenced the nearby air.

His entire frame was flecked with dried blood—demon beast and human alike—but his eyes were clear, keen as ever.

Subaru blinked. “Wilhelm…?”

Wilhelm approached, calm and unwavering.

Stopping before her, Wilhelm lowered his head slightly, voice low and resolute.

“Lady Crusch, I return that which you lent me.”

He presented the sword with both hands, reverent in his bearing.

“In addition, let me offer my deepest thanks. It is because of your cooperation that my long-cherished wish has been fulfilled. For that…” He paused, the weight of decades behind his words. “Lady Crusch—thank you. Truly.”

Crusch took the sword carefully, though she did not immediately return it to her belt. Instead, she regarded him with calm dignity.

“Your long-cherished wish and my objectives simply aligned. That is all.”

She held his gaze for a moment longer, then stepped forward, gently pressing the sword back into his hands.

“You may hold onto it a while longer. You can serve no role unarmed.”

Wilhelm’s lips curved in the barest hint of a smile. He bowed his head.

“As you wish. My thanks.”

He turned then, eyes settling on Subaru. His boots stopped just before the boy’s seat. And then, without hesitation, Wilhelm—the Sword Demon—dropped to one knee before him.

The motion was smooth, practiced. A gesture of utmost respect.

Subaru’s eyes widened.

It was the same gesture he had seen on the eve of their departure.

Wilhelm bowed his head low, one hand pressed to the earth.

“Subaru Natsuki,” he said, voice steady, deep, and unwavering. “It is because of your and Lucien’s cooperation that the subjugation of the White Whale was successful.”

He raised his eyes, blue as a clear sky, and locked them onto Subaru’s.

“It is you two who have granted meaning to all the long years of my life until this day.”

He lowered his head once more.

“I thank you. I thank you—I offer my thanks, with the whole of my being on the line.”

This was Wilhelm.

He who had offered half his life to the sword, and then spent more than a decade in pursuit of vengeance. A man whose every breath had been honed for battle, whose soul had been shaped by loss and longing.

And now he knelt.

Not for honor, not for recognition, but in pure, unshakable gratitude.

Subaru sat frozen, overwhelmed. The depth of the emotion directed at him was too great. Too raw. Too real.

He was terrified that if he spoke now—if he said the wrong thing—he’d dishonor the weight Wilhelm was placing on this moment.

So he stayed silent, heart racing. Searching for words that wouldn’t embarrass the old man who had offered him so much respect.

And then—

“A most stirring display,” came Cid’s voice from nearby, soft and composed.

His tone was that of a courtier observing a ceremony. But the warmth in it was unmistakable.

“There are few men left in this world, I think, whose loyalty burns as brightly as yours, Sir Wilhelm. It was an honor to witness it.”

Wilhelm looked up, surprised—perhaps not by the words, but by the quiet sincerity behind them.

Cid bowed his head faintly, folding one arm behind his back. “Even in the belly of the beast, I felt your presence growing stronger. Not dimming. Not fading. As if your sword refused to let you fall short of your vow.”

Honestly impressed that Wilhelm just rolled with my BS about the power I gave him draining his life.

Subaru finally found his voice. A small, crooked smile tugged at his lips.

“It’s your own sword that did it, Wilhelm,” he said, softly. “You thought about how to fight the White Whale. You studied it. You trained. You didn’t give up. You fought it.”

He leaned forward, eyes earnest.

“You brought it down because you earned that victory.”

Cid nodded. “Indeed. When I felt that pressure building from within the creature… I knew. Sir Wilhelm had sacrificed something precious to reach that moment.”

He tilted his head slightly, voice quiet but firm.

“Perhaps time. Perhaps peace. Or perhaps… something closer to the heart.”

Wilhelm said nothing. But his eyes—glimmering, resolute—spoke enough.

Subaru looked at Wilhelm, his throat tight, then slowly leaned forward on his knees. His eyes softened, and a quiet, crooked grin curved across his lips.

“You stuck with it until the White Whale went down because you reaaaally loved your wife,” Subaru said, voice low but warm with affection. “If I helped with that even a little bit… I’m glad. I’m not sure this is the best thing to say, but…”

He gave a small, earnest nod.

“…Congratulations. And—well done.”

Prompted by Subaru’s heartfelt words and Cid’s steady affirmation, Wilhelm’s eyes opened wide—those sharp, sky-blue irises shimmering faintly. His weathered face tensed ever so slightly, and his lips parted.

“I thank both of you,” he said, quietly—briefly—and with a voice that quavered just enough to betray the storm beneath his composed surface.

For several seconds, he leaned forward, his head slightly bowed. The silence that followed was not awkward, but reverent—a pause that acknowledged the journey they had all taken to reach this point.

Then, after those few solemn heartbeats, Wilhelm rose to his feet. He turned toward Crusch, whose eyes met his with knowing firmness. She gave a single, slow nod.

Receiving that unspoken signal, Wilhelm turned back to Subaru and stood straight.

“I have received Lady Crusch’s permission,” he said with gravity. “Subaru—I place this body in your hands. Please use it to the fullest for your objective.”

Subaru blinked, stunned. “That’s… super helpful, but—wait, you’re serious?”

He glanced immediately at Crusch, who drew her chin in and gave him a second, unhesitating nod.

When Subaru looked Wilhelm over now—truly looked—he felt the full impact of what he was being offered. A face lined by time and loss. Yet no hint of hesitance. No fear. Only the promise of a sword that would strike down anything in the way.

To Subaru, Wilhelm’s cooperation wasn’t just reassurance.

It was a wish come true.

“…Thanks,” Subaru murmured, voice thick with quiet awe. “Really.”

Then Crusch turned her head and called out across the field.

“Ferris!”

The cat-eared knight appeared within moments, stepping into view with a little spin and a salute.

“Ricardo should return to the capital but I'm done with all the soldiers, Lady Crusch~” he said, his tone lighter than usual but carrying no false cheer. “Bandaged what I could, stitched what I had to, kissed a few boo-boos. They’ll live, nya.”

Crusch nodded. “Good. Then you’ve fulfilled your part here. Leave the rest to me. Go with Subaru.”

Ferris blinked, surprised—but only for a moment. Then his eyes glimmered, and he turned toward Subaru with a cheeky grin.

“Oooh~ taking your favorite kitty on a field trip, are we?” he purred. “I knew you couldn’t resist my healing hands forever, Baruu.”

Ferris flicked his tail and leaned close, grinning mischievously.

“And you, Lucy~ You better behave this time. No stabbing yourself unless it’s very dramatic.”

Cid raised an eyebrow, utterly unphased. “Only if the narrative demands it.”

The three of them laughed, the edge of their exhaustion softened by the comfort of camaraderie.

Ferris clapped his hands together with theatrical flair, the sudden sound catching everyone’s attention.

“Ohhh! I almost forgot to mention this—” he chimed, flicking one finger toward the recovering crowd. “Rem’s holding the fort, nya! Or rather… she’ll be heading back to the capital with Lady Crusch to get some much-needed beauty sleep. Understand?”

Subaru blinked in confusion. “Wait, huh? What do you mean Rem’s going back?”

Just a heads-up: if a character’s 'too busy' or 'recovering from injuries' and doesn’t show up, that’s the author’s way of giving other characters a chance to shine.

Cid tilted his head slightly, also raising an eyebrow. “That seems… unexpected.”

But before Ferris could answer, a firm voice rang out from the direction of the wounded.

“I—I will be all right!”

The declaration came from Rem, who had overheard every word. She pushed herself forward from where she had been resting on a cot, her blue eyes burning with conviction despite the paleness of her face.

“Why—why would I not be with Subaru when he is heading into such danger from here on…?” she said, her voice shaking but unwavering.

Ferris sighed and stepped forward, hands on his hips. “That’s what you say, Rem-Rem, but your body won’t move, nya.”

He pointed a clawed finger at her as he spoke with gentle authority. “You pretty much took out a whole White Whale all by yourself, and then you blasted high-tier magic back-to-back like a firecracker in a storm! Your body’s scraped raw, running on fumes. As your healer, I refuse to let you wreck yourself anymore. Got it?”

“But—!” Rem’s protest came instantly, but her body betrayed her resolve. She tried to sit up, to swing her legs over the cot, but her arms trembled. Her strength faltered, and her whole frame listed dangerously to one side.

Subaru lunged forward just in time, catching her shoulder before she could fall. He steadied her gently, one hand at her back, his voice low but firm.

“It’s too dangerous, Rem… I’m begging you—do as Ferris says. Don’t push yourself. Don’t do anything crazy.”

Rem looked up at him, her expression caught between frustration and sorrow. But his eyes—gentle and pleading—held her in place.

Her lips trembled. But she nodded.

Ferris, watching the scene with a quiet smile, then turned toward Cid and leaned in with exaggerated subtlety. He cupped one hand to the side of his mouth, whispering just loud enough for the butler to hear:

“Think we should leave the lovebirds a moment? Unless you wanna be the third wheel in a love triangle, Lucy~”

Cid gave a quiet, eloquent hum and adjusted one glove with deliberate precision.

“Perish the thought,” he replied smoothly. “I make it a point never to interfere when two hearts are busy colliding like overdramatic meteorites. Far too messy to clean up the emotional debris afterward.”

Ferris snickered. “Ooooh~ I knew you had a poetic side in there somewhere, nyan.”

Later on...
Crusch's banners fluttered quietly as her group assembled for the return to the Royal Capital, the massive, severed head of the White Whale secured on a reinforced wagon drawn by five heavy-legged horses. Rem rested nearby, blanketed and sleeping soundly for the first time in what felt like days.

Subaru watched as they departed, a silent nod shared with Crusch across the gap before she turned and led her half of the troops away.

And so it was that Subaru's own small army formed up behind him.

Thirty-six souls. That was the count. A hard-earned number, pulled from the survivors of chaos and stitched together with resolve, if not unity.

At his side stood Wilhelm and Ferris. Cid and Delta moved a few paces behind, watching the line and scanning for last-minute stragglers. The banners were gone. The fanfare was behind them.

This was not a march for glory.

This was a march toward hell.

I'm gonna bug him a bit and see if he'll spill anything about his big plan.

Cid stepped beside him, the crunch of his boots soft but deliberate. He leaned in just slightly, his voice low and steady.

“Whatever happens next… remember this,” he said. “You’ve already walked through fire and earned the trust of giants. That means something. Let that be your anchor.”

Subaru blinked, then turned his head with a soft chuckle, the tension around his mouth easing a fraction.

“You always know what to say, huh?”

Then his smile faded.

He looked down, hands tightening at his sides. His voice dropped into something raw and quiet.

“Lucy… I really mean it. Thank you. For sticking with me, for everything. You didn’t have to—”

But Cid cut in, sharp and immediate.

“No.”

Subaru looked up, startled.

Cid’s eyes, cool and composed, locked onto his with gravity.

“Save your thanks until it’s all over. Everything. If you fall short now, that gratitude becomes meaningless. Understand?”

A breath passed between them.

Then Subaru gave a small, tired laugh, nodding faintly.

“…You’re right. There’s more ahead. And every step from here has to be measured. If we misstep now, even once… it all topples.”

He looked forward, eyes narrowing, a shadow moving behind his focus.

“Like dominoes lined up in the dark.”

As Shadow, I always tried to sound calm and mysterious to seem deep, but when Subaru says stuff like this, I get chills. I don't even know if it's excitement, curiosity, or just anticipation. All I know is, he's telling the truth.

Cid paused—just a moment longer than usual. Then he cocked his head, watching Subaru intently.

“And why,” he asked slowly, “are you so sure of that?”

Subaru’s shoulders tensed. He lifted his head and stared skyward, the clouds drifting lazily above as memories rippled beneath his skin.

“Because,” he whispered, “if we hadn’t taken down the Whale when we did… Shadow would have come.”

His voice tightened.

“And only stars knows what would’ve happened then.”

Is this guy seriously trying to provoke me?

So he definitely knows who I am. That’s gotta be it. Why else would he say that? I mean, I wanted to show up as Shadow, but I didn’t in the end… so yeah, he’s totally trying to mess with me. Gotta hand it to him, well played.

Cid's eyes widened. His voice, when it came, was sharp and laced with tension.

“You say that like you’ve seen it. Why? Why Shadow? Why are you so certain?”

Subaru didn’t answer at first. He lowered his head, shoulders stiff.

“…I don’t know anymore.”

His voice was bitter with helplessness.

“I try to put the pieces together, try to figure out who—or what—Shadow really is. But every time I think I have it… I get something new. Something that doesn’t fit anyone else at all.”

He clenched his fists.

“A face I don’t recognize. A name I can’t trace. A figure who changes just enough to stay out of reach.”

Maybe I’m overthinking it, and he just brought this up to see how I’d react and once again, he outsmarted me.

So this is what Delta must feel like going up against Zeta.

Cid stared at him—quiet, calculating.

Then, with a small breath, he looked to the sky as well.

“…Maybe he's trying to tell you something,” he murmured. “And you just haven’t cracked the code.”

If things start going south, just lean into the chaos and make it even messier.

Subaru glanced at him, an ember of hope glinting through his weariness.

“Then maybe the two of us can figure it out.”

Cid turned, startled.

“…Me?” he asked. “Why me too?”

Subaru gave him a crooked smile, something earnest shining underneath the fatigue.

“Because even if your memories are gone… we’re both from Japan. And ‘Shadow’—that’s not exactly a name you’d hear around here.”

He paused, thinking aloud now.

“There’s Al too. He’s from Japan. So maybe this ‘Shadow’ got influenced by another outsider… someone like us, or maybe he came here just like us too.”

He trailed off.

Cid hadn’t spoken.

Subaru looked at him again—and saw it.

Surprise.

Genuine, thoughtful surprise on that usually unreadable face.

Subaru blinked and looked away, suddenly awkward.

“Ah… sorry,” he muttered. “I know I talk too much. But honestly, I’m thinking even more than I say out loud.”

A beat of silence.

No shit, you can’t just dump all that info on me and then say 'forget it' like nothing happened!

Then Cid smiled.

His usual composed smirk. Touched with warmth.

“No need to apologize,” he said. “If what you said is true… then every word matters. You’re not rambling, Subaru.”

Now that I think about it, maybe I jumped the gun assuming Subaru was just looking for a way to flex his crazy powers.

Cid looked at the horizon, voice low but steady.
Maybe his flex was handling all of this with barely any effort, like he’s showing me it’s not even worth using his real powers on something this simple. Honestly, that’s pretty incredible.

“You’re preparing for war.”

And then came the voice.

“Mimiii is readyyyy~!”

Subaru turned just in time to see Mimi riding toward them on her massive liger, tail swishing, cheeks flushed with excitement. The great beast bounded beside the road with the casual pride of something that had never known fear. Mimi beamed down at him as they approached.

“Baruu~! Mimi gonna help you and Lulu beat up the Witch Cult real good, okay!?”

Subaru blinked at her, eyebrows raised. “Wait, you’re seriously coming? I mean—look, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but this isn’t a party with snacks and parade floats. There’s Witch Cult lunatics waiting for us down there, and your brother and Ricardo are not even here. You’re in charge of your band now, aren’t you?”

Mimi huffed and puffed out her cheeks, tiny hands planted firmly on her hips.

“Hmph! Ricardo always says Mimi is the boss when he’s gone! And Mimi is super good at bossing! She even told Hetaro not to eat mud today and he actually listened! That means Mimi is doing a great job!”

Subaru stared at her, slack-jawed. “That… sounds like a very low bar.”

Mimi huffed again, crossing her arms and lifting her chin proudly. “Well! Ana said we’re gonna get paid real good for this job! And Mimi’s gonna use the money for snacks and toys and maaaybe a new shiny stick if there’s some left over!”

This Anastasia girl’s supposed to be a business pro, so she might be my best shot at getting a great price for the whale parts.

Cid gave a soft chuckle, adjusting one of his gloves. “Lady Anastasia truly knows how to appeal to her people. When it comes to finances… she rarely places a coin where it won’t return threefold.”

Mimi nodded rapidly, ears bobbing. “Yup! Lady Ana is super duper smart! She’s the best with money, and business, and words, and scarf fashion! One time she got a whole village to give her free pudding just by smiling and talking all cool!”

Then, without warning, her head jerked up. Her eyes sparkled as she pointed excitedly toward the distant road. “Ooh—look, look, look! We’re here!!”

Subaru stood on his toes, squinting toward the horizon. “Wait, what…?”

Figures emerged from the dust up ahead—silhouettes growing clearer with every second. Riders on large beasts, foot soldiers, a few carts carrying equipment. A small caravan. Subaru’s eyes widened.

“Who the heck…?”

Mimi bounced on her liger’s back, tail swishing. “That’s the other half of my band!”

Subaru turned to her in disbelief. “Hold on—what?! Why are they here now?! You didn’t mention this part!”

Mimi scrunched her face and let out an exaggerated groan, clapping her small hands over her head. “Baruu, you’re asking so much! Too many questions makes Mimi’s brain do the hurty-spinny thing!”

Oh fuck, looks like we've got both the otome knight and the femme knight on our team now. Props to the author for throwing in this totally unexpected combo!

Cid stepped forward, ever calm, voice smooth as polished steel. “I suspect, Subaru, that the remainder of Miss Mimi’s unit stayed behind to secure the highway and ensure no civilians were swept into the battle. A practical and tactically sound precaution.”

Mimi immediately pointed at him, nodding furiously. “Yup! That! What Lulu said!"

Subaru shaded his eyes with one hand, squinting as the small caravan approached.

“So the ones coming now are the rest of your buddies,” he said, glancing sideways at Mimi. “Who’s leading ’em?”

Mimi beamed, tail swishing excitedly. “Mimi’s younger brother! He can do combo boomies with Mimi just like Hetaro! Incredible, right!?”

She stuck out her chest with visible pride, her entire body puffed up like a cat showing off its fluffiest fur.

Subaru blinked at the vague, energetic reply, a cautious smile creeping onto his face. Just from that alone, he had a few… concerns about their reinforcements.

“Er,” he said slowly, “but that younger brother—he was kind of a straight shooter, wasn’t he? Does this one take after the sis, the bro, or is it… fifty-fifty…?”

Mimi gave a dramatic sigh, folding her arms and nodding sagely. “I get why yer worried, but he's the smartest o’ the bunch! He handles our accountin’ and negotiations, and he’s the lady’s right-hand man. He’s an expert at handlin’ Mimi, so he’s a step up over Hetaro there!”

That mental image made Subaru wince.

Still, putting pity for the guy aside, the arrival of the Iron Fangs’ reinforcements was nothing but good news. Reliable allies in numbers—even eccentric ones—meant more options.

It was best to link up quickly, regroup, and talk through their next moves.

A strategy session aimed at the Witch Cult was inevitable.

With a corner of his head giving off an uneasy feeling,
Subaru narrowed his eyes, gaze scanning the incoming pack.

Among the shaggy coats and bounding paws of ligers, there was one distinct anomaly—taller, more elegant, a beast whose stride was smoother, quieter.

A land dragon.

Blue-scaled, sleek, and steady. And atop it—

“Wait a second…” Subaru murmured.

The figure sat straight-backed in the saddle, wearing armor polished to a subtle sheen. His lavender hair caught the wind like a banner of its own, and the glint in his golden eyes was unmistakable.

“Why are you here?” Subaru asked aloud, voice tinged with suspicion.

As the blue land dragon drew near and reined to a halt, the rider raised a brow in polite reproach.

“That is quite a thing to say to one’s reinforcements,” the knight said calmly. “Most typical of you, Subaru.”

I mean, Subaru totally gives off the vibe of someone who’d be into romance visual novels, but I can also see him low-key not vibing with otome games.

Both groups halted as the line closed in. Subaru remained mounted on his own land dragon, staring down at the new arrival. His mouth opened, shut again, and finally twisted into a reluctant scowl.

Before Subaru could fire back another retort, a flicker of movement drew Julius's eye.

A figure stood quietly beside Cid—one that hadn't spoken a word through the exchange. Eyes unreadable, strange and gleaming under the weight of something unspoken.

Delta.

Julius’s gaze lingered, and she, in turn, tilted her head—calm, curious. Almost amused.

“It seems,” Julius said slowly, golden eyes narrowing, “a new… companion, if I may call her such, has joined our cause.”

Delta stepped forward, her tone clipped and sharp, like a blade still warm from the forge. “Delta is his servant. Boss’s servant.” She jerked a thumb toward Cid without breaking Julius’s stare.

Cid gave the faintest sigh, slipping seamlessly into his composed butler tone—voice level, yet with something cagey lurking beneath. “Contracted spirit, if you’d prefer accuracy. The manner in which it came about… is a story best reserved for another time.”

Julius raised a brow, intrigued. “A spirit, you say.”

And yet…

He did not dismiss the claim out of hand.

As one blessed by the Divine Blessing of Gathering Spirits, Julius could see and sense their kind instinctively. He knew them. Felt them.

And Delta…

She felt wrong.

Not in the way a poorly-formed contract might be. Not even like a hostile spirit.

Julius gave a subtle gesture with one hand. A faint shimmer, almost imperceptible, flickered at his shoulder.

One of his six quasi-spirits appeared, called forth without fanfare, like a scout on silent orders.

Julius didn’t speak to it aloud. He didn’t need to.

The spirit’s answer came through their bond.

And the response chilled him.

It refused.

Immediately. Visibly recoiling from Delta’s presence, it fled before even reaching her.

A voice in his mind—wordless, emotional—shaking with something close to fear.

Not that one.

Don’t approach.

Dark. Unknowable. Not ours.

Julius stiffened.

Spirits weren’t prone to fear. They didn’t share human emotions in that way. But caution like this… aversion so primal, it could only mean one thing.

They sensed danger.

Something that did not belong in the taxonomy of this world.

His eyes snapped back to Cid.

There was no accusation yet—but there was now suspicion, sharp and alive behind Julius’s usually calm gaze. The butler’s polite smile and smooth speech were a mask—but masks were made to hide things.

For now, Julius gave only a polite nod and silently directed a second, more cautious spirit to remain nearby—far enough not to spook Delta, but close enough to observe.

And then—

Ferris was the first to break the silence, stepping forward with a toss of his hair and an almost theatrical wave.

“Well, well~ Fancy running into you in a place like this, Julius nya,” he said, voice feather-light but laced with edge. “We were fighting for our lives until just a few hours ago, you know.”

Julius dismounted with a graceful motion and landed lightly on his feet. His boots kissed the ground like punctuation in a well-practiced speech. “I have nothing I can say in my defense,” he admitted, tone unflinching. “However…”

He straightened, brushing nonexistent dust from his shoulder. “I must correct you, Felix. I am not the individual known as Julius.”

Subaru squinted. “What.”

Julius continued, completely serious. “Let us see… I shall call myself Juli.”

A collective silence fell.

The others were less subtle—Wilhelm arched an eyebrow. Delta tilted her head trying to determine what was going on. Even Mimi blinked rapidly, ears twitching with confusion.

But Julius, unfazed, accepted the gathering cold stares with a faint, serene smile. He adjusted his collar and spoke again.

“If, for argument’s sake, an individual of knightly rank were to join a band of hirelings, it could only mean he had fallen to the station of mercenary,” he explained, voice smooth as riverstone. “Thus, it is untrue that the knight named Julius Juukulius has joined the Iron Fangs—but rather, the lone man before you named Juli.”

There was a beat.

Then—

A single cough cut through the air.

Cid stepped forward.

His gloved hands folded behind his back with meticulous ease. His eyes, sharp and composed, flicked toward Julius—or Juli—with glinting amusement hidden beneath his usual stoicism.

His whole ‘noble knight’ act is clashing with my ‘refined butler’ vibe, so hey, it’s only fair I fire back a little.

“Is that so?” Cid said, voice measured. “Then I, too, must revise my title.”

He stepped to the front of the group, pausing just a pace from Julius. His posture was impeccable—like a portrait brought to life.

“Given that I have temporarily forsaken the halls I serve, and find myself engaged in this chaotic ensemble…” —his tone dipped, crisp and deliberate— “it would be improper for you to continue calling me butler, would it not?”

Julius looked at Cid for a long moment, his golden gaze unreadable at first—until the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“I almost forgot how sharp your tongue is, Lucien,” he said with quiet amusement. “You always had a way of turning the table with words alone. An impressive skill—dangerous, even.”

Then his gaze dropped, flicking over Cid’s torn and blood-speckled shirt, where his jacket had long since been lost in the fray. His voice softened a notch, laced with something that almost sounded like respect.

“…And your dedication is admirable. Unlike someone else’s.”

The pointed remark didn’t need a name—everyone present understood who that “someone else” was.

Subaru clicked his tongue in immediate response, brow twitching. “Tch. You know, you’re real good at talking around a point. Makes me wonder if you rehearse all this in front of a mirror.”

Julius’s eyes slid toward him, his land dragon stepping forward with calm, deliberate motion. It halted directly opposite Subaru’s mount, the distance between the two men narrowing like the invisible tension in the air.

“It is good you are in better spirits than I expected.”

The words were casual, even polite—but they hit Subaru like a thunderclap. A beat of silence followed, too long, too sharp.

Something in Subaru’s brain seemed to snap—not with fury, but with the sting of memory, shame, and something darker. That old, festering wound beneath the surface. The sheer humiliation of their last confrontation—reared up like a phantom punch to the gut.

Though weeks had passed for him, it had only been days for Julius. But the words—sounded so dry, so clinical, that it couldn’t possibly be genuine. It felt like a slap in the face. No wound, no blade, no insult could have been more precise.

And yet, Subaru didn’t rise to it.

Barely.

He managed—just barely—not to bark a reply. The jeer that curled behind his teeth was swallowed, bitter and sharp, locked behind clenched jaw and self-control. He remembered that day. The yelling. The clash. The humiliation.

And he remembered who had stopped it.

He remembered Cid’s hand on his shoulder, his friend's voice like an anchor in the storm. If not for Cid, that day would have spiraled into something Subaru didn’t want to imagine.

Even so… even now…

He still felt that strange, restless animosity toward Julius. Unspoken. Undeclared. And unresolved.

Subaru cleared his throat, slow and deliberate. He took in a deep breath, counted the seconds, let it all settle in his chest.

Cid bowed faintly, his hand resting over his chest with practiced grace.

“As much as I would delight in engaging you further, Sir… Juli,” he said, voice smooth as silk, “we’ve only just concluded slaying the White Whale. And as fate would have it, we are now marching directly toward the Witch Cult’s doorstep.”

He adjusted his gloves with quiet precision.
“Regrettably, time for tea and talk is not a luxury we currently possess.”

Julius blinked once. Slowly.

“You speak of the White Whale and the Witch Cult as if they were mere weather inconveniences,” he murmured, genuine surprise lacing his tone. “Have you truly grown so comfortable in the presence of monsters?”

Subaru grinned, all teeth.

“Well, I mean, we did beat the Whale without needing a knight’s fancy monologue or sparkle-hair technique,” he said, leaning lazily in the saddle. “So I guess we’re doing alright, even without our usual glitter dispenser.”

Julius raised a brow. “Then consider me impressed,” he said calmly. “And slightly concerned for the fate of metaphors everywhere.”

Ah, personality clash, this is where the character development kicks in!

Cid added dryly, “If wit were steel, we’d have no need for swords today.”

All three of them chuckled—tight-lipped, edged with exhaustion, but real.

Behind them, Mimi leaned close to Ferris, whispering, “Are they friends now?”

Delta stepped closer, folding her arms as her blank gaze settled on the trio.

“Boss said people laugh together for real when they’re either good friends…” she said softly, “…or blood-sworn enemies.”

Ferris chuckled, flicking his tail. “Aww~ how cute. Maybe they’re frienemies with matching trauma, nya.”

Then came Wilhelm’s pointed cough—sharp and surgical, like the clearing of a throat that had no time for drama.

“If the bonding ritual is complete,” he said flatly, “we have somewhere to be.”

The three of them turned at Wilhelm’s stern interjection.

Julius stood tall, ever the knight even in borrowed names. Cid adjusted his gloves one last time, silent and composed. And Subaru exhaled slowly, the last traces of tension melting from his shoulders.

They looked at the old swordsman in unison.

And then, without a word between them, all three nodded.

It was not dramatic. It wasn’t even rehearsed.

But the nods were resolute—like the closing of a gate behind them.

The banter was over. The road ahead would not wait.

Later on...
The wind was quiet here.

A far cry from the thundering steps of ligers and marching soldiers that had filled the road just hours before. Now, only the rustling of trees whispered through the stillness.

Cid and Delta stood before the gates of Roswaal’s Manor, his shirt stained at the edges, his gloves marked by ash and blood. The building loomed in silence—its grand, gothic form familiar but carrying an edge of unease. The windows caught the light with a strange gleam, and the forest around it… felt wrong.

He folded his arms behind his back, eyes narrowing as he scanned the treeline.

The whole forest is infested with Cultists.

That fact wasn’t hearsay—it was confirmed. Traps, sentries, and scouts. A network of madness strung through nature’s own bones.

And yet—

Cid exhaled slowly, shaking his head.

Subaru still pushed me here.
Sent me to this manor… when the rest of our force marches toward the Witch Cult’s main strike point.
When I had another mission—one of direct consequence.

It had nearly sparked an argument.

But Subaru had been firm. Not forceful, not arrogant—just… determined, in that disarmingly human way of his.

Cid let out a low chuckle, dry and amused. A smile ghosted at the corner of his lips.

“You really are one of a kind, Subaru.”

He raised a hand to his chin, rubbing thoughtfully at his jaw.

“You caught me off guard more than once today. That’s no small feat.”

Then he looked up at the manor once more, his gaze sharpening.

Subaru’s words echoed in his mind:

“Ram serves Shadow now. She’s not… well. Her head’s not right. I don’t think she’ll trust just anyone. But you… you’re the best one for this. She might listen to you.”

The phrasing had been hesitant, the meaning clear.

Shadow’s influence. Ram’s loyalty. Her unraveling grip on stability.

And Cid—Lucien—not just a butler, not just a soldier—but something steadier. A bridge, perhaps, between who Ram was and what she was becoming.

“The most fit person to aid her,” he murmured aloud.

His smirk returned, sharper this time.

“Very well. Let’s see what kind of madness you’ve led me into this time, Subaru.”

With a faint grin and a gloved hand, Cid stepped forward—and knocked, three times, upon the massive door of the manor.

The sound echoed through the old walls like a herald.

Something shifted beyond the door.

Notes:

Whew, this turned out to be a long one! I originally planned to keep it short and jump straight into the Witch Cult attack, but I realized I needed to set up some dynamics and lay the groundwork for what's coming next.

Hope u guys enjoyed this chapter!

Now Subaru’s got to figure out how to stop the Witch Cult, and Cid has his hands full dealing with Ram.

Chapter 29: A Violin in the Dark, A Monster in the Light

The grand doors of Roswaal Manor creaked open as Cid stepped inside, hands tucked into his pockets, the picture of calm indifference. Behind him, Delta followed with a curious sniff, her purple eyes scanning the lavish interior with visible confusion.

“This your new den, Boss?” she asked, eyes flicking from ornate chandeliers to velvet curtains with mild suspicion. “Smells weird. Like... old people and soap.”

Cid didn’t even look back. “No. This is the home of some sketchy guy who looks like a jester. Creepy smile, too many accessories. You know the type.”

Delta blinked, clearly trying to process that. “A jester? …Do you want Delta to deal with him?”

Her tone was casual, almost hopeful—fangs showing slightly as if she'd enjoy it.

Cid continued walking leisurely down the hall, his voice as cool as ever. “Not necessary. The plot doesn’t require dealing with him right now. We’ve got another mission.”

Delta accepted that answer without question. She never did care about the details, only about whether she got to smash something. As they moved deeper into the manor, her attention was caught by a tall, delicate porcelain vase perched on a pedestal. She crouched down beside it, head tilted.

“Delta don’t get it,” she muttered. “What’s the appeal of weird, breakable stuff like this?”

Cid, still strolling ahead, answered idly over his shoulder. “That vase is Rem’s favorite—”

CRASH.

Cid stopped.

He slowly turned around to see shards of porcelain scattered across the floor like a murder scene. Delta was crouched guiltily over the remains, one hand still hovering where the vase had been.

Silence.

Cid stared at the mess for a long, long second. Then he exhaled quietly.

“…As long as Rem doesn’t find out, we’re clear,” he muttered. “Also—don’t touch everything you look at.”

Delta stood up straight, suddenly all smiles, her tail swishing in childish contrition.

“Yes, Boss!”

Cid let out a sigh, deep and resigned, as he turned back around and resumed his slow, unbothered stroll down the corridor.

“I need to get over this quickly,” he muttered to himself. “Or I’ll miss the spiciest moments of the main story.”

Delta sniffed the air again, her nose twitching as her expression turned thoughtful.

“Three weird scents up ahead,” she said. “One smells like firewood and lemon peel. Real snappy.”

Cid didn’t break stride. “Ram.”

“Another smells like dusty sugar and old magic. Like a tiny grandma stuffed in a doll.”

“Beatrice,” Cid confirmed with a nod.

Delta gave a final, exaggerated sniff. “And the last one smells like flowers and moonlight. Soft and sparkly. But there’s something small and fuzzy clinging to her, like smug thingy energy.”

“Emilia,” Cid said with a sigh. “And Puck.”

The faint echo of footsteps grew clearer. A gentle, determined voice carried through the hall before the speaker even rounded the corner.

“—I’m sorry, Puck, but we can’t waste any more time. Arlam Village is in danger. We have to go now.”

Cid froze mid-step and turned slightly toward Delta. His gaze sharpened.

“Hide.”

In a single, fluid motion, both of them leapt upward—vanishing into the shadows above. By the time Emilia appeared at the end of the corridor, the hall looked completely empty.

She clutched her pendant close to her chest, the gentle blue glow from Puck’s presence flickering softly against her worried face.

“Hold on, everyone. I’ll be there soon,” she whispered urgently, before dashing off down the corridor, silver hair trailing behind her like moonlight in motion.

The silence returned.

Then… two silent thunks as Cid and Delta dropped from the ceiling with effortless grace.

Delta tilted her head, blinking.
“So… mix race girl’s running off to fight something?”

Then she added, deadpan,
“Do we get to fight something too?”

Cid adjusted his shirt, eyes fixed down the hall Emilia had disappeared into.
“Not yet. I’m on a top-tier mission—assigned by someone of… great importance.”

Delta’s ears perked.
“Ooooh, like super-secret-boss kind of importance?”

Cid nodded solemnly.
“Exactly. And since all the expectations are stacked on my shoulders, it’s only fair I execute this one solo. I need some time alone.”

Delta blinked slowly, clearly thinking.

Then she grinned and gave a dramatic salute.
“Okay! Delta understands. Boss gets alone time now.”

She waited half a beat.

Then frowned.

“...But what’s Delta supposed to do while Boss is doing the super-secret thingy?”

Cid didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped to a nearby door, gripping the handle with a smirk.

He flung it open with dramatic flair—revealing rows upon rows of towering bookcases spiraling into infinity.

“Bingo.”

Beatrice peered down from atop a floating step-ladder, nestled precariously between shelves that towered like a paper forest. Her eyes squinted as she spotted Cid entering the forbidden library with all the nonchalance of someone who’d just survived an explosion and didn’t care.

His shirt was half-torn like a tragic protagonist who had tripped through a Shakespearean knife fight, flecked with dirt and blood.

Beatrice raised a delicate eyebrow, unimpressed.

“…You look like you lost a bar fight with a orc,” she muttered. “Did the hallways attack you, or is this just your idea of dramatic entrance, I suppose?”

Cid didn’t flinch. Instead, he gave a graceful bow, hand to his chest in pristine butler fashion—ignoring the very un-butler-like state of his shirt.

“My sincerest apologies for the intrusion, Lady Beatrice,” he said, voice smooth as enchanted velvet. “But I wished to request an audience with you and… an associate of mine.”

Beatrice narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“Associate? What kind of associate—?”

BANG.

Like a bolt of chaos from a candy-fueled cannon, Delta exploded into the room, somersaulted off a rolling ladder, and landed on her hands like a gymnast who had no idea what books were but loved the smell of them.

“THIS PLACE IS HUGE,” she shouted, spinning around in glee. “Is that a flying chair?! Are the books edible?!”

Beatrice flinched so hard she nearly fell off her ladder.

“WHAT is this gremlin-shaped menace, in fact?!” she snapped, skirt puffing like an angry cupcake. “Is she chewing on a bookmark?!”

Delta held up said bookmark like a prize.

“It tastes like paper and dirt!”

Beatrice slowly turned to Cid, horror blooming across her usually flat expression.

“…Why.”

Cid, unfazed, stepped back.

“I’ll leave you two to bond.”

Click.

He shut the door gently but firmly.

From inside:

“NO—don’t stack the ancient tomes into a fort! That’s the banned section!”

“I FOUND A SCROLL THAT FEELS LIKE A TONGUE!”

“Put that down!! That bites back!”

Outside, Cid stood silently for a moment.

Then smirked.

Clasped his hands behind his back.

And whispered with satisfaction:

“Job done.”

Later on...
The room was shrouded in shadows. Thick, heavy curtains cloaked the windows, banishing the light completely.

Ram sat on the edge of her bed, knees pulled tightly to her chest. Her slender arms wrapped around them in a desperate embrace, and her face was buried deep between them, hidden, as if she could vanish completely if she just folded herself tightly enough.

The silence pressed against her like a weight. It was not peaceful. It was suffocating.

“…Why…” she whispered, her voice muffled against her sleeves.

Her fingers clenched at the fabric of her uniform.

“…Why can’t I be helpful…” she said again, louder this time angrier. “Even now… even now that I finally have the chance…”

Her voice cracked.

Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them. She didn’t want to cry. Not again. Not after all this time.

But the pain had crept in unnoticed—slowly, steadily until it overwhelmed her all at once.
And as it did, the truth slipped out of her in a voice barely above a breath:

“…It was never about power… was it?”

She shook her head against her knees, the motion small and broken.

“…It was always about me… About what I believe I’m worth.”

A single tear escaped, tracing a slow, shimmering path down her cheek before falling—silent—into the bedding below.

The moment hung, suspended in the dark.

Then—
a sound.

Soft at first, like a whisper across water. A note.

Then another.
Then a phrase.
Delicate. Mournful. Beautiful.

A violin.

Somewhere down the corridor, someone was playing—slowly, tenderly—letting the strings weep in her place.

Ram lifted her head, eyes wide and glistening, breath caught in her throat.

The music continued, steady, patient. It didn’t demand anything from her.

It didn’t judge.

It simply was.

Her fingers twitched, slowly releasing their grip. Her shoulders began to tremble—not from grief now, but from something far gentler. A thread of warmth in the storm.

Ram’s feet made no sound as they touched the cold wooden floor. The haunting melody wrapped around her like a forgotten lullaby, drawing her forward, step by hesitant step, as if she were sleepwalking.

Down the corridor.

Around the corner.

Past the flickering candlelight.

And finally—

She stopped in front of the slightly ajar door, heart caught in her throat.

She hesitated.
A breath in.
A pause.

Then slowly, carefully… she pushed the door open.

Her breath hitched.

The light met her first—soft, golden rays filtering through sheer white curtains, drifting lazily with the breeze. They wove in and out of the scene like spirits dancing.

And there, by the open balcony doors, Cid sat.

A violin rested against his shoulder, his posture perfect. Eyes closed, his expression unreadable, detached, serene. His fingertips moved with haunting grace, coaxing each note into life as though speaking to the world without saying a word.

His clothes were torn, dusted with dirt and blood but none of it touched the atmosphere he radiated. He looked like a vision pulled from a dream, something ancient and untouchable.

To Ram…
He looked like he didn’t belong to this world.

She took a slow step inside, then another, her voice small, uncertain.

“…What are you doing here…?”

The music didn’t falter.

Another note.
Another phrase.

Then, finally, he opened his eyes.

And looked directly at her.

There was no surprise in his gaze. As if he had known she would come.

Check out this big-brain moment—me, casually shredding on the violin by the balcony like some kind of indie-film sage, dropping wisdom bombs on a character in need.

Ram swallowed, clutching her arm. “You’re not supposed to be here."

“I know,” Cid said softly, setting the bow down across his lap. “I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

His voice wasn’t mocking. Not smug. Just calm. Like still water.

Ram frowned faintly. “Then why…”

Cid looked past her, toward the open sky beyond the balcony.

“There are moments,” he said, voice distant, “when words don’t reach someone. So you send music instead.”

Ram blinked.

She didn’t know what she had expected. But not this.

“You…” she began, then faltered. “You were playing for me?”

Cid smiled faintly.

“I don’t play for people,” he said. “I play for the world. And if the world places someone in front of the music… then maybe it was meant for them all along.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

Something inside her twisted—gently this time. Not from pain… but recognition.

A part of her that had forgotten what it felt like to be seen without being judged.

“…I didn’t know you could play,” she murmured.

This is one of the successful harvests of my ‘documentary deep-dive’ era in Japan, mastering the art of violin from the best like Niccolò Paganini and others.

Cid started rushing imaginary dust from his tattered shirt.

“I can do many things,” he said with a ghost of a grin. “But I only reveal them when the plot needs it.”

Ram blinked. “What?”

Fuck!

Cid gave a light, theatrical ahem before fixing Ram with a gaze that seemed far older than he looked.

“Pain,” he said, voice quiet, “is the tax we pay for having something worth caring about. But what you do with that pain… that’s where the real story begins.”

Then—without waiting for a response—he lifted the violin once more.

The bow touched the strings.

A new melody began to bloom into the air. Softer now. Intimate.

Ram stared at him, unmoving—drawn into the invisible threads the music wove around her heart.

Her fingers tightened, almost unconsciously, around the hem of her maid uniform. She drew in a shaky breath, as if words were finally forming—

“I—”

But before the sentence could finish—

“I know,” Cid said gently, without looking up.

Ram’s breath caught.

She stood there, speechless, the weight of a thousand buried thoughts suddenly rendered unnecessary. He hadn’t mocked her. He hadn’t asked her to explain. He had understood.

Cid’s fingers glided smoothly across the strings again, the music swelling, drawing the moment out like the lingering heat after a storm.

Then, without pausing his playing, he spoke once more.

“Shadow,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something faintly amused, “is rather an elusive figure, isn’t he?”

Alright, I’ll be the ‘know-it-all’ for now—too exhausted to listen or play the curious part.

Ram looked at Cid, really looked this time. The candlelight glinted off his features, casting him half in shadow, half in gold. The violin still sang under his hands, as if the music was the only thread keeping the air from collapsing under the weight of what wasn't being said.

Ram didn’t speak. She just stared.

Her throat tightened. Her fingers clenched again at her sides.

Cid’s gaze flicked toward her briefly, then back to his instrument.

Then, without warning, he asked—quietly, simply, as though in idle conversation:

“…Do you hate him?”

The bow paused for half a heartbeat.

Ram inhaled sharply.

“No,” she said instantly, the word bursting out before she could think.

She blinked, startled by her own speed.

As if she hadn’t even needed to consider it.

“I mean… I know…” she began, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, as if trying to hold her thoughts in place. Her gaze dropped to the floor. “I know he’s not a saint.”

Her voice lowered, steadied.

“I know his hands are covered in blood. That he’s done things I wouldn’t be able to sleep after. That people speak his name with fear. That he’s not the kind of man you dream about saving you.”

She looked up again, locking eyes with Cid now—no hesitation.

“…But I don’t hate him.”

The candle’s flame flickered between them.

“I think…” she whispered, barely audible, “…I envy him.”

And then, softer still:

“…Because even if he’s made countless enemies, even if he walks alone… he knows who he is. He doesn’t flinch.”

Cid said nothing.

His gaze had drifted back to the open balcony—where the horizon stretched out like a painting brushed in twilight and fire.

Then, softly, as though speaking to the fading sky rather than to Ram, he said:

“Nothing great has ever been achieved without sacrifice.”

Ram felt something stir in her chest. A breath she didn’t realize she had been holding trembled free.

Cid’s fingers hovered above the strings again. But he didn’t play.

Not yet.

Instead, he turned his head. Slowly.

And for the first time, he looked directly at her.

“Some people hope,” he said, voice lower now. “Some pray. Others cry and beg for help.”

He took a step forward—just one. It felt like a chasm closed.

“But tell me…” he continued, his voice barely more than a breath, “does that change anything?”

Ram’s lips parted slightly.

But no words came out.

Because deep down… she already knew the answer.

Cid didn’t press her. He didn’t need to.

He stepped past her instead, the hem of his coat brushing lightly against her sleeve as he moved to the center of the room once more.

He raised the violin again.

The strings cried softly beneath his bow.

And in the silence that followed, the melody said everything he didn’t.

Pain. Sacrifice. Identity.

She reached up slowly… and placed her hand on her arm. The gesture was small, uncertain. But deliberate.

“I chose to serve Shadow,” she said quietly, her voice steady now. “Not because I was forced. Not because I wanted more power. But because… I finally felt ready.”

Ram’s fingers curled slightly against her sleeve.

“I thought… maybe, if I gave myself completely… if I stood in the darkness willingly, for the sake of what I held dear… then maybe, finally—I would stop being someone who always needed saving.”

Her voice trembled at the edges, but it didn’t break.

“I was wrong,” she whispered. “Not about my choice… but about what mattered. I thought it was about strength. About proving I could be useful. But…”

Ram hesitated, then looked away. Her arms folded around her waist, holding herself together.

“…Lors Roswaal told me not to leave the manor,” she said, barely above a whisper. “No matter what happens. No matter who calls. That I have a role to play here. That I’m too important to risk.”

She scoffed under her breath, bitter.

“But what good is importance if it only keeps you caged?”

Her shoulders hunched, her voice wavering now.

“I’m fighting a war inside myself… between the Ram who wants to do good—who wants to help, protect, act—and the Ram who still waits for permission.”

Her breath caught.

“The one who stays behind while others bleed.”

Subaru really left out the fine print—didn’t realize things were this intense. Even Beta wouldn’t pull this level of theatrics, and girl was extra.

Cid lowered his violin slowly, setting it down beside him like an offering at the end of a ritual.

He stepped toward her, quiet as falling dusk.

When he reached her, he didn’t say anything immediately. Instead, he looked at her—not through her, not past her, but at her. As if all the chaos of the world could wait, because this was the moment that mattered.

“You’ve already made your choice,” he said at last. His voice was soft. Unassuming. “That’s why you’re still here.”

Ram blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

Cid tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable but kind in a way that disarmed her.

“You could’ve turned away. Shut the door. Let the music pass you by. But you didn’t.”

He leaned in, just enough that his words could land without needing force.

“You walked toward it.”

Ram froze.

That truth hit somewhere deep inside. Somewhere she hadn’t let herself look in a long time.

“I’m not telling you to disobey him,” Cid added. “But I am saying this: if you want to move forward, stop asking which Ram you should be…”

He turned away again, taking slow steps back toward the light that danced near the balcony.

“…And start being the Ram you are.”

She stared at his back, eyes wide, trembling.

And for the first time in a long, long time…

She didn’t feel broken.

She felt seen.

And in that fragile moment, something inside her whispered—not a command, not a plea.

But a promise.

The silence between them lingered—not cold, not tense, but heavy in a way that made every breath feel louder.

She stood there, motionless, but her eyes shimmered faintly now. The light from the balcony caught them just enough to reveal the truth.

Cid saw it.

Then, with a small sigh, he turned back toward her, brushing the back of his hand along his coat sleeve like he was dusting off an invisible burden.

“…It’s not like I’m Shadow or anything,” he said casually, his voice dipping into that dry, offhand tone he often used to sidestep sincerity. "But I can figure our what he could say to you."

Ram blinked, startled by the sudden shift.

But before she could question it—

Cid cleared his throat dramatically, squared his shoulders, and in the deepest, gravelliest voice he could muster as Lucien—somewhere between theatrical menace and bedtime narrator—he said:

“Even if you feel like you owe someone your life… your soul… or your happiness…
Keep in mind, in this foolish world, one should never give anyone what they want...”

He raised a single hand in mock gravity, eyes shadowed just enough to make it feel like a mask had fallen over him.

“…But what they actually need.”

“Something dramatic like that,” he muttered. “If I was Shadow. Which I’m not. Obviously.”

Cid turned slowly, expecting a question, a remark—perhaps a wry retort from the always-composed maid.

But what he didn’t expect was the sudden warmth of arms around him.

Ram threw herself into him, wrapping him in a tight embrace, burying her face into his torn shirt before he could react.

“L-Lady Ram?” he managed, startled.

But she didn’t lift her face. If anything, she pressed it deeper into him—hiding.

Her voice came next—muffled, but laced with trembling heat.

“You… absolute idiot. Self-important, scene-stealing, melodramatic buffoon.”

Cid blinked.

“You arrogant, overly poetic, cryptic quote machine with a butler complex and a face too smug for your own good.”

Now she’s getting clingy—ugh, she’s about to wreck my carefully curated ‘torn-but-fine’ aesthetic.

Author, skip the scene before this gets tragic.

Cid, still frozen in place, forced a light, awkward laugh as he slipped back into the voice of Lucien, the ever-composed butler.

“Ah… Lady Ram,” he said with gentle amusement, “such a generous cascade of character attacks. You wound me. It may be… too many at once for a humble servant to endure.”

Ram didn’t pull away. Her face remained buried against him.

“I could keep going till tomorrow,” she murmured darkly. “Maybe even the day after.”

But then—her tone changed.

Soft.

Low.

“I’ve never shown this side of me to anyone,” she whispered. “Not even Rem.”

That admission…

Then, gently, Cid raised both his hands in a butler’s practiced pose of polite surrender, voice dipping into respectful ceremony.

“If Lady Ram wishes to punish this unworthy butler for being a witness to such sacred truth…” His tone was warm, measured. “Then I shall bear it with grace.”

But before the last word left his mouth—

She leaned up.

And kissed him.

It was sudden. Soft. Desperate. Like the confession of a storm kept too long behind closed doors.

Ughhhh fck fck f*ck—I polished Lucien’s smooth-talking charm to a mirror shine but didn’t think anyone would actually catch feelings?! Was it the designer cologne?

And why the HELL did they slap a romance tag on this without consulting me first?

Cid froze.

Ram’s face was crimson, tear-streaked and glowing from the inside out. Her eyes shimmered with everything she couldn’t say, her lips trembling just barely after the kiss broke. Her breath was shallow, but her hands didn’t leave him. She looked like a girl on the edge of a cliff, having just leapt and waiting to see if she would fall or fly.

Cid couldn’t look away.

Not from her flushed cheeks, not from the glint of tears that caught the light like morning dew, not from her lips that still carried the warmth of something far too human for the world they lived in.

Cid parted his lips, ready to speak—

“Don’t,” Ram said instantly, voice firm.

His mouth froze mid-word, eyes blinking in surprise.

Ram stepped back half a pace, not breaking eye contact. Her expression was calm now—clearer than it had been in hours. The storm had passed, and what remained was steady resolve.

“I did that completely of my own free will,” she said, her voice soft but unwavering. “I’m not confused. I’m not vulnerable. And I’m not expecting you to feel the same.”

Cid stood still, processing.

Look, I’m already five toes deep in enemy territory—might as well blend in if I wanna make it out alive. Feelin’ kinda guilty for actin’ and making things come to this.

Ram reached up and wiped the last traces of tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. Then, squaring her shoulders, she looked at him—no longer a girl wrestling with doubt, but a warrior with her target in sight.

“But take it as a declaration,” she said. “Not a confession. Not a plea.”

Her hand curled into a fist at her side.

“I’m going to fight for your feelings to match mine someday. I’ll earn it.”

Cid’s eyes widened ever so slightly. It was rare for someone to surprise him, even rarer to leave him speechless.

He straightened, slipping back into his composed butler demeanor, one hand to his chest.

“…Forgive me, Lady Ram,” he said, tone almost reverent, “I was well aware of your boldness. But I confess—I did not expect it to extend this far.”

Bruh, this was the gaming equivalent of doing 99 in a 100—don’t act like you ‘held back’ when you just missed the one-tap.

Ram’s eye twitched.

She stepped forward.

And without warning, yanked on his ear.

“OW—!” Cid winced, stooping slightly with the pull. “Lady Ram—!”

“I said,” she muttered darkly, smirk growing on her face, “no comments about it.”

Cid winced again as she gave it one more firm tug for emphasis, then let go.

He straightened slowly, rubbing his ear, clearly trying to salvage the last scraps of his dignity.

Ram, still smirking, turned toward the door and tossed her hair with theatrical flair.

“Enough of this. There are more important things to deal with.”

Her gaze flicked toward him, fierce and bright.

“Let’s go butcher some cultists."

Cid blinked once—then grinned, slow and sharp like a blade being drawn.

“With pleasure,” he said, his voice dropping into a cool, lethal calm as he followed.

Their footsteps echoed as they vanished down the corridor—light and darkness walking side by side.

And for once… Ram didn’t look back.

With Subaru...
The midday sun hung low behind fast-moving clouds, casting anxious shadows across the worn stone paths of Arlam Village. The air was thick with tension, even as the townspeople hustled past with satchels and children in tow. Emilia had already moved ahead, leading the first wave of evacuees toward the capital route.

Subaru stood near the village’s central square, sleeves rolled up, barking quick orders with an urgency sharpened by fear he hadn’t dared name aloud.

“Don’t take too much—just essentials! We need speed more than comfort!”

Villagers obeyed without protest. Even the most stubborn elders could feel it in the air—danger, coiled and creeping just beyond the trees.

“Subaru.”

The voice was crisp, noble, and assured. Julius Juukulius stepped into view, his white cloak fluttering faintly in the breeze, boots dusted with dry dirt.

“I’ve swept the entire western section,” he reported, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. “There’s no suspicious movement. Forest line is quiet. Too quiet, perhaps.”

Subaru exhaled slowly, nodding. “That’s good. Really good… but we’re not out of the woods yet. Literally.”

Julius’s eyes narrowed slightly in understanding. “Indeed. Your caution is warranted. Still—” He paused. “It’s rare to see you so certain. You suspect something?”

Subaru turned to face him fully. His expression was sharper now—less the fumbling boy and more the war-forged tactician hiding behind casual clothes.

“I’m not guessing,” he said plainly. “We’re not just dealing with one threat.”

Julius raised a brow, intrigued. “You believe more than one Archbishop might appear? That would be… an unusual move, even for the Witch Cult.”

Before Subaru could answer, a new voice chimed in with feline flair.

“Hmph. We did kill Petelgeuse’s main body. One of them is pretty much confirmed, nya~”

Ferris sauntered into the square, his light armor gleaming and tails of his uniform fluttering playfully behind him. His blue eyes sparkled, but the smirk on his face didn’t quite reach them.

“But I’m more curious about the second one. Is he really that dangerous, Baru~?”

Subaru stiffened slightly.

A flicker of something passed behind his eyes—memories. Of cold hands. Of a street painted red. Of voices raised in prayer as bodies shattered like glass.

Regulus.

He clenched his jaw, fists curling tightly at his sides. “I know who’s coming,” he said quietly. “And he’s worse than Petelgeuse. Maybe not in the way he acts… but in the way he breaks things.”

That stunned them into silence.

Julius looked carefully at him. “You’ve encountered him before?”

Subaru didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked up at the cloud-streaked sky as if the weight of every death he’d seen under that name pressed down on his shoulders.

“You don’t forget someone like him,” he murmured. “You don’t survive someone like him without losing something.”

Ferris blinked, his teasing tone gone. “So… this isn’t guesswork.”

The air cracked.

A sound like the sky splitting echoed over the village square—BOOM.

A figure dropped from the heavens like a meteor.

Stone shattered. Dust blasted outward in a choking cloud. Villagers screamed and scattered in all directions, shielding their faces as debris scattered across the cobbled plaza.

Subaru flinched instinctively, diving in front of a child and shielding them with his body.

Julius was already moving—his cloak whipping as he drew his sword with a flash of light, feet sliding into stance, blade gleaming with aether.

“What in the…?” he muttered, eyes scanning the swirling dust, every muscle taut.

Subaru glanced at Ferris, urgency laced in his voice.

“Where’s Wilhelm?”

Ferris grimaced, tail lashing behind him.

“He’s still covering the southern patrol routes, nya. Alone.”

“Damn it,” Subaru hissed.

The dust cleared in sudden, violent swirls—pushed back not by wind, but by the sheer pressure emanating from the figure now standing in the center of the crater.

Delta.

Her clawed feet cracked the stone beneath her, feral grin stretching across her face. Purple eyes glinted with wild excitement. Her body was relaxed, but the kind of relaxed that predators adopt when they’ve already decided who dies first.

Julius’s sword didn’t waver, but his eyes sharpened. “What is she doing?”

Subaru’s breath caught. He recognized the tail, the aura, the unhinged energy coiling off her in waves.

“…Delta,” he said in disbelief. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Delta’s head turned slowly.

She locked eyes with him—and Subaru froze.

There was no friendliness in her gaze. No smirk. Just the cold calculation of a predator who had spotted something small and slow in tall grass.

Then, voice low and sweet in a way that made the hairs on Subaru’s neck rise, she said:

“Boss gave an order.”

She rose from her crouch, claws flexing, tail swaying behind her like a serpent.

“Clean the area. Get rid of anyone suspicious.”

Then she grinned, wide and wicked.

“…Time to hunt.”

Before anyone could react, Delta leapt—a blur of motion, a living bullet tearing through the air.

Gasps rang out as she vanished midair and reappeared directly in front of a man standing near the merchant carts—an unremarkable traveler with a pale scarf and hunched shoulders, someone no one had paid much attention to.

But Delta didn’t hesitate.

“Found you.”

CRACK.

Her punch landed square in the man’s gut.

The shockwave rippled through the square.

A second later, the man was launched high into the sky—his body flailing, silhouette growing smaller against the clouds.

Subaru’s eyes went wide. “What the hell—!?”

He moved to stop her—but Ferris’s hand snapped out, grabbing his wrist.

“Let her,” Ferris said quietly, eyes narrowed and glinting with focus.

Subaru stared at him. “Let her?! Are you insane?! She just sent someone into orbit!”

Ferris didn’t smile. His usual playfulness was gone, replaced by something razor-sharp.

“I’ve been suspicious of that guy myself,” he said. “He wasn’t a villager. Said he was a merchant. I was just watching him…”

He looked up into the sky.

“…Didn’t think she’d figure it out that fast.”

Subaru followed his gaze.

The man in the air finally stopped rising. And then, as if something inside it snapped, it began to swell grotesquely. Twisting. Warping.

Eyes opened along its limbs. Teeth began sprouting from its shoulders.

Subaru’s blood ran cold.

“—No.”

BOOM.

The thing exploded, a mess of twisted flesh and black mist raining down like putrid snow.

People screamed. Knights drew their weapons. Julius stepped forward, blade shining bright with spirit energy.

“They’re here,” he said grimly, scanning the perimeter. “The Witch Cult.”

As if his words were a trigger—they emerged.

From behind homes, from the forest edge, from underground cellars.

Hooded figures, dozens of them, poured into the village square. Each one moved with erratic grace—like puppets pulled by unseen strings.

The village descended into chaos.

Screams rang out as civilians scattered, clutching children and bags, stumbling through clouds of dust and blood. Knights rushed to intercept the incoming tide of hooded figures, blades flashing.

Subaru turned in every direction, left, right, behind, and saw nothing but desperation and battle. One of the villagers, a woman carrying a child—tripped just as a cultist lunged, blade in hand. A knight dove in at the last moment, intercepting the blow with a grunt of pain.

A scream. A flash of violet.

Delta was already there.

Feral and grinning, she vaulted through the air, claws raking with terrifying precision.

Julius carved through enemies in elegant arcs, his sword movements fluid and impossibly fast. Spirit magic shimmered around him, each stroke laced with radiant force.

But it wasn’t enough.

“This is bad…” Subaru muttered. “If this keeps going, we’ll lose control of the village completely. We need to—”

A voice echoed, serpentine and mocking, laced with unhinged reverence.

“Ahhh, the sweet symphony of panic… how it sings to the soul!”

Subaru’s blood turned to ice.

He knew that manner of speaking.

A figure strolled out from behind a collapsed cart, unbothered by the chaos. Tall, draped in cult robes, skin pale as wax, eyes burning with religious mania. His smile was wide—too wide—his steps light, floating like he walked on air.

The man smiled, wide and cracked like glass.

“I must say! I am delighted you noticed, yes yes yes! That you foresaw something—a premonition of ruin, a sniff of disaster, yes—but still…”

He spread his arms wide, fingers splaying like broken wings.

“You didn’t predict the fashion of my arrival! My grand entrance!  HOW slothful~!”

Subaru stepped forward, eyes burning with raw hatred, his voice cutting through the chaos like steel.
“You… you freak… you think this is a game? These people, this village—you’re slaughtering them like animals!”

The cultist’s grin twitched, but not with amusement.

“Oh dear,” he sneered, flicking his sleeves like dust from an old coat. “Save your righteous barking, boy. I’ve not come here to dance with mongrels like you.”

His voice dropped, eyes gleaming with manic purpose.
“No, no, no—I’m here for her. For the half-elf. For the girl who pretends to wear a crown made of mercy. She is my divine target.”

Then—without warning—Unseen hands erupted around Subaru like a swarm of vipers, claws extending from empty space, rushing toward him with breakneck speed.

“—!!”

Subaru’s eyes widened. He barely dove to the side, rolling across the dirt, a phantom hand grazing the side of his coat, shredding it.

More were coming—dozens of hands, snaking through the air from every angle.

And then—

SHING—BOOM!

A silver arc tore through the air.

The hands exploded in a burst of force, vanishing like mist in sunlight.

Wilhelm van Astrea stood in front of Subaru, sword still glowing from the force of the swing, his cloak snapping behind him like a battle standard.

His voice was calm, but steel ran through it.
“Are you unharmed, Subaru?”

Subaru, catching his breath, nodded quickly.
“Yeah. Just in time. That bastard—he’s one of Petelgeuse’s Fingers. One of the replacements after he fell. We can’t let him leave here alive.”

Wilhelm’s eyes narrowed, his stance already shifting into readiness.
“I understand… but it seems someone else has already taken an interest.”

CRUNCH.

The ground split beneath him.

A shadow dropped like a meteor, and in the span of a blink, Delta stood there—grinning, claws twitching, purple eyes locked onto the cultist like a wolf spotting a lone deer.

“Delta found her prey,” she purred, voice thick with bloodlust.

The cultist turned sharply, bitter contempt twisting his face.

“You—what is this rabid mutt? Some brute sent to ruin my moment?”

But Delta didn’t speak.

She lunged.

SPLAT.

Her hand clamped fully around his face. There was a moment of stunned silence.

Then—

SLAM.

She drove him into the ground with such force that the stone plaza cratered beneath them, sending shockwaves that rippled through the square. Dust and shards exploded outward.

The cultist’s body twitched—once. His robes flared up, torn, his limbs limp like snapped branches.

Delta leaned over him, smiling sweetly, claws still embedded in what remained of his skull.
“You talked too much.”

And then, in one final crack, the head caved in like a melon underfoot—buried in rubble, blood, and silence.

Everyone stared.

Even Subaru.

Even Wilhelm.

BOOM!

The corpse beneath Delta exploded in a sickening burst of black miasma and shredded flesh, launching her backward in a violent shockwave. Blood mist sprayed the nearby stone, smoke curling like ghostly fingers across the village square.

Subaru stumbled back, coughing, shielding his eyes from the dark fog.
“Delta, get back—!” he shouted, voice sharp with alarm.

The smoke thickened, swirling unnaturally, and then—

A voice.

Shrill. Jagged. Furious.

“—MURDER! DEFILEMENT! SHAME! SHAME!!! That… was a diligent vessel, you beast! You mongrel-faced interruption to divine design!”

A silhouette emerged, walking calmly through the smoke—no, floating slightly above the ground. Robes of black and crimson trailed behind her like the train of a funeral dress. Her eyes burned emerald with fervor, twitching erratically. Her mouth twisted in rictus fury.

Her voice quivered with restrained mania.
“I am faithful Finger of Sloth! YOU—you have taken from me, and I shall exact repentance with every scream you leave behind!”

She trembled once. Then snapped her head forward, teeth bared.
“You will know agony!”

From the rooftop above, Delta reappeared in a crouch—smoke curling behind her, her expression twisted with clear distaste.
“Tch…” she muttered. “You buzz like a fly.”

Her claws scraped against the tile.

“Delta hates flies.”

Then she launched.

A flash of movement. Delta flew toward the woman like a missile, her body blurring with speed and fury.

But this time—she was stopped.

Midair, a dozen unseen hands appeared from nowhere, catching her limbs with bone-crushing strength. One wrapped around her throat, hoisting her high in the air like a ragdoll.

Below, the woman laughed—shrieking, wild.
“YES! SQUIRM, DOG! SUFFER FOR YOUR ARROGANCE!”

SHING!

A blade of pure resolve sliced through the unseen grip like it was cloth.

Delta dropped.

Wilhelm appeared beside her mid-fall, catching her by the shoulder and steadying her landing.

He didn’t speak until her feet touched ground.
“Go,” he said calmly, eyes locked on the floating woman above. “Your prey is still breathing.”

Delta coughed once—her throat bruised, but her grin returning like wildfire.

She darted forward again, claws shimmering. She was a blur—too fast to see, leaping from wall to window ledge, then up a shattered cart.

Then teh woman raised her hand.

Two small figures appeared, suspended in the air by unseen hands.

Children.

Their legs kicked. Their mouths were gagged. They sobbed through the magic binding their throats.

Delta’s charge faltered.

She skidded across the dirt mid-step, claws dragging against stone, inches from leaping.

Frozen.

The woman laughed, eyes wide with feverish satisfaction.

“Oh, did you think I wouldn’t plan for something like you? You’re all the same. Dogs. Animals. But even dogs hesitate when a leash is wrapped around a child’s neck!”

Delta’s claws curled tight. Her lips pulled back. Her muscles twitched with primal instinct.

But even for her—

She couldn’t kill hostages.

The children dangled higher in the air, their eyes wide with terror, their small forms shivering in the unnatural grip that held them aloft like puppets on invisible strings.

From below, Subaru stepped forward, teeth gritted, voice shaking with fury.

“You’re sick,” he spat. “Sick and twisted. Let them go.”

The woman tilted her head, lips twisting into a grotesque parody of a smile.

“Make me.”

Subaru reached into his tracksuit—and pulled out a familiar black book, aged and cracked at the spine.

The Gospel.

The woman froze.

Subaru held it high, voice steady now despite the storm in his chest.

“You want a trade?” he called. “The Gospel. Untouched, unburned, fully intact.”

The air went dead still.

The woman’s expression twisted—first into disbelief, then into rage so visceral it seemed to distort the space around her.

“LIAR!” she shrieked, veins bulging at her temples. “That book belongs to Sloth! You DARE possess it—you dare touch it?!”

And before anyone could move—

A sickening crack.

One of the children went limp.

Screams erupted. Subaru’s breath hitched as he stumbled forward instinctively—

But a firm grip caught his shoulder.

“Don’t,” Wilhelm said, voice like steel cooled in grief. “You move now, and we lose them both.”

Subaru stared at the child's body, at the woman’s gleeful expression—and something inside him shattered.

Then.

A soft click.

Like a tongue against teeth.

From the shadow of a narrow alley, someone emerged.

Everyone turned—Wilhelm, Ferris, Julius. Even Delta went still, nose twitching uselessly.

She blinked.

“…Delta didn’t smell him,” she muttered, visibly shaken.

From the shadows stepped a man.

His presence was not heavy. It was light—absurdly so, like a paper mask over a loaded gun.

He looked around, sighing in quiet exasperation.

“No matter how one looks at this situation,” the man said, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve, “it’s a complete disaster.”

He stepped into the light.

Pale skin. White uniform. Silver hair perfectly combed. Hands folded like a gentleman at a tea party he never wanted to attend.

“Regulus Corneas,” Subaru breathed, eyes narrowing.

The newcomer clicked his tongue again, shaking his head.

“I am the Archbishop of Greed,” he said flatly, tone bored and annoyed. “And as such, I follow my Gospel. My path. My role. Nowhere—nowhere in that book does it say I’m supposed to be here.”

He looked at the chaos around him—at the child’s body, at the terrified faces, at the madness spilling across the square like open entrails.

Then he scowled.

“Forcing someone to go where they don’t want to be,” he muttered, voice darkening, “and worse—asking me to clean up this mess?”

He looked down his nose at the woman still hovering above the crowd.

“That's total violation of my rights.”

Notes:

So yeah… this chapter either ended with a bang, or Ram left with a kiss, or Delta quite literally exploded, honestly, summarize it however your brain sees fit.

If anyone's about to say "too much talking" or "too slice-of-life-y", don’t worry, the next two chapters are straight-up chaos. I wanted to cram it all into one, but it turned into a monster of a chapter, so I split it up for max flavor and impact.

Also… this fic just hit 1K Kudos and I’m actually so hyped. Like wow. I started this whole thing as a clueless newbie with a wild idea and went “eh, why not?” Then people started actually reading it and I panicked like, “Oh no… now I need to actually have a plot??”

These past few days have been unreal. First, it was my birthday (yay me), then this fic hit 1K Kudos, which I’m officially calling my birthday present from you guys, and now there’s a Demon Slayer movie (I'm a huge fan) dropping in theaters?? Peak week. Absolute peak.

Anyway, thank you all again for the love. If you’ve got questions about this chapter, don’t be shy and drop ’em.

Catch you next week, and until then, stay awesome.

Chapter 30: The Last Prayer of the Damned

Notes:

Hey everyone! Hope y’all are surviving this August heat lol

First off, big sorry for the unexpected delay. The service industry got me in a chokehold fr. I’ve barely had time to breathe, let alone edit or write new chapters.

Second, my apologies to anyone who got an early peek at this chapter. I uploaded it last week, instantly disliked it, and yeeted it into the void. Shoutout to the kind soul who called it out (in the nicest way), because of them, I went back and gave this chapter a little extra love.

Subaru swallowed hard, his mouth dry, his fingers clenched so tight around the Gospel that his knuckles blanched white. His gaze flicked between the two figures before them: Regulus Corneas in his white suit, and the Finger of Sloth, trembling with unspent madness, eyes wide and bloodshot.

Delta crouched low beside Wilhelm, claws still twitching, but even her breath came slow, restrained. The wild hunger for violence in her purple eyes was tempered now by something else—wariness.

Wilhelm’s sword was bare at his side, the blade steady, reflecting the ghostly glow of scattered lantern light. His expression was unreadable, as cold and still as steel itself. But his stance was ready, balanced, waiting.

Julius stood a pace ahead, his knight’s poise flawless despite the sweat at his brow, his blade’s tip low but eager, his eyes locked on Regulus, searching, calculating. Ferris hovered near Subaru’s flank, magic thrumming faintly at his fingertips, his tail lashing in nervous arcs.

The two Sin Archbishops regarded each other now, as if no one else existed.

Regulus tutted softly, brushing a speck of dust from his cuff with exaggerated care.

The Finger of Sloth shrieked, her form trembling, robes flaring with black miasma.

“YOU DARE? YOU—YOU—I AM A FINGER OF THE GREAT SLOTH! You, who trespass unbidden—you would judge ME?!”

Her fury lashed outward in a pulse of invisible force, scattering loose rubble and drawing a fresh cry of fear from the remaining child still suspended in her grasp.

But Regulus didn’t flinch. He didn’t so much as blink.

He merely sighed, long and weary.

“Look at you. Shrieking like some common fishwife at the docks. Disgraceful. Undignified. Embarrassing.”

His eyes cut to the limp form of the child she’d discarded like garbage.

“And what is this? Wasteful. Unnecessary. A clear violation of natural rights—my rights, in fact. Because now I have to endure this eyesore.”

The woman’s eyes rolled wildly in their sockets, her mouth frothing with incoherent rage.

She let out a hoarse, keening wail, and with a convulsive gesture, she raised her hands high. From the black miasma roiling about her form, unseen hands burst forth—dozens of them—long, clawed, spectral things that tore at the buildings, uprooted stones, splintered wood, and sent lanterns clattering into the dust.

“I—I AM ON A SACRED MISSION!” she howled, voice cracking with zealotry and hate. “A mission FOR THE WITCH, for the Great Love that binds ALL! And you—you mock ME? You mock HER LOVE, her DIVINE WILL?!”

The hands flailed, ravaging the square, tearing at walls, at earth, at sky.

Subaru stumbled back, dragging Ferris with him as Julius stepped to shield them both. Wilhelm’s arm shot out, bracing Subaru’s shoulder, steadying him.

Delta growled low, claws raised, weaving between falling debris with animal grace.

Regulus clicked his tongue in annoyance, as if faced with a particularly irksome stain on his shoe. He lifted his hand, fingers splayed wide—and then, with casual disdain, he drew it down in a sharp vertical arc.

There was no visible blade, no edge of steel. But the air itself split with a deafening roar, as though the world had been cleaved in two. A compressed gust of destructive force howled outward, scything through the air—and through one of the woman’s outstretched arms.

The severed limb spun away in a spiral of black mist and blood, vanishing into the ruin she herself had wrought. The unseen hands faltered, shuddered, and began to wither, their substance unwinding like smoke in the wind.

The woman stared at the ragged stump, her expression frozen in shock before it twisted into a mask of pain and hatred.

“CURSE YOU!” she shrieked, falling to her knees, clutching at the wound. “You—you would DARE?!”

But Regulus merely dusted his palms together, as if ridding himself of filth. His gaze was cold, utterly without pity.

“I did what needs to be done,” he said, his voice calm, reasonable, as though explaining to a slow-witted child. “You were causing acoustic pollution—screeching like that, offending me, violating my peace. And you have no Gospel. No legitimacy. Why shouldn’t I simply silence you for good?”

Wilhelm’s voice was low beside Subaru’s ear, grave and certain. “This is bad. This is very bad.”

Julius kept his eyes fixed on the two Sin Archbishops, jaw tight, his mind racing. “If this continues... the village will be dust before the day is done.”

Ferris’ ears flattened, his tail lashing, his voice taut with urgency. “We have to do something. Anything. Before they tear everything apart!”

Subaru wiped at his brow, though the sweat kept pouring, his heart pounding so loud he could barely hear himself think. His throat felt raw, his breath came in shallow gasps, but still he forced the words out.

“We—we have to split them up,” he said, voice trembling but firming with resolve. “If we want even a chance in all this... we can’t let them be together.”

Julius shot him a quick glance, his brow furrowed. “But how?”

Subaru’s hands clenched at his sides, his mind racing. He met Julius’ gaze, determination burning behind his exhaustion. “As long as we can catch their interest... they’ll focus on us. That’s all we need. We just have to make ourselves the target.”

Wilhelm stepped forward, his voice calm, steady. “Then I’ll go after the one in white.”

“No!” Subaru blurted, almost before Wilhelm finished speaking.

Everyone turned, startled, their eyes on him. Even the chaos around them seemed to hush for that heartbeat.

Subaru swallowed hard, his fingers twitching. “We... we don’t have a way to deal with that one yet. But we do know how to handle Petelgeuse’s Fingers. We’ve done it before. We can do it again.”

Ferris flicked his ears back, worry etched in every line of his face. “Then what the heck are we gonna do about him—the white one?”

Subaru forced a grin, though his knees felt ready to buckle. “I’ll figure something out. Somehow.” His voice wavered, but his eyes stayed steady. “I promise.”

Delta straightened, her claws flexing, her grin feral. “Delta wants to hunt him too. The White one. He’s interesting.”

Subaru blinked at her, caught off guard. “Delta—he’s way too tough! We can’t even scratch him right now!”

Delta’s eyes gleamed, wild with curiosity. “That’s just it. Delta don’t smell him. Nothing. Like he isn’t even real. That’s confusing. Delta wants to understand it. Makes her itch to hunt him down.”

Subaru hesitated, heart thudding painfully in his chest. But he nodded. “Fine. You can come. But don’t do anything reckless, okay? We can’t afford that.”

Wilhelm studied Subaru for a long moment—saw the sweat, the tremble in his limbs, the way his hands shook as he tried to look composed. And yet, Subaru stood tall, holding it together for their sake, for the villagers, for everyone.

Wilhelm’s voice was quiet, full of resolve. “Then Julius, Ferris, and I will handle the woman. We’ll protect the villagers. And as soon as we can, we’ll come to aid you.”

Subaru met Wilhelm’s gaze, his smile small but real, the weight of it shared between them. He nodded, the flicker of confidence in his eyes stronger than his fear.

“Right. Let’s do this.”

Regulus turned his gaze back to the broken, kneeling Finger of Sloth, his expression a mask of cold irritation. His voice, though soft, carried clearly through the ruined square, cutting through the crackling of splintering wood and the distant wails of terrified villagers.

“I suppose I’d better be on with my part of the mission,” he said, as if the entire battle were an unwanted chore. He flicked his sleeve, as if brushing off her existence like dust. “Otherwise, I’m only wasting my time here with this ridiculous spectacle.”

WHUMP!

A sudden rush of air—like a thunderclap splitting the day—and Delta was there. One instant, she was crouched near Wilhelm. The next, she was right in front of Regulus, her sharp grin wide and wild, purple eyes gleaming with feral thrill.

Regulus’ eyes widened.

And then—CRACK!

The boom of the sound barrier shattering filled the square as Delta’s foot connected with his head in a brutal arc. The shockwave tore through the air, rattling windows, snapping brittle beams, scattering debris in every direction. The sheer force of the blow hurled Regulus like a silver bullet into the forest’s dark edge.

KRA-KOOM!

Trees exploded apart, their trunks splintering with sharp cracks, branches sheared away in his wake. The distant forest erupted in a chorus of crashing timber, the earth itself shuddering beneath the impact.

“Delta!” Subaru’s voice tore from his throat, raw with panic. He stumbled forward, boots pounding the cracked stones, heart hammering in his chest like a war drum. “Delta! Be careful! You can’t just hit him and hope that’s enough!”

But Delta was already gone, tearing after Regulus with animal speed, her laughter a wild, reckless peal that echoed through the area.

For a heartbeat, the forest seemed still, the dust hanging heavy in the sunlight.

Then—CRUNCH.

From the shattered crater at the forest’s edge, the sound of a polished shoe grinding against broken stone. Slow. Deliberate.

Regulus emerged, pristine. Not a stain. Not a crease. Not a hair out of place.

But his eyes—those cold, pitiless eyes—blazed now with smoldering fury.

“Who,” he said, his voice low, every syllable vibrating with barely restrained rage, “goes and attacks a man without so much as introducing themselves? Without even the courtesy of a proper reason?”

The wind stirred around him.

“The height of barbarism. The depth of insolence. Unforgivable.”

From the splintered forest’s edge, Delta emerged low and stalking, her claws flexing, teeth clicking together as she let out a low, guttural grrrrrrrr-ruff! The sound rippled through the air, a wolfish warning, primal and raw.

Regulus blinked, momentarily thrown off. His brows rose as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“A demi-human,” he said at last, his voice thick with contempt, as though the very words tasted foul. His lip curled in disdain. “Of course it would be a demi-human. Who else would lack even the most basic courtesy? No manners, no decency—just drooling savagery."

Delta’s only answer was another feral noise—louder, more threatening, her claws flexing.

Then she moved.

With a blur of speed and a savage gleam in her eye, her claws swept outward. Air hissed and cracked as the slashes raced toward Regulus—razor-thin blades of force, howling like banshees.

But Regulus didn’t move at all.

BOOM!

The slashes met an invisible wall a hair’s breadth from his pristine form. With a roar like a thunderclap, the force of Delta’s attack burst outward, a concussive blast that shattered stone at his feet and sent dust and debris spiraling high into the air.

Yet when the dust cleared, Regulus stood untouched. Unharmed. Unimpressed.

He exhaled slowly, like a weary parent at the end of their patience.

“I had half a mind to lecture you,” he said, his tone soft, measured, yet seething beneath the surface. “To educate you on proper conduct. But no… seeing you now—this barbarism—violence is clearly the only language you comprehend.”

His hand snapped out sideways in a blur.

WHOOSH—KRA-KOOM!

The very air split apart beneath his swing, a blade of compressed wind tearing toward Delta. The force of it howled through the clearing, splintering trees in its path, trunks exploding in showers of splinters and sap.

But Delta was faster. She leapt high, the gust raking the ground where she’d been a heartbeat before, ripping apart the earth with a deafening crack.

Above him now, she snarled down, her form a dark streak against the moon.

Regulus’ eyes tracked her, narrowed in irritation. His voice was sharp, clipped.

“Persistent little pest.”

He slashed the air again—WHIP-CRACK!—and this time, the compressed gust caught her as she twisted midair.

THWACK!

Delta hissed in pain as the force tore across her shoulder, blood spraying in fine droplets that caught the sunlight like rubies. But even wounded, she didn’t falter.

Her body spun with the momentum, and with a snarl and a burst of speed that shattered the air behind her—BOOM!—her fist connected square with Regulus’ chest.

THOOM!

The shockwave of the impact was like a cannon blast. Loose stones leapt from the ground, trees bowed away from the force of it.

The ground cratered beneath the impact, a wide, jagged basin carved into the earth—earth torn apart by raw force.

And yet—
The place where Regulus stood… remained untouched.

The very stone under his polished shoes was immaculate, unbroken, untouched by the violence. Not even dust dared settle on him.

Regulus didn’t so much as glance at the crater.
He exhaled through his nose, long and slow.

“…I’m losing my patience.”

His voice, once calm, now buzzed with venom beneath its polished surface. His pale eyes lifted, locking on Delta, who crouched amidst the broken earth, panting, her fur streaked with blood, but her gaze unwavering.

She growled low in her throat—an animal sound, guttural and bristling.

Her muscles coiled. Her violet eyes didn’t waver.

Even now, wounded and outmatched, she stared Regulus down. No fear. No hesitation. Just that wild, primal defiance.

Regulus should have scoffed. He should have rolled his eyes and dismissed her.
After all, he knew—knew—there was nothing she could do. His Authority made him untouchable. Her claws couldn’t even brush his skin. She couldn’t hurt him, let alone kill him.

And yet…

His jaw tensed. A tick formed just beneath his eye.

There was something off about the way she looked at him.

Something in those eyes.

Not fury. Not hatred.
But hunger.
Predatory. Feral.
Hunting.

Regulus felt something he hadn’t in a long, long time.

The sensation—however fleeting—of being the prey.

His eye twitched again.

“If I were you… I wouldn’t continue this.”

Regulus froze. His eyes, sharp and gleaming with irritation, flicked toward the source of the voice.

There stood Subaru, arms crossed over his chest, a cocky grin pulling at his lips despite the fear pounding in his veins. The cracked stones at his feet shifted as he took a slow step forward, eyes locked on the Sin Archbishop with defiant fire.

Regulus’ brow furrowed, incredulity flashing in his gaze. “And who, exactly, do you think you are?” His voice dripped disdain, as if the words themselves were beneath him.

Subaru tilted his head, the grin widening, masking the terror in his chest. “Name’s Subaru Natsuki. Maybe you’ve heard of me. And as you’ve probably noticed, my friend here—” He jerked a thumb toward Delta, who crouched low, blood staining her fur but eyes bright and wild. “—she’s got a bit of a bloodthirsty streak. I’d say you should run while you still can.”

For a beat, silence hung between them. Then Regulus straightened fully, letting out a soft, humorless laugh. His pale eyes gleamed with amusement, cold and sharp. “And you honestly believe the two of you can best me? The Sin Archbishop of Greed?”

Subaru’s grin didn’t waver. He put on his best air of faux respect, dipping his head slightly. “No, no, of course not. I mean—the mighty Sin Archbishop of Greed? That’d be ridiculous. I totally get it. Someone like you, it’s only fair you cut us a little slack, let this one slide, and, you know… just walk away.”

Regulus’ smile thinned. His gaze slid from Delta, still poised and wary, to Subaru—assessing, calculating. His voice came soft, dangerous. “After what you’ve done here… you really think I’d just go? No. You owe me. You’d better have a very good compensation to offer.”

Subaru kept up the act, nodding rapidly, hands spread in mock sincerity. “Of course, of course! We’d never dream of not—”

But the words died on his lips.

With a flick of his wrist, Regulus scooped up a handful of grit and sand from the ground and hurled it toward Subaru’s face, his movement sharp and sudden as a striking snake.

“—what the—?!” Subaru barely had time to react.

Before the sand could reach him, before his heart could even skip a beat in shock, Delta was there—a blur of motion, a shield of flesh and fury. She threw herself between the attack and Subaru, arms crossed to block.

SHHHRIP!

The sand wasn’t sand at all. It hit like a storm of needles, tearing through her fur, biting deep into flesh. Blood sprayed in fine mist, her body jolted by the force. She staggered, teeth bared in pain but silent, resolute.

“Delta!” Subaru’s voice cracked with horror. He lunged forward, catching her as she swayed, his hands shaking as he felt the warmth of her blood. “Are you—are you alright?!”

Regulus’ voice rose then, furious, echoing through the broken square. “Do not toy with me! First you assault me, and now you insult my intelligence with your pathetic attempts at deception? Do you truly think I would be Sin Archbishop of Greed if I were so easily fooled?!” His eyes burned with righteous fury, his presence radiating rage like a furnace. “No. I will not be mocked. Not by vermin. Not by savages. And not by you!”

The air was thick with the tang of blood and dust. Delta’s body trembled—not from pain, but from the sheer force she’d absorbed. Blood streamed down her arms in thin rivers, soaking into the ragged edges of her slime suit. Yet her eyes gleamed, sharp and clear, her grin undimmed.

Subaru stared, wide-eyed, heart pounding. “Delta—! We need to get away."

But Delta didn’t move. She kept her gaze locked on Regulus, lips pulled back in a bloodied grin, breath coming in short, hot bursts. Her voice, when it came, was low but certain.

“Boss told Delta… hunt bad guys. Protect Subaru.” Her claws flexed, dripping crimson. “Boss trust me. Delta won’t run. Not from this.”

Subaru froze, the words slicing through him deeper than any blade could. His throat tightened. The fear that had gripped his heart felt suddenly small, pathetic.

She way way stronger than him. But strength wasn’t what mattered now.

It was will. The will to stand. The will to fight. The will to protect what you were entrusted with.

Delta moved.

With a roar, she dropped to all fours, a blur of shadow and speed. The earth cracked beneath her claws as she launched forward, faster than before, driven by purpose.

Regulus’ eyes widened—a flicker of surprise—as her fist rocketed toward him.

THOOM!

The punch landed square against his face, but Regulus was still untouched.

But Delta didn’t stop. Snarling, she slashed with her claws—sharp and sure. Regulus snarled in return, his fingers flicking out, scattering a storm of small stones at her. The stones hit like daggers, tearing into one of her arms, shredding flesh and breaking bone, ripping the limb apart.

Blood spattered the stones, the earth, the air.

Subaru stood frozen, breathless, staring at her. His fists clenched at his sides, a storm of emotions crashing through him.

Delta had been born with immense predatory talent—claws that could tear through steel, muscles honed for speed and power, and instincts sharper than any blade. But of all her gifts, the one she’d always been proudest of—the one she trusted above all else—was her sense of smell. A scent could tell her everything: fear, intent, weakness. The moment an enemy’s blood quickened, she knew. The moment they hesitated, she knew.

But Regulus... Regulus had no scent.

Nothing.

It was as if he didn’t exist to her. As if the wind passed through a hollow where he should have been.

Delta’s blood pounded in her ears. Her nose twitched, straining for even the faintest trace—sweat, breath, anything. But there was nothing. And for someone who relied so heavily on scent to read the flow of battle, to anticipate, to strike true—this was a blow sharper than any wound. Her ace was useless. Her greatest edge, blunted.

But rather than falter, Delta adapted. Had to. The predator in her didn’t know the meaning of surrender. The odds weren’t just against her now—they were thrilling. Exhilarating.

These were the moments that made her blood burn, that sent a surge of raw adrenaline crashing through her veins, drowning out pain, sharpening focus to a razor’s edge. The gashes on her arm, the blood dripping from her body—they meant nothing.

Delta grinned wide, teeth bared, breath hot in her throat. The fire in her eyes blazed bright as she let go of hesitation, let go of doubt. If scent wouldn’t guide her, she’d rely on everything else.

She didn’t think. She didn’t plan.

She moved.

And in that moment, Delta relished the battle as only a true predator could—pure, primal, and unstoppable.

Regulus groaned low in his throat.

He glared at Delta as she charged, wild and relentless, blood dripping from her mangled arm but her feral grin undiminished.

“You’re still coming at me?!” he spat, voice sharp as broken glass. “I’m already pissed off enough with the way you’ve treated me—like I’m some common thug!”

With a snarl, Regulus lashed out—not with his fists, but his foot. He kicked a massive chunk of stone at his feet, sending it rocketing through the air like a cannonball, straight toward Delta’s chest.

The boulder howled through the clearing, tearing the air apart in its wake.

Delta twisted, the stone missing her by a hair’s breadth. The wind of its passing raked her fur, the shockwave slamming into her with brutal force and staggering her mid-run.

Regulus’ fury boiled over. “Damn you!” he roared, voice echoing like a thunderclap. With a snarl, he stomped the ground, hard.

THOOM!

Dust and debris exploded upward in a choking cloud, blinding, thick, swirling around them like a sandstorm.

And in the instant Delta closed the last few meters between them, he struck.

Both hands swept outward—WHUMP!—and the dust became his weapon. The fine particles, sharpened and driven by his force, slashed through the air like a storm of razors.

Delta cried out as the deadly cloud ripped through her remaining arm, flesh and bone torn apart, blood fountaining in a crimson arc. She reeled back, maimed, her arms destroyed, chest heaving with ragged, furious breath.

Regulus straightened, lips curled in a vicious smirk, eyes gleaming cold and sharp. “What now, beast? No arms left. I suppose you’ll try your legs next—predictable.”

Delta’s breath came in snarling gasps, blood matting her fur, bones shattered—yet she stood tall. Her shoulders rolled back, and her arms… moved.

Regulus’ smirk deepened, a sneer tugging at his lips as he saw her twitch.
“Really? You plan to punch me with limbs you no longer have?”

But then—

CRACK. CRRRK.

With grotesque wet snaps, Delta’s arms regrew.

Tendons writhed like snakes, bone twisted itself into place, muscle wrapped around it with unnatural speed, and skin bubbled into shape. It was not healing—it was predatory regeneration, raw and primal, the kind that made stomachs churn and jaws go slack.

Regulus stumbled a step back, repulsed. “Disgusting.”

But Delta didn’t wait.

WHAM! Her fist swung wide, not clean but wild.

THUMP! A second punch followed, ragged and furious.

She howled, a guttural, beast-like cry that echoed across the battlefield—less a voice, more an unfiltered war screech from something not entirely human.

WHACK. BAM. CRACK.

The hits came relentless. Fists flying, claws slashing, knees and headbutts mixed in between—feral, chaotic, unpredictable.

And though each blow hit nothing, each was met by something: an instinctive twitch in Regulus’ foot. A shift in his weight. A single step back.

Not damage.
But reaction.

Delta’s grin stretched wider, teeth gleaming.

She wasn’t breaking his body.
She was breaking his composure.

But Regulus caught on. His eyes narrowed, the disgust shifting into something colder—calculation.

Delta’s next strike hit air—and he didn’t move.

A smug smirk curved Regulus’ lips.
“Now you see,” he said. “All this is ultimately meaningless.”

And in that heartbeat, he raised his hand, ready to end it.

But before the blow could land—

FWUMP.

A book landed in front of him.

Regulus froze, eyes widening as he recognized the item instantly.

A Gospel.

The sacred, untouchable Word of the Witch. To destroy it—even by accident—was heresy. Unforgivable.

His hand stopped mid-swing, trembling slightly in restraint.

His gaze shot toward where it had come from—
—Subaru, panting hard, standing with a shaking arm still outstretched from the throw.

“Delta, move!”

Subaru’s voice tore through the chaos, hoarse and panicked.
“Get away from him!”

Delta, driven by pure bloodlust, didn’t hear Subaru—her vision blurred red, instincts screaming for the kill.

But in that instant—BOOM!

The heavens split.

A figure fell from the sky like a bolt of lightning, striking the ground between them with a blast that rocked the forest, a shockwave tearing outward, scattering dust and debris in all directions.

The world held its breath.

And as the dust began to clear, the newcomer stood tall in the crater—radiant, imposing, eyes blazing with power.

Regulus’ eyes widened, a flicker of disbelief breaking through his fury.

Delta froze, breath ragged, blood dripping, eyes locked on this sudden, impossible arrival.

And the tide of the battle shifted.

The dust cleared in a rush, as if swept away by an unseen hand—gone, revealing the figure standing tall in the crater’s heart. The sunlight caught the edge of a long coat, the glint of silver at his side, eyes like pits of endless night burning with cold fire.

Subaru froze, staring, heart lurching in his chest. His voice cracked, disbelief sharp and raw.
“No way… not him again…”

Delta blinked, her breath ragged, blood still dripping, but her lips twitched into a fierce, relieved grin.
“Sha—”

I’ll interrupt Delta just before she spills the tea—perfect timing so it looks like I couldn’t care less about whatever she’s saying.

But before she could say another word, the figure spoke—voice low, edged like a blade drawn slow, cutting through the air like a promise of ruin.
“Only fools believe the light will save them from what hides in the dark.”

Regulus straightened fully now, his mouth a tight, irritated line. His eyes swept the scene, from the broken, bleeding Delta to Subaru’s stunned face, to the newcomer in the crater.

His voice dripped with contempt.
“This is becoming absurd. First the savage, now some brooding idiot playing hero? I see now why I was summoned here—to clean up this ridiculous farce. Who the hell are you supposed to be?”

The newcomer—Shadow—let out a soft, humorless laugh. Arrogant. Cold. Like he already knew the answer, and it amused him that they had to ask.
“I am the one who walks above all. The one who carries the weight of his sin with pride.”

His gaze lifted, eyes burning brighter, smile sharp as a wolf’s.

“Name’s Shadow. The one who represent the Sin of Pride.”

Nothing hits harder than two titans clashing—then a third crashes the party like it’s a season finale.

Regulus’ eyes narrowed, genuine surprise flickering in their depths. His lips twisted into a sharp, humorless smirk as he sized up Shadow, gaze flicking from the dark coat to the cold fire in his eyes.

“So this is the Sin of Pride,” Regulus said, voice low, edged with both amusement and challenge. “The ghost I’ve heard of but never seen. I never thought I’d lay eyes on you.”

His tone turned harder, competitive fire igniting in his words.
“Do you walk as one of us should? Do you even follow your Gospel?”

These guys treat the Bible like it’s VIP merch—I'd light it up just for the drama, but I’m not trying to get cancelled today.

Shadow let the question hang for a beat, the corner of his mouth curling into a slow, wolfish grin. His voice came soft, dark, filled with dangerous certainty.

“I don’t follow the Gospel,” he said, taking a step forward, the ground cracking faintly beneath his boot.
“The Gospel follows me. I am the Gospel.”

Regulus froze for a heartbeat. His smirk thinned, eyes gleaming with a mix of irritation and reluctant respect.

“Hah. So your attitude is true.” His gaze sharpened, competitive fire burning brighter.
“Fine. Just don’t get in my way. I came to end this farce, not to clash with another Archbishop. But if you force my hand... I won’t hold back.”

Shadow stood still, the dust finally settled around his boots, the scent of blood and scorched stone thick in the air. Delta, broken but grinning, knelt behind him. Regulus stood a few paces ahead, righteous fury curling off him like smoke. Subaru, eyes wide, barely breathed.

But Shadow…

Shadow chuckled.

A low, slow sound. Not amused—knowing. Detached. Inevitable.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes half-lidded, gaze sweeping across the battlefield like a man inspecting the pieces of a puzzle already solved.

Might as well stir the pot, play both sides, pretend I’m with none, and toss in some cryptic quotes for flavor.

“White and black,” he murmured. “The opposite pieces of a game—built to clash. Bound by purpose. Trapped in design.”

He turned his head toward Regulus, eyes glittering like stars glimpsed through stormclouds.

“Hating each other… destined to fight, to bleed, to break—because that’s all they were made for.”

Then he glanced at Subaru, at Delta, at the ruined square around them. His smile widened, sharp and cold.

“But the ones who placed those pieces? The players?”

He gave a soft, bitter laugh.

“Usually allies. Sometimes friends.”

The wind stirred, carrying ash and the scent of iron. Shadow's coat flared slightly behind him as he took another step forward, his presence growing heavier with every breath.

“Funny, isn’t it?” he said, voice calm, but with an edge that cut. “The pieces on the board think the fight is theirs. But the truth is—they're just a reflection of someone else's war.”

His gaze locked on Regulus again, steady and unblinking.

“So tell me, are you really here because of a book will? Or are you just another pawn who thinks he’s king?”

Regulus’ lips peeled back in a snarl, his composure cracking as Shadow’s words settled like needles beneath his skin.

“A pawn?” he spat, fury laced through every syllable. “Now you see, you presume too much. I am the Sin Archbishop of Greed. I bow to no one. My will is law. My desires are absolute.”

His pale eyes gleamed, venomous. “You want to speak of pieces on a board? Fine. But don’t mistake the king for a pawn.”

---

Shadow didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

Only the faintest twitch pulled at the edge of his lips—not a smile.

A warning.

“I am no pawn,” he said quietly.

Then his voice dropped lower, heavier, darker—each word a weight that bent the air around them.

“And I am not the hand moving the pieces either. I don’t control you. I don’t answer to you. And I am certainly not your ally.”

His boot cracked the stone beneath it as he stepped forward—slow, deliberate.

“I’m the one thing none of you accounted for.”

The earth shivered.

Not a tremor. A shudder. As though the world itself flinched.

Cracks lanced out beneath Shadow’s feet, black veins splitting the scorched ground. From the rift, a shape began to rise—a slick, shifting blade of obsidian slime, writhing like a living shadow. It clung to his hand, coiling upward, forming a jagged edge that pulsed with a cold, malevolent energy.

Shadow lifted it.

High.

Toward the sky.

And the air changed.

Mana surged to the blade’s tip in a great, spiraling torrent—purple and dense, like it had been ripped from the void itself. The pressure dropped. The sky dimmed. Dust hovered in the air, frozen, as if time itself held its breath.

Dude looks like he couldn’t land a slap, let alone a punch—no fun fighting that.

But he still pushed Delta to the brink. Good thing her body’s got that auto-heal cheat when it's in a critical state.
Guess I’ll nuke him for the drama, then go mess with Subaru for kicks.

God, I love being me.

Shadow's voice returned—quiet as death, and just as final.

“I’m not your enemy.”

He turned his head, just slightly.

“I’m not your salvation.”

His grip on the sword tightened.

“I am inevitable.”

Regulus’ hands clenched at his sides. His face twisted in disbelief, in fury, in confusion.

“What are you trying to pull off?!” he barked, voice cracking. “What is this?! What do you think you are?!”

Subaru was already moving, sprinting through the shattered clearing, his eyes wide with panic. “Delta! Delta, we need to run—now!” He skidded to his knees beside her, grabbing her by the shoulders, his hands trembling.

“Whatever he’s doing—whatever that is—it’s not meant to save us! We have to get out of here before it’s too late!”

But Delta didn’t move.

She stared past him, bloodied but unbroken, her gaze locked on Shadow’s rising blade.

“Delta stays,” she rasped.

Subaru’s mouth opened—to argue, to scream—

But his breath caught.

The air around them hummed.

Then solidified.

He reached out—

THUMP.

His palm hit invisible force.

A perfect dome of mana had encased them—a barrier. Gleaming faintly. Unbreakable.

Subaru turned, panic rising. “Wha—what is this?! Delta—we’re trapped! He’s sealing us in!”

Outside the barrier, Shadow lowered his gaze.

Eyes like night stars burning in a dead sky.

Coat billowing, boots planted in cracked stone, sword raised like the scythe of an executioner.

His voice came one last time—dark, steady, timeless.

“Witness.”

And the mana at the sword’s tip began to burn.

Shadow’s voice was heavy and resonant. A single word.

“I—”

The tremor intensified. Chunks of stone lifted from the ground, trembling in place. The air pulsed.

“AM.”

Before the word had fully settled, Regulus moved—fast, desperate, furious. His hands clawed into the shattered ground, seizing a cluster of jagged stones and debris. With a snarl, he hurled them forward, a barrage of sharp-edged fury.

“Enough of this… farce!!”

CRACK—CRUNCH—THWACK!

They struck true. Shadow staggered slightly. One stone pierced clean through his shoulder. Another shattered across his ribs. A third drove into his gut with a sound like wet thunder.

Regulus stood there, breath heaving, lips curling into a twisted grin.

How’d that basic body toss rocks like death threats?
They were fast, no, gotta be a trick, a skill, or worse... an asspull. If it’s that, I’m filing a complaint with the author.

For a moment—just a breath—the clearing was silent. Still.

Shadow didn’t fall.

He straightened.

He looked down at the wounds as if they were raindrops. Then looked up again.

And he was smiling.

A cold, wolfish grin cut across his face—amused. Unbothered.

If he’s playing sniper, I’m rolling in as the tank.

The blade in his hand dipped, descending in an elegant arc. Smooth. Effortless. Final.

His lips parted, and with a voice like the end of days, he spoke the word that broke the world.

“ATOMIC.”

The sky split.

A pulse of violet mana exploded outward, vaporizing sound itself—BOOM came late, swallowed by the cataclysm.

The crater inverted—collapsed—a sphere of devouring energy roaring out in a ring of obliteration. Trees disintegrated into ash. Stone liquefied. Air twisted and screamed as it was sucked into the singularity at the center.

From above, it looked like a star dying in reverse—imploding, then detonating in pure, elemental fury.

Inside the barrier, Subaru and Delta were flattened to the ground, eyes shut against the impossible light.

Outside?

There was no outside.

Only void, tinged purple.

And at the center of it all—untouched, unwavering—stood Shadow, his blade now gone, the huge area around him erased, rewritten by a single sentence.

Ash swirled in lazy spirals, drifting like snow in a dead winter. The world was quiet—eerily so. No birds. No crackling fire. Just the hum of dying magic and the aftertaste of destruction.

Then, the silence broke.

Thud.

Subaru groaned as he pushed himself off the fractured earth, blinking grit from his eyes. The barrier that had saved them flickered once—then vanished with a hiss, leaving only scorched stone beneath him.

He coughed, breath catching. Then he turned, eyes widening.

“Delta?” he rasped.

She was… standing.

Whole.

Not just alive—but healed.

The blood, the wounds, the ragged breathing—all gone. Her dark hair stirred faintly in the still-charged air, her purple eyes focused. Sharp.

Subaru staggered toward her, disbelief plain in his voice.

“You… You’re okay? But how? You were—Delta, you were dying—”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t even look at him.

Instead, her body tensed, a low growl rumbling from her throat as her gaze locked on something deep within the lingering haze.

Subaru blinked, startled by the sudden shift.

“Delta?”

She stepped forward, slow. Controlled. Like a beast sniffing out a predator it didn’t expect to survive.

Subaru followed her line of sight, eyes narrowing.

And then he saw it.

A silhouette in the dust.

Still standing.

Unmoving.

Unbelievable.

Shadow.

He stood alone amidst the void he had created, his black coat fluttering gently, his head tilted slightly as if listening to something only he could hear.

Subaru took a cautious step forward, voice cracking.

“Did he… kill him?”

It wasn’t gratitude. Not quite. More like cautious curiosity wrapped in weariness. Because this was Shadow. The man who had saved him—again—but whose every word felt like it came from something far older, and far less human.

Because Subaru didn’t trust him.

He couldn’t.

Not when he couldn’t even understand him.

But still—if Regulus was gone, then that was one less monster on the board.

Shadow didn’t look at him.

Not at first.

Then, quietly—too quietly for comfort—he spoke.

“It’s impossible,” he said. His voice was calm, but there was weight behind it. “Almost impossible… for a human being to surpass their mortal limits.”

He turned slightly, his gaze fixed not on Subaru—but on a single point within the thinning cloud of dust.

Then he smiled.

Not mocking. Not cold.

Just… intrigued.

“I’ve finally found one,” he murmured. “Someone else who can take it. Who can survive it.”

He raised his voice slightly, directing it toward the smoke.

“Congratulations.”

The wind stirred again.

From the dissipating dust, a voice rang out—defiant, indignant, deeply personal.

“You bastard.” Regulus’ voice was a low snarl, ragged but rising with wrath.

His eyes, bloodshot and wild, locked onto Shadow with renewed fury. “I am Regulus Corneas! I have lived by my will alone! I never harmed what was mine, never betrayed what I claimed! My Authority is pure! A reflection of perfect desire!”

His foot slammed into the ground, splitting it beneath him with raw, kinetic force.

“You violated me! Violated my space, my authority—my rights! This is desecration! This is tyranny, nothing more!”

Then—without warning—he roared, “THEN TAKE THIS!”

Both of Regulus’ hands plunged into the broken ground. Stone cracked, screamed, then groaned as he lifted—an enormous boulder the size of a small house, torn from the very earth, rising above his head like it weighed nothing.

“Only death can answer this farce!”

With a cry of primal wrath, he hurled the boulder.

It moved like a cannon shot—faster than it should have, the sheer mass turning it into a meteor, tearing through the air like it wanted to devour the sky itself.

And yet…

Shadow didn’t move.

Until he wasn’t there anymore.

The boulder struck—hard—sending up a plume of dust and shattered stone. But as it hit, Shadow’s form blurred, vanished—

—and reappeared, a breath later, right behind Regulus.

He survived my atomic blast so he’s jumping straight up my tier list. I’m not dumb enough to rush him without poking first and checking his hand.

Regulus’s eyes widened. Reflex kicked in.

With a snarl, he spun—his right hand slicing through the air.

A crescent wave of force erupted outward with the motion, invisible yet absolute. The very wind screamed as it tore forward, imbued with Greed’s merciless precision.

CRACK!

Shadow’s arms disintegrated mid-movement—ripped apart by the sheer violence of the blow, flesh and bone shredded into nothing.

But it wasn’t over.

Regulus’ foot slammed into the ground again—harder this time. The earth responded.

KA-THOOM!

Shards of stone—hundreds—erupted upward like spears and knives, all directed at Shadow’s heart, gut, throat.

THMP—THK—KRK!

They struck.

Pierced.

Shadow’s body convulsed under the barrage—pierced through from every angle, held in place by the rain of broken earth.

But—

He didn’t fall.

Didn’t scream.

Didn’t even flinch.

Instead—

He began to regenerate.

Slowly.

Simultaneously.

As the wounds formed, they mended. As the spears remained lodged, flesh sealed around them, rejecting death even as it courted him.

What’s a killer’s worst nightmare? Someone who won’t die.

His hits cut different—and my slime suit’s basically cosplay now, so yeah, time to crank the healing magic to max.

Regulus took a step back, staring at the sight before him—repulsed. Disbelieving.

“You… you’re still standing?” he muttered. “That’s not resilience. That’s madness.”

His voice dropped into a low growl.

“Just like her… That deranged woman…"

He pointed an accusatory finger, eyes narrowing in bitter recognition.

“Do you have her Authority? That abomination’s power? To deny reality even as it tears you apart?!”

Shadow’s eyes slowly rose to meet his.

“Everything you see…” he said softly, his voice low and resonant, “every step I take, every breath I steal back from death… is mine.”

The last word struck like a bell.

“I didn't borrow this power. I didn't inherit it. I became it.”

His foot slid forward, careless of the stone skewering him, and the spears crumbled—dust beneath defiance.

“To assume that strength—real strength—must be copied, stolen, imitated... is the thinking of a man too afraid to imagine that someone simply outgrew him.”

He took a step.

Then another.

And the wounds? Gone.

The muscles in his jaw pulsed. His teeth ground against each other.

“Now listen, I’ve met a lot of people,” he muttered, spitting to the side. “Women. Men. Trash who thought they were strong. Strong people who were worse than trash.”

He looked up again—eyes reddened, breath sharp.

“But you… there’s something about your voice that makes me want to rip my own skin off. It’s not just that you think you're better…”

His fingers curled into fists.

“It’s that when I hear you talk—I feel like I’m already beneath your feet.”

Shadow’s eyes glinted.

He didn’t blink.

“If I looked down on you,” he said calmly, “we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

He stepped forward again—closer. Still casual. Still composed. Like the battlefield was a quiet room, and they were just… speaking.

Then he lifted his hand once more—open-palmed, fingers slightly curled. An offer. A test.

“Tell me something,” he said, voice dipped in honest curiosity. “How did you survive it? The Atomic burn. The reversal. The entropy. So tell me…”

A pause.

“…how did you do it?”

Regulus stared.

A flicker of something—confusion, revulsion, something bordering fear—passed over his face.

And then he laughed. Low. Bitter.

“You’re insane.”

His smile was crooked, like a crack down the side of porcelain.

“I have no idea what kind of self-fellating nonsense you’re talking about.”

His lip curled.

“But if you mean this—” he slapped a fist to his chest “—this Authority, this divine reflection of my will…”

“I didn’t earn it. I didn’t train for it. I didn’t beg.”

He sneered.

“I acquired it.”

His eyes burned with violent certainty.

“Because it was mine to begin with.”

Silence fell.

Can’t believe I almost ranked this piece of shit with Subaru and the Sword Saint. I’m not even mad at him—just at myself for the delusion.

The battlefield, cracked and bruised by titanic wills, suddenly held its breath.

Regulus’ final declaration—arrogant, absolute—hung in the air like the echo of a slamming iron gate.

Shadow’s gaze didn’t waver.

“…I see,” he said.

And then—

He vanished.

In the next instant, the air behind Regulus warped—twisted by raw malice given form. A presence like the chill of death pressed against the back of Regulus’ neck, and his instincts screamed.

His head snapped around—

—but it was already too late.

Shadow was there.

Closer than close.

“So you’re just another piece of garbage,” he murmured, his voice a calm, cutting whisper laced with disgust, “wrapped in a gold bag.”

Then his fist moved.

BOOM.

The sound shattered the silence—like thunder detonated point-blank.

Lived by the asspulls, now die by 'em bitch.

Shadow’s punch landed square on Regulus’ face with such devastating force that time seemed to stutter. The impact echoed like the roar of a falling mountain.

Regulus was gone.

No graceful arc, no scream.

Just obliterated from view, catapulted like a ragdoll fired from a cannon, crashing through air, stone, and sky—launched across the landscape of Lugunica with enough force to level villages in his path.

The ground tore apart in the wake of the blow—a line of destruction cleaved straight through hills, forests, and sky-bound debris.

Dust billowed. The earth trembled.

And Shadow stood still, his arm lowering, breath steady.

Not gonna lie, I totally copied the Sword Saint’s punch—hit so good, I had to share the love.

A beat passed.

From the side, Delta who was near Subaru watched all that.

The feral woman crouched, muscle taut, claws flexed, ready to pounce.

But before she could move—

Shadow’s voice cut through the aftermath like a frozen blade.

“Don’t.”

His eyes never left the horizon—the path of ruin left by his strike.

“He’ll come back.”

Notes:

Madness returns boys, Shadow’s back, we’re hyped, and he’s absolutely not. Shadow vs Regulus: Greed vs Pride, chaos vs ego, peak potential. I tried to keep it in-character. Shadow ain’t diving in without studying Regulus’ busted toolkit. And their dialogue might hit harder than the punches lol

Yeah, Regulus got tossed by Shadow and Delta, but that’s just what happens when he let's his guard down. Still took zero damage, so calm down, fanboys.

Next chapter’s gonna be even more unhinged, and no, it’s not just about Regulus and Shadow. Buckle up.

Chapter 31: The Last, Unforgivable Sin

Notes:

Apologies for my one-month radio silence. My brain goes on strike under pressure, so I just… didn't. Let's just say Regulus has been in flight from that punch for four entire weeks. My bad.

Somewhere far away...
The swordsmith shop was quiet, save for the faint clang of metal from the forge in the back.

A young man stood by the display, his blue eyes sharp as they traced the blade before him. His dark-blue hair, tied messily into a ponytail, swayed slightly as he tilted his head. The sleeves of his kimono brushed against the wooden counter as he pointed at the sword.

"This one," he said, voice smooth but firm. "It’s overpriced."

The swordsmith, a burly man with soot-stained hands, wiped his brow. His smile was strained.

"Respectfully, sir, this blade is highly sought after by Kararagi merchants. The craftsmanship—"

The young man cut him off with a flick of his wrist. "The balance is off. The tang’s too thin for the weight. It’ll snap under real pressure."

His finger tapped the hilt. "And the hamon? Artificial. Forged in a day, not folded."

The swordsmith’s face paled. His fingers twitched.

"I—I assure you, the steel is—"

"Cheap," the young man finished. He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a murmur. "You’re charging for a name, not quality."

The swordsmith hesitated, lips parting as he tried to defend his pride and work.

“I don’t think you understand the—”

The young man raised a single finger, calm but commanding. His blue eyes narrowed slightly, no longer focused on the sword.

“Shh.”

The room fell still.

He tilted his head. Smirked.

“…Something’s coming,” he said softly, as if amused by a private joke. “From Lugunica.”

The swordsmith blinked. “What…?”

The young man didn’t answer. His eyes—sharp and knowing—drifted toward the horizon beyond the cracked windows of the shop.

“Could it be…” he murmured, thoughtful, “Reinhard?”

A beat.

Then he chuckled. “No… no, of course not.”

The air felt heavier.

“He isn't able to step foot into Vollachia right now."

He turned slightly toward the stunned swordsmith, a glint of warning in his eye.

“I suggest,” he said, as if offering a casual favor, “you move a bit to the left.”

The swordsmith stared at him, puzzled. “Why wou—”

CRASH.

Before he could finish, the wall behind him exploded in a maelstrom of stone, wood, and shrapnel.

Debris shot through the air like bullets. The ceiling groaned. Smoke and dust rushed in like a storm unleashed.

The swordsmith was flung aside with a yelp, narrowly avoiding the full brunt of the destruction—right where he had been standing.

Coughing, eyes wide in disbelief, he looked up through the settling haze.

And saw him.

Regulus.

Dragging himself upright from the crater he’d made in the center of the ruined forge, his face twisted with seething rage.

His voice came out brittle, trembling with fury barely contained.

“Again…”

He staggered, then stood fully, trembling from head to toe—not from pain, but from humiliation.

“Again…!!”

He looked up, eyes wild.

“Why—why is everyone always against me? Always questioning me? Judging me—!”

He pointed toward the horizon he’d been sent flying from, spittle flying from his lips.

“That… thing… dares to talk down to me?! To strike me?! ME?!”

The young man didn’t flinch. He stood at the edge of the wreckage, arms folded, unbothered. Watching.

“...So,” he said coolly, “you flew all this way without a ticket. Must’ve been one hell of a attack.”

Regulus’ eyes locked onto the young man standing at the edge of the ruined forge. His breath hitched, seething through clenched teeth.

“Shut up!” he roared.

With a vicious swipe of his arm, he flung a chunk of shattered debris toward the blue-haired stranger. It tore through the air, stone screaming—

—but the young man was no longer there.

In a blink, he was several feet to the left, one foot lightly tapping the ground, his hands still in his sleeves, gaze tilted upward with idle curiosity.

“Huh,” he said, as if genuinely perplexed. “I wonder who threw you all the way here?”

Regulus snarled and lunged forward, his Authority igniting, air warping with malice. But before he could strike, the young man lifted a finger.

“Could be Reinhard,” he mused aloud, head tilting left, then right like a child weighing options. “But no… no, I get the feeling it was someone else.”

Regulus’ swing tore through the air—but met nothing. The blue-haired stranger had ducked effortlessly, back bending like water.

Then, as if bored with his own thoughts, the young man suddenly huffed.

“Why does Lugunica get all the best opponents?” he pouted, lips curling into a fake frown. “Not fair.”

His little tantrum was cut short when Regulus' eyes narrowed with cunning. Slowly, he turned toward the cowering swordsmith—still alive, barely, crawling away in terror.

A wicked grin spread across Regulus' face.

With a flick of his wrist, several jagged stones shot toward the swordsmith.

The young man’s eyes darted toward the motion—too late.

KRKSHH!

The rocks struck home.

The swordsmith collapsed, breath catching mid-scream. Silence followed, blood pooling beneath him.

Regulus sneered in triumph, eyes sliding back toward the stranger.

But the young man simply stared down at the corpse for a beat, blinking once.

“…Ah,” he muttered. “This scenario’s too good for me to ignore anyway.”

Then his voice dropped into something darker—too calm, too smooth.

“It’s only fair I play my part too.”

Regulus’ lip curled, spittle flying as he jabbed a trembling finger toward the stranger.

“You… you arrogant pretender! Do you really think you can stand there and lecture me? A nobody… a worm—talking down as if you matter? You’re filth. A speck. A FRAUD!”

His foot slammed against the shattered ground with a thunderous crack. The earth split, stone and dust erupting upward from the force of his Authority-charged stomp.

But the young man didn’t flinch.

In the instant the quake rippled outward—he was gone.

The next heartbeat, he was there. Right in front of Regulus. So close that their breaths collided in the dust-choked air.

His sudden presence hit like an executioner’s verdict. No warning, no killing intent telegraphed beforehand. Unlike Shadow, whose aura bled menace long before his strikes, this boy’s intent was a void—silent, hidden—until it was already too late.

Regulus’ pupils shrank as he didn't have enough time to even process what was happening.

SWOOSH!

The blade glided through the air in a perfect, singular arc—not guided by strength, but by absurd, terrifying precision.

A cleave of pure cutting intent.

A howling wind tore through the forge and beyond—splitting through walls, hills, trees, sky. It was like a divine stroke of judgment, clean and effortless.

Regulus was thrown back again—his body sent crashing through the remains of a kiln, out into the street, ricocheting down the dirt road like a stone skipping on water.

The young man exhaled softly.

Then he looked down.

The sword in his hand was split—cracked straight through the middle, the edge trembling before crumbling into brittle chunks.

He stared at it, brows furrowed slightly.

“Tch,” he said. “Should’ve known. Couldn’t even take one real swing.”

He dropped the hilt. It clattered against the ground.

Then his eyes flicked toward the direction Regulus had vanished in.

“…But if that guy came out of an attack like that without a scratch,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, “I guess he’ll be fine  with my attack too.”

A pause.

Then his eyes landed on the swordsmith again—still sprawled, lifeless.

His eyes widened slightly.

“…Shit,” he said, voice more boyish now. “When did he die?”

He crouched beside the body and poked the man’s shoulder once, then twice.

No reaction.

He sighed, ruffling his own hair.

“Well, now I feel kinda bad.”

He stood up again.

“But I did say to move to the left…”

With Shadow...
In the sky—a silver blur carved across the clouds like a meteor off-course.

Thump.

Regulus' palm pressed flat to his chest.

Right over his heart.

“…Tch,” he clicked his tongue, face wincing. “If I’d been thrown any farther than this, things would’ve gotten messy."

His eyes narrowed, golden irises flaring like suns in miniature.

He glanced down.

Below him, a dark sea of swaying trees stretched endlessly—the outer edges of the Roswaal Domain. The vibrant green tops now loomed closer, the result of his slowing momentum.

The ground was no longer a blur—he could see individual leaves.

His head turned.

High above, still as death and twice as patient—

Shadow.

Floating effortlessly in the sky, cloak drifting lazily behind him, arms at his sides, gaze as cold and constant as the moon.

Waiting.

Watching.

He even found a way back to me through pure, unadulterated plot armor.

Regulus grit his teeth. Something inside him snarled.

“If it’s madness you want…” he growled. “Then so be it.”

The wind howled.

With barely a moment to spare, Regulus extended his hand and caught the tip of a towering pine—one of the ancient trees of the domain. The wood screamed beneath the pressure, snapping and groaning.

And then—his Authority surged.

His dominion laced through bark and sap, rewriting the tree’s very essence.

Roots yanked themselves free from the ground like the limbs of a waking beast.

With one brutal twist of his body, Regulus spun midair—dragging the colossal tree with him in a wide, death-dealing arc.

The roots howled. Earth tore. Entire groves were ripped away as the momentum built into a monstrous swing.

WHOOSH—

A sonic boom detonated as the tree, now a weapon baptized in Authority, swung toward Shadow like a titan’s scythe. Trees exploded in its path. The wind cried. The very sky seemed to recoil from the violence.

"Let’s see if you can float through this, you smug bastard!!” Regulus roared, veins bulging, Authority warping the air around him like heat over flame.

The tree’s roots lashed out, charged with divine energy, distorting the atmosphere with sheer presence.

THUD—

The crater marked his landing. Dirt split open like a wound, and stone shattered beneath the weight of his impact. The forest floor convulsed under the force, roots curling away from the shockwave. Birds scattered in a frenzied exodus above.

Regulus stood in the center. Around him, the aftermath stretched like a scar across the landscape.

His fingers clenched. His teeth ground together.

“All these violations in just under 30 minutes,” he growled. “And for what?”

A shadow passed over him.

Regulus’ instincts screamed.

He looked up—

And Shadow was there.

No fanfare. No noise. No motion.

Just there, in front of him—closer than ever.

His hood loomed like a veil of night, and his presence soaked the air in tension so thick it coiled in Regulus’ lungs like poison.

Regulus’ pupils shrank.

“…So,” he sneered, voice trembling with a mix of disdain and alarm. “You do get it. You’re starting to understand. You can’t just kill me, can you?”

The corner of Shadow’s lip curled slightly beneath the mask—whether in amusement or mockery, it was impossible to tell.

His voice was low. Cold.

“Who said I didn’t know how to defeat you?”

Knowing this guy can't be taken out with a simple stab opens up some seriously wild possibilities. A mad scientist persona would have a field day, but that's not Shadow’s vibe. I'll just pick the most badass option and handle it.

Regulus blinked. What?

The air cracked—too late.

Shadow surged forward—a blur of void and violence. The cape whipped forward like a lash, trailing behind—

Too close.

Regulus lunged—not back, but forward.

His fingers snagged the edge of the dark, undulating cape.

With a roar, Regulus twisted his body and slammed Shadow into the ground with titanic force.

CRACK!

The earth buckled. Debris exploded outward in a ring. Birds scattered from miles away.

Regulus stood above the crater, chest heaving, Authority still crackling in the air around him like a storm held in place.

He laughed—short, sharp, triumphant.

“Well?” he barked. “How’s it feel? Huh!? To be toyed with like this?”

But then—

Movement.

No… not movement.

Melting.

The figure beneath him… was dripping.

A liquid hiss echoed in the crater.

Shadow’s form began to collapse—arms folding in, legs dissolving into dark ooze.

Just… slime.

A decoy.

Regulus’ smile vanished.

His eyes widened.

“…That was—”

His voice dropped, cold and rattled.

“—a decoy.”

Regulus whirled around—

And froze.

In the trees.

Movement.

Not the wind.

Not an animal.

Him.

Shadow.

Gliding between trunks like a whisper, slipping from one stretch of darkness to another. His form never truly stepping into the light—only flashing in and out of visibility, a silhouette dancing between shadows cast by the twisted canopy.

Then—

Another.

To the left.

Then the right.

Three.

Four.

Five.

All of them Shadow.

Or perhaps one—just impossibly fast, slipping around him in a perfect, predatory circle.

Charging him just triggers his asspull moves. Not worth the aura drain. Gotta wait for the perfect moment to strike.

Regulus’ pupils dilated. The air felt too thin. His skin itched, like his nerves were being peeled.

He snarled, baring his teeth.
“Don’t think you can run from this.” His voice cracked with rage. “You don’t get to vanish after all this.”

His hands dropped—slammed into the dirt.

BOOM.

The ground trembled from the sheer weight of his Authority pouring into the earth.

Then—

Thump.

His heart.

Thump.

Faster now. Harder.

His back arched as blood burst from his lips, dark and steaming as it hit the soil. Veins in his forehead pulsed like live wires.

But he didn’t falter.

Instead, his voice rose in a guttural, warped growl.

“Come then, you elusive bastard—let me show you what true territory means!”

The wind stopped.

The trees groaned.

Then—

BOOOOOM!

The earth convulsed.

A quake exploded outward from Regulus like a divine heartbeat.

Everything within a hundred-meter radius buckled—trees snapped in half, roots tore free, rocks shattered like glass. The landscape rippled as if struck by a god’s hammer. Birds didn’t fly—they fell from the sky, wings trembling in shock.

Cracks split the ground like lightning scars, rivers of energy glowing beneath the surface.

The author is either obsessed with this guy or just hates me bruh. Next he’ll hurl a meteor, say "bet you want another," and yeet a second one.

Regulus roared as the shockwave reached its apex, arms shaking from the force funneled through them.

Around him, a perfect ring of absolute devastation.

With Subaru...
The wind rustled the grass as Subaru made his way through the dense forest path, the distant sounds of destruction still rumbling like aftershocks in his bones. He was heading toward the village, cautious with every step—his nerves frayed thin. The air reeked of ozone and splintered wood. Somewhere, far behind the tree line, Regulus and that masked monster were tearing the world apart.

He didn’t want to go back. But he had to.

The villagers. The mansion. Emilia. Everyone.

A faint crack of branches—his head snapped up.

“Subaru!”

He froze.

That voice—soft, trembling, breathless. He turned.

Emilia.

She stood there, just beyond the trees, clutching a branch for balance. Her silver hair was a mess, strands clinging to her cheeks. Her breath came in sharp gasps, as if she’d run through the entire forest to get here.

“Emilia-tan! You—are you okay?” he asked, hurrying to her side, concern flashing across his face.

Emilia nodded quickly, still panting. “Y-Yeah… I’m fine. I’m fine…”

Without thinking, Subaru took her hand.

“Then we need to go. Now. It’s not safe here, you don’t know what’s happening—” He tugged her gently.

But she didn’t move.

“…Emilia-tan?”

“I… I went to the village,” she said quietly, her eyes not meeting his. “Wilhelm and others are holding off the cultists. They told me to find you. Told me you went into the forest alone with Delta.”

Subaru grimaced, jaw tightening. “Yeah, well… they shouldn’t have. There’s nothing any of us can do right now.”

He turned, motioning to the distant roar that cracked the sky.

“That thing… Shadow… and the other one—they're monsters, Emilia. Literal monsters. They’re not something any of us can stop.”

He felt her hand tighten around his.

“Subaru,” she asked softly, “Are you… scared?”

That question caught him off guard.

His eyes widened just slightly, and he looked at her—really looked at her.

And for a second, he couldn’t answer. Couldn’t lie, couldn’t joke, couldn’t even deflect.

Emilia blinked at his silence. She studied him for a long moment, then lowered her eyes.

“I know you’re a bit reckless,” she whispered. “You always jump in to help people, no matter how much it hurts. That’s the Subaru I… know.”

She hesitated, voice trembling slightly.

“But back in the capital… when you stood before those nobles… and now here, standing in front of a battlefield of monsters...”

Her violet eyes locked onto his with quiet sorrow.

“I don’t know anymore,” she whispered. “Which Subaru to believe in. The reckless one who always knows what to do… or the one who hides everything with a smile so no one has to worry.”

Subaru stared at her—heart pounding.

He had no answer.

Only silence… and the echo of destruction in the distance.

His throat tightened, as if her words had wrapped themselves around it, cutting off the air. Emilia was right. And that made it worse.

He had thought about running.

In those terrifying moments when he repeatedly died and he almost turned back. Almost ran. Almost abandoned it all. Because what could he do?

He wasn’t Reinhard.
He wasn’t Lucien.
He wasn’t even Wilhelm.

He was just Subaru Natsuki.

The boy who screamed loud enough, hurt long enough, died enough times to claw out a win by inches. And now—now the staircase kept going up, step after impossible step, with monsters like Regulus Corneas and walking nightmares like that thing in the cloak standing between him and peace.

He clenched his fists.

“I don’t know,” he whispered.

Emilia blinked, caught off guard.

“I don’t know who I’m supposed to be right now,” Subaru continued, voice low and uneven. “I want to be the guy who always finds a way. The guy who saves everyone. Who smiles, even when it hurts."

The forest creaked around them as the distant aftershocks of divine power trembled through the trees like dying echoes.

“I almost ran,” he admitted. "I’ll fail again. And this time…"

Emilia’s grip on his hand tightened.

He looked at her, eyes raw, vulnerable.

“But I didn’t,” he said.

“I didn’t run.”

“I don’t even know why. Maybe it’s because I’m stupid. Maybe because I still think I can change things. Or maybe…”

He trailed off, gaze dropping.

“…Maybe because I’m more afraid of something else.”

Emilia tilted her head. “More afraid than dying?”

Subaru nodded slowly.

“I’m afraid of… not getting to live in the world where you smile again. I’m scared of never making it to the version of this life where we can all just… breathe. Laugh. Be safe.”

He looked back at her, eyes trembling.

“I want that world, Emilia. With you in it. I don’t care how far the stairs go—I’ll keep climbing. Even if it breaks me.”

A long silence stretched between them. Just the wind and the soft rustle of leaves.

Then—

Emilia stepped forward.

And hugged him.

No words. No conditions. Just warmth.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him in gently but firmly, like she was afraid if she let go, he might shatter.

His breath hitched.

His arms slowly, hesitantly wrapped around her.

In that moment, Subaru didn’t feel like a hero. Didn’t feel brave. Didn’t feel strong.

He just felt human.

“…I’m scared too,” Emilia whispered against his shoulder.

And that made it okay.

They stood there, the chaos rumbling in the distance, shadows circling and monsters clashing far away—but here, in this one fragile clearing between the trees, two broken hearts shared a fragile moment of peace.

Until—

A howl.

Inhuman.

The sky above them fractured—as if a god had screamed through the clouds.

Subaru turned, eyes wide.

A howl tore through the forest—high-pitched, inhuman, the sound of something that shouldn’t exist. The sky above twisted, clouds spiraling unnaturally as if some divine mouth had screamed open a crack in reality.

Subaru’s breath caught in his throat.

“—MOVE!”

Emilia’s voice rang out, desperate.

Before he could react, she threw herself into him, slamming him sideways just as—

CRACK—CRASH—BOOM!

A barrage of jagged stones tore through the trees like cannonballs, pulverizing trunks and reducing everything in their path to splinters.

They hit the ground hard—Subaru groaning beneath Emilia’s weight, the world spinning. Leaves and dirt rained down over them, and somewhere in the dust-choked air, a familiar, smug voice rang out.

“Is it in your nature,” Regulus sneered,
“to hide behind every woman that exists?”

Subaru’s body froze. His ears rang, vision still reeling, but the voice pierced through everything.

From the smoke and shattered earth, Regulus emerged—untouched, spotless, his white garments fluttering behind him like the robes of a deranged god. His golden eyes glared with pure disdain, glowing against the ruin.

“The other one ran off mid-fight like the phantom he is,” he spat. “So I might as well end what I started with you.”

He stepped forward, slowly, deliberately.

Subaru tried to move—but Emilia was faster.

She rose, arms outstretched, standing protectively in front of him.

“Don’t,” she said firmly, voice trembling but resolute. “You’re not getting past me.”

“Emilia-tan—!” Subaru gasped, trying to get up.

But she didn’t budge.

“Run.”

Her voice cracked. “You have to run, Subaru. Please.”

Subaru stared at her back—small, shaking, but unmoving.

His chest tightened. That old, awful feeling—the one where everyone tried to protect him. Where they stood between him and death. Where he ran and they paid the price.

He hated that feeling.

He clenched his fists.

“I can’t,” he said quietly.

“I’m not running. Not this time.”

Regulus didn’t wait.

A blur of white, and then—

SLASH—!

Blood sprayed across the air as Emilia’s scream ripped through the forest. She staggered, clutching her side, crimson spilling between her fingers.

“Emilia—!” Subaru’s cry cracked, his body frozen for a heartbeat too long. His heart lurched as she fell to one knee, breath shuddering, her pale skin already losing color.

Regulus exhaled sharply, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. “Hmph. Now you see. I strike, and everyone insists on acting as if I’m the monster. It’s always the same. You make me the villain, you force me into these situations, and then you dare to treat me as though I asked for it.” His tone rose, venom dripping with every word. “I have never once been in the wrong. Not once. It’s you—always you—who drive me to this!”

His rant faded into the background as Subaru scrambled to Emilia’s side, his knees slamming into the dirt.

“Emilia, no, no, no—!” He slid his arms under her, lifting her against his chest. His hands pressed desperately against the wound, hot blood soaking through his fingers. “Stay with me—please, please! You can’t—don’t leave me—!” His voice cracked, sobs choking every word.

Her lips trembled, a pained smile barely forming. “S…Subaru. You… have to run…”

“No! Shut up, don’t say that—”

His palms shook where they pressed to her. And then—he felt it.

Her body—cooler than it should be. A frost, subtle but creeping, seeping through his skin. His breath caught as a faint light shimmered across her skin—her Glintstone gem pulsing faintly, casting an eerie glow through the blood and dirt. The chill crawled up his fingers, gnawing at his skin until pain lanced through his hand.

He yanked it back instinctively, gasping as his fingertips glistened with rime. His chest hollowed with dread.

“…No. No no no no.”

Her body trembled in his arms, her voice barely audible. “Go… please… run…”

Subaru’s eyes widened in terror, because he knew what was coming.

If she slipped any further—if her heart gave in—Puck would wake.

And everything—everything—would end.

“Nothing,” Regulus’ voice cut back in, harsh and cold, “about this pitiful farce is written in my Gospel. Nothing at all. Which means it is beneath me, irrelevant, an ugly little accident I must clean up myself.” His teeth bared, eyes glowing with a cruel finality. “So let’s wrap this up.”

The air itself seemed to warp—until a new voice bled through.

Low. Cold. Endless.

“Is that so?”

The ground shuddered.

A shadow stretched unnaturally across the broken trees—long, fluid, slithering forward like liquid ink across the ground. From its center, he rose.

Shadow.

He wasn’t walking—he glided forward, like reality itself warped to let him pass. His hood shimmered with a faint violet gleam. Black mist coiled around him, trailing off like a storm made flesh.

Right. Emilia's down, I can feel Puck powering up for his main character moment, Greed is pissed and about to pull some nonsense, I'm doing my whole Shadow thing while Delta and Ram are butchering all the cultists, and Subaru's just waiting to drop the act. Oh, I can already sense the Sword Saint inbound. This is premium chaos. Sensational. Would not recommend to anyone beside myself.

Regulus stepped back instinctively, brows knitting together in disgust.

“Tch. Can’t you behave like a proper man?”
he growled. “Face me directly for once instead of playing phantom.”

Shadow stopped a few paces away.

He tilted his head.

“A proper man?”

The voice was calm, distorted—like it was being spoken through an old radio. “Is that what you think you are?”

Regulus’ lip curled in disgust as he stretched his arm outward. His hand brushed against the trunk of a massive pine. With no more effort than flicking away a speck of dust, he pressed his fingers into the bark.

CRACK—SNAP—RRRIP!

The roots tore free from the earth in a violent spray of dirt and stone as Regulus wrenched the entire tree from the ground, dragging it up like it weighed nothing.

“You see? Not once have you ever comforted me. Not once have you ever spoken to me as an equal. No—your first instinct is always insult, mockery, dismissal!” His voice rose into a fevered pitch, spittle flying as his eyes bulged. “You belittle me—and then dare to stand before me as though you are righteous?!”

With a roar, he hurled the tree.

WHOOOOOSH—CRASHHHH!

The massive trunk hurtled through the air, splitting the wind, smashing toward the shadowy figure.

Shadow did not move.

The tree struck—splintering into a thunderous explosion of wood and dust. BOOOM—KRRRSHHHH!

But when the cloud settled, the dark figure still stood there. Unscathed. Not even a tilt of his head—only black mist curling lazily around him, the shattered trunk scattered at his feet.

Regulus snarled, veins bulging at his temple. He slammed his hand to the earth.

RUMMMBLE—CRACKKKK!

The ground split open, stone grinding against stone as he wrenched a colossal boulder from the dirt. Pebbles and soil showered down as he raised it high, his voice shrieking.

“And you think that makes you strong?! You attacked me without warning! Like a coward! That is the truth of you—you creep in shadows, you strike unseen, and you dare to call me unworthy?!”

With a heave, he flung the boulder.

WHHHHHRRRRRR—BOOOOOOM!

The colossal stone tore through the air, a mountain aimed to crush.

Shadow moved.

Not with panic—not with fear. He slipped aside, his form dissolving into black haze for an instant, gliding past the path of destruction. The boulder obliterated the earth where he had stood.

KRRRRRRAAASSSHHHH—!

Chunks of stone screamed as they split apart, the impact sending a shockwave tearing through the forest.

Regulus’ teeth ground together. His breath came sharp and quick, every syllable venomous.

“Now look at you! Hiding. Dodging. Dancing like a worm!” He blurred forward—his steps like white lightning. SLASHHH—CRACKK—BOOM! His arms swung in brutal arcs, invisible blades tearing trees apart, cleaving stone, splitting air itself.

Shadow’s voice slithered through the wreckage, low and cutting.
“You whine about comfort… as if the world ever owed you kindness.”

He tilted his head, a cold smirk tugging at his lips. “Why should I comfort you, Greed… when I can break you without even laying a hand on you?”

Alright, let's yeet this theory into the universe and see what sticks.

Regulus’ teeth gnashed, veins pulsing at his temples. “Stop bluffing, bastard! You think empty words make you strong?!”

He swept his arm through the rubble, jagged shards of stone trembling with power as his Authority wrapped around them, filling them with his untouchable presence. With a furious roar, he hurled them forward.

“DIE HIDING LIKE THE WORM YOU ARE!”

Shadow didn’t flinch. His smirk deepened.
“…That’s exactly what I predicted.”

He crossed his arms—calm, almost amused—as a ripple of darkness split open in front of him. A swirling void yawning wide, swallowing the incoming barrage whole. The stones vanished into its depths without a sound.

Regulus froze, eyes widening. “What—!?”

Shadow’s voice echoed from the mist.
“About time someone tasted their own medicine.”

Another ripple cracked reality behind Regulus. His instincts screamed, and he twisted just as the stones re-emerged from the void—hurtling toward his back like executioner’s blades.

Untouchable body, unstoppable attack. The ultimate paradox. Let them connect and see what the universe does.

They struck—yet no sound of tearing flesh came. Instead, they bounced lifelessly to the dirt, skittering uselessly across the ground.

Regulus’ golden eyes narrowed. For a second, genuine shock flickered across his face. Then—he barked out a laugh, manic and sharp, his chest heaving.

“Pathetic! You thought my Authority could be turned against me? Fool! Even in your tricks, even in your cowardice, you can’t touch me! Not one scratch!” He spread his arms, triumphant, basking in his own invincibility. “I am unassailable!”

Shadow’s smirk didn’t fade.
“…Then perhaps,” he murmured darkly, “you should look at yourself a little closer.”

Regulus’ grin faltered. His gaze dropped—

—and his breath caught.

A gaping hole stared back at him from his stomach. No blood. No pain. Just emptiness. A clean absence, as if a piece of reality itself had been carved out and erased.

“What—” His voice cracked. “What is this…?”

He staggered back, staring at the impossible void in his own body, right where the stones where supposed to hit him. His Authority still thrummed in the air, intact, but it meant nothing against what he saw. It wasn’t a wound. It wasn’t damage. It was nothingness.

A paradox that mocked his very existence.

And for Regulus—untouchable, absolute—nothing hurt more than the sight of his own perfection defiled.

His knees buckled. He fell, trembling, choking on a disbelief he couldn’t reason away.

I had a million scenarios in my head, including just nuking the whole continent. But some dudes would still call that an asspull. So we're going with this one—it's basically asspull vs. asspull but no one can complain since it's a paradox and blah blah blah...

Shadow watched, silent and still. Only the mist stirred, curling like laughter around his feet.

Shadow’s gaze shifted. Slowly. Smoothly. Like liquid ice, it turned toward Subaru.

Subaru froze. His chest heaving, every breath jagged and uneven as he had witnessed all that.

He didn’t know what to feel. Fear. Anger. Helplessness. Confusion. It all collided inside him, a storm he couldn’t control.

Emilia. Her blood. Her warmth fading into cold. Her lips trembling. She was slipping away.

Regulus. Once untouchable, unshakable. Kneeling. Broken. The perfect man undone before his eyes. A monster humbled, and yet still terrifying in his fury.

The forest. Shattered. Twisted. The air itself seemed to scream, yet no one else was there to hear it. Everything was chaos.

Shadow. Calm. Immovable. Dangerous. Watching him now, Subaru knew instinctively that this figure could kill him with ease. Or worse—play with him.

Madness. That was what this was. Nothing made sense anymore. Reality itself was cracking. His life, the people he cared about, the world—it was all spiraling.

Subaru felt small. Weak. Like an ant beneath a wildfire, praying the flames would ignore him.

But he knew better. There was no mercy here.

And then—Shadow vanished. Just like that. Gone.

Silence.

A breath.

A blink.

And he was looking at Subaru.

“Isn’t it about time,” Shadow said, voice low and crackling through the static,
“…you show yourself?”

Alright, time to cancel the cap. Subaru needs to unlock his main character energy right the hell now.

Subaru flinched.

Subaru’s legs buckled slightly. He stumbled forward, trying to walk but nearly collapsing. Each step was heavy, like his body didn’t want to obey.

Shadow remained still.

“I know what you are,” Shadow said, his masked face turned toward Subaru. “And I know the power you hide… behind that terrified little heartbeat.”

Subaru’s eyes shot open wide.

“…What?” he rasped. “How do you… how do you know that?”

Shadow didn’t answer.

Instead, Regulus groaned in irritation. His anger returned, venomous.

“Enough,” Regulus growled in his kness. “If someone like me is going down the I'm taking all of you with me.”

Shadow ignored him.

He turned, tilting his head slightly again—fixing Subaru in that cold, unwavering gaze.

“Do it,” Shadow said simply.

Two words.
Heavy as fate.

Subaru’s breath caught in his throat.

His hands trembled.

“I… I don’t know what to do,” he whispered, looking at Emilia, then back at Shadow. “I can’t. I don’t even know if I—if I’m supposed to…”

Shadow was silent for a moment.

Then—

“Very well.”

From his right hand, the air pulsed—and a sword began to form, not forged but grown—a weapon of writhing, shifting black slime, twisting and reshaping as if made from liquid shadow. Its edge hissed like acid, humming with restrained malice.

Subaru stepped back, panicked.

In an instant—BOOM.

Shadow vanished—

—and reappeared right in front of Subaru, sword raised—

Not to strike.

But to aim.

And from it, he directed a wave of bloodlust so fierce, so raw, it was as if every cell in Subaru’s body screamed survive. The pressure hit him like gravity reversed—choking, crushing, real.

His knees gave out.

His fingers clawed the ground.

His mind screamed.

“—AAAAAGH!!”

The world blurred—his vision filled with warped images: Emilia and Lucien dying, Rem fading, Beatrice burning, his friends falling, over and over, loop after loop—

And in the middle of it all… his own face.

Torn.

Crying.

Weak.

Shadow stood above him, unmoved. The sword hummed at Subaru’s throat.

I'll just gaslight him into thinking I'm about to unalive him and let the algorithm do its thing.

“This is your truth,” Shadow said, voice emotionless.

“Now. Choose.”

...

Darkness.

Thick. Oppressive. Absolute.

Subaru’s scream was swallowed whole as his eyes slammed shut—and when they opened again…

He was somewhere else.

Everything was black.

A hazy, unending fog crawled along the jagged ground like slow, dying breath. The air reeked of dust and something older—something rotten, like time itself had decayed here.

He blinked.

His breath hitched.

Lying in front of him, half-buried in the dirt, was a skeleton. Its limbs were twisted as if it had tried to claw its way free before it collapsed. A rusted chain dangled from one wrist, disappearing into the dark.

“…Wh… what is this place?” Subaru muttered.

His voice echoed. Warped. Like it was being heard through a dream that had forgotten how to end.

He looked around—frantic. Shadows loomed and twisted in the mist, but there were no walls, no sky. Only void.

Then—

A voice.

Low. Feminine. Velvet wrapped in ice.

“I won’t let him harm you.”

Subaru froze.

He spun around—

And there she stood.

A woman draped in a flowing black dress, her entire form veiled in sheer darkness. Her face was obscured—only the outline of pale lips and hollowed eyes barely visible through the mourning cloth.

Time stilled.

His eyes widened.

“You…” he whispered, stumbling backward. Then he pointed at her, trembling.

“It’s you.”

His voice cracked with rage.

“It’s all your fault! Everything that’s happened to me… it started with you!”

The veiled woman remained still.

But her voice returned—gentle, devoted.

“I love you. More deeply than you can understand.”

“SHUT UP!!”

He clutched his ears, shouting.

“Stop saying that! Stop talking like that! Just let me go! Just let me be alone!!”

His voice shattered in the silence.

The woman did not move.

Only her voice—soft, now fragile—cut through the stillness again.

“If I don’t help you now… you’ll never return.”

Subaru’s breath caught.

He dropped his hands, staring at her with bitter eyes.

“Your help?” he spat.

He stepped forward, fists clenched.

“You call this love? Watching me die again and again while you whisper sweet nothings? Watching everyone I care about suffer… burn… fade? And you do nothing?”

He shook his head.

“One more death won’t change anything now.”

There was silence.

Then—

“Not by him,” the woman said, suddenly colder.

“Not by that anomaly.”

Subaru blinked.

His rage wavered—confusion slipping in.

“…What are you saying?”

She took one step forward.

“That thing… should not exist. It was never meant to touch you.”

“I cannot love you anymore if he harms you.”

Her words dripped with a hatred that sent ice into his bones.

Subaru’s breath stopped.

His eyes widened—horrified recognition dawning in his soul.

He finally understood the twisted truth:

That presence—Shadow—was outside the loop. Beyond the rules.

If it killed him…

There would be no restart.

No retry.

No salvation.

Just nothing.

Erasure.

Oblivion.

He collapsed to his knees.

The fog curled tighter.

And behind the veil, the woman watched him.

“You are mine,” she whispered.

A sharp sound—crack.
Then another—CRRRK.

From deep within Subaru’s chest, something moved.

Shadow’s blade—mere inches from Subaru’s throat—suddenly halted.

SNAP!

A hand, pitch-black and clawed, burst forth from Subaru’s heart like it had torn through a wall of flesh and reality itself.

It wasn’t human. It wasn’t even mortal.

It gripped the edge of Shadow’s living sword—and the weapon screamed.

Hissing like a beast in agony, the shadow-sword melted into dripping sludge, black and steaming, as if caught in divine acid. It dissolved into nothing.

Shadow jumped back immediately.

“…Impossible,” he muttered.

Whoah, he's going full grotesque. Not hating it, just didn't see that vibe coming.

A beat. Then—

“Delta.”

Shadow’s voice rang like a command to the world itself.

BOOM.

The air split.

And she was there.

Delta appeared in an instant before Emilia, grinning wide with feral teeth. Her eyes gleamed with hunger, even as her arms snapped forward—catching Emilia from the ground.

"Found you~!" Delta sang, her voice gleeful.

Delta launched herself backward, leaping across the battlefield like a missile with Emilia, vanishing into the trees in a violent shockwave.

Shadow didn’t watch.

His gaze had returned to Subaru.

And Subaru—though unconscious—was beginning to tremble.

THUMP.

His heart.

THUMP.

Again.

THUMP-THUMP.

Faster.

THUMP-THUMP-THUMP.

Louder.

Shadow tilted his head, unreadable.

The way he's acting just confirms he's a total Stephen King stan.

Then—

“Now what the hell is going on?”

Regulus staggered to his feet, one arm clamped tightly across his midsection. His posture was a bizarre, twisted thing—an attempt to stand tall and regal while simultaneously curling in on himself to hide the impossible void in his stomach. His fingers splayed over the nothingness, pressing against the edges of the hole as if he could somehow push the missing pieces of reality back into place.

“What is this… what is this wretched feeling?!” Regulus hissed, taking an involuntary step back as he was feeling something inside Subaru. His bravado was cracking, revealing the profoundly terrified cowardice that was his true core. The part of him that always, always sought the easiest, safest path.

But before Shadow could answer—

THUMP—

And then—silence.

Subaru’s heartbeat stopped.

Completely.

Not a breath.
Not a twitch.
Not a whisper.

The wind died.

Even Regulus hesitated now. His eyes narrowed. Slowly, he looked around—

The forest around them began to wither.

Grass blackened. Trees crumbled into ash.

The sky—

—turned dark.

Not with clouds. But with an absence.

The sun was gone.

And in its place—

A single moon, massive and cracked like shattered glass, hovered in the heavens. Its center was an eye—red, lidless, ancient and watching. Malice poured from it like radiation.

Oi oi oi, if Subaru sacrificed himself for a power-up in another body, it totally worked. Dude just unlocked the Armageddon event and I am so here for it. Just hope the final boss isn't Jesus with a vengeance.

The earth trembled.

Flora rotted.

Animals—birds, insects, even distant wolves—screamed as they dropped dead. Their corpses twisted, decaying in seconds, and then turned to dust.

The rivers around the battlefield boiled.

Their waters turned to blood.

Blood.

It did not flow—it poured.

A torrent of impossible crimson erupted from Subaru’s closed eyes and open mouth, a geyser of visceral, life-denying fluid. It didn't just stain; it flooded. It cascaded down his limp body, soaking the blackened earth in a heartbeat, forming a thick, steaming pool that defied the stillness of his heart.

Regulus stared, his previous fury and terror momentarily eclipsed by a profound, primal disgust.

Shadow did not move. His gaze was fixed on the phenomenon, a silent observer to a violation of natural law.

And then—she came.

The veiled woman.

She stepped between Shadow and Regulus like a goddess descending into a forgotten world—untouched by the chaos. The ground beneath her feet cracked and withered.

Fuck it's not Jesus, so mixed feelings. But the sheer malice radiating off her is next-level. I can literally feel the bloodlust—a physical pressure, like the air itself wants me dead. Good thing my willpower is built different.

The air warped around her presence.

Her dress fluttered like it existed outside time.

And when she spoke—

“Your hands…” she whispered, voice velvet and ice. “Both of you… tried to claim what belongs only to me.”

She turned her face toward Regulus, her presence smothering.

“You, with your pathetic narcissism—daring to harm the soul I cradle.”

She turned toward Shadow.

“And you…” her voice chilled further.

“…A fragment that should have never taken form.”

Suppressing every feeling, but my curiosity’s too loud. I know I shouldn't mess with her, but the pull is unreal. Imagining our conversation during our battle feels like playing with apocalyptic poetry.

Shadow’s silence spoke volumes.

Then—

She raised her hand.

All warmth in the world fled.

“You made me kill my beloved.”

Her words became a curse.

“A sin that must be purged.”

And as she stepped forward—

The eye in the moon blinked.

And Subaru’s body twitched.

He was now dead and so the Witch of Envy only wished to destroy that world...

Notes:

Alright, listen up. I see ur questions brewing, and I’ll get to them, but first: Regulus 101. His Authority is a logistical nightmare lmao, so pay attention.

Him crashing into the wall at the start? That was a tactical deactivation. He knew Shadow’s punch would yeet him into the Great Waterfall, so he chose a few broken bones over a one-way trip.

When he imbued the ground and started bleeding? That’s the penalty for using his power in a huge radius. It costs him wives. He lost two, hence the dramatic chest-clutching.

And him getting donut-ed by his own attack? It’s the classic unstoppable force vs. immovable object paradox. My headcanon: a time delay, then both cancel out into pure void and blah blah as Cid said.

No exact date for the next chapter, but the wait won't be nearly as brutal as this one. Thanks for ur patience.