Anastasia tightly clutched her scarf, closing her eyes for a brief moment. When she opened them, a smug smile played across her lips, her expression utterly foreign to her own knight. It was as if she were possessed by something, or someone, else.
A voice echoed in her mind: "Eridna, please... I will grant you any wish..."
"Now, let us see what knowledge this new form can gather," she whispered to herself, the words a low, almost purring sound that seemed to vibrate in the air.
Anastasia's—no, Eridna's—eyes, now gleaming with an unnerving intensity, fixed on the hooded figure. Her movements were fluid, almost predatory, lacking the familiar warmth and hesitation of Anastasia. She walked towards the figure without any hesitation, her steps measured and deliberate. The air around her seemed to crackle with an unseen energy, a palpable sense of something other having taken root. The smug smile that played on her lips was a stark contrast to Anastasia's usual amicable demeanor, a chilling display of detached curiosity.
Even though Anastasia didn't have a formal contract with the spirit residing in her scarf, it held immense importance to her, feeling almost like an extension of herself. For eleven years, she'd been accompanied by this spirit, who, despite bearing the name Eridna, with a striking resemblance to the original, it insisted it was a creation based on the Witch of Greed, not the Witch herself.
Anastasia suffered from an underdeveloped gate, a condition similar to an organ dysfunction. This meant she had to rely solely on the mana present in her body since birth, rapidly depleting her essential life force. It was thanks to her spirit ally, who, despite the absence of a contract, chose to aid her through these difficult circumstances. Echidna took pride in its minimal mana consumption from allies and contractors alike. Being an artificial spirit, it also defied some of the fundamental principles known about spirits.
Anastasia, a naturally rational and empathetic person, even with her inherent greed, desperately wished to prevent any loss of life. But the world seemed determined to test her, subjecting her to a relentless trial. From the devastating losses in Priestella to Julius's critical condition, the weight of every event pressed down on her. Sleepless nights became her norm, and even after successfully guiding the Emilia camp to the Watchtower, she felt a gnawing sense of inadequacy. Her inability to help those who had fallen filled her with frustration. "How, just how can I be helpful to them?" the question echoed endlessly in her mind.
Few hours back at the Hoshin Manor
"You see, Anastasia-sama, the odds are very high currently. I feel this could be an opportunity to win the trust of the people of Priestella," Russel stated.
"I am eager to work together with you all. After all, as a merchant, I could gain goodwill as well as do good for the people at the same time," Russel continued, his tone calm and collected, his hand gestures awkward attempts to fill the silence in the room.
"So, what do you think?" he asked.
Anastasia's mind, however, was not focused on his words. It wasn't that she wasn't listening; as a merchant, she always absorbed every detail the other party offered, ready to play her cards to extract the most from any deal. But for some reason, she felt distant. The table seemed to stretch, the room expanding, her vision shifting into a bird's-eye view. Her mind reeled with jumbled thoughts.
"The citizens need help."
"My family, my kids, my wife!"
"There must be a way to somehow fix it all."
"No, please let me die, my family is waiting for me!"
"There has to be a way!" Cries of the citizens mingled with her thoughts, as she desperately searched for an escape. She had never understood the feeling of family until she had one, and that was enough to drive her towards the goal of resurrecting the fallen city to its former glory. But she knew it wasn't a task for one person. Reconstructing an entire city required help.
She paused, her thoughts racing. Though it was only a few seconds, it felt like an eternity. She was, of course, vying for the royal selection, but this situation was too sudden, too overwhelming. The sheer volume of tasks piling up threatened to drown her. While her mind struggled to keep pace, her honed merchant skills proved invaluable in navigating the complex web of officials and advocating for the citizens' needs. She vehemently rejected any attempts to sell off patents and rights for the city to nobles who would undoubtedly exploit their power for personal gain.
"So, what's the other side of the coin?" Anastasia asked, gripping the chair handle and turning a smug look towards Russel.
Russel knew this was his moment. He had his ace up his sleeve, having read the room quite elaborately.
"Well, it's not entirely about the profits. It's partly so our goodwill could make it easier for us to invest in future projects for the rebuilt city of Priestella," Russel added.
"And to add more," he continued, "this will also help you gain an upper hand in the royal selection. Gaining the trust of the people, an ordinary girl who rose to this level through sheer skill, standing against demi-humans and nobles—it's a powerful narrative."
Anastasia's brow furrowed. She had been suspicious of Russel from the start, but couldn't pinpoint a weakness to exploit. Being a trader, he was a slippery customer. She was too greedy to leave anything valuable on the table—not just material possessions, but the abstract value of victory. The thrill of winning, the sting of defeat in her opponents' eyes, fueled her insatiable greed.
Her mind drifted to past memories, to the root of her insatiable greed. It was the reason her empathy was always secondary, a distant echo. Greed held no limits, and it ruled everything.
"I have no name. But I grew up in a hole in the ground, so people call me Anastasia," the small Anastasia said to the dog demi-human.
The dog demi-human chuckled, "Gahahaha! That's great! That's a great name! Anastasia, from the hole in the ground, huh?! I'm sure you're gonna be a big girl with that name!"
He gently pushed the blushing girl's back, and they walked out of the inn onto the bustling street. Amidst the crowd, Anastasia closed her eyes, as if facing something blindingly bright.
The dog demi-human showed his fangs in a grin and continued, "Look here, little girl. This is the first and last time I'm helping you. I don't know what you'll do next. If you're truly determined, then you'll be alright."
Anastasia looked up at him, her expression filled with doubt and mistrust. The dog demi-human was relieved by her reaction, rather than a simple thank you.
"Why are you doing so much for me, 'ochan'?" she asked.
"Nothing but whimsy. But I think it's gonna pay off, if you ask me," he replied, stroking her head, punctuating his statement with a loud laugh. Once clean, her hair was thin and soft, reflecting her gentle heart. Even the slight wave in it hinted at her stubborn nature.
"I hope you make it big soon. When you do, I'll be proud if you remember me."
"…'Ochan.'"
"Hmm?"
Called by a whisper, the dog demi-human waited for her to continue, but she didn't. Instead, she ran to the other side of the street, then turned and yelled back.
"Today I'm gonna take advantage of your kindness! But don't you forget. When I make it big, the first thing I'm gonna do is buy you! I'll take off that slave collar with my own hands!"
Ricardo's fingers unconsciously touched his collar. Feeling its cold, hard sensation, images of his past servitude flashed through his mind. He swallowed the memories of those days and smiled.
"I am Ricardo. I'll never forget what you're saying, Ana-bo."
A girl with puffed-out cheeks and the demi-human Ricardo laughing heartily.
That was how the woman who would one day lead the largest merchant company in the country, and her first collaborator, met.
Anastasia's eyes narrowed, a flicker of genuine interest sparking within their depths, though she kept her expression carefully neutral. "A powerful narrative," she echoed, her voice a low murmur. "Indeed. But narratives are easily spun, are they not? And the people... their trust is a fickle thing." She paused, tapping a finger against the armrest of her chair. "Still," she continued, a hint of a smile playing on her lips, "a narrative with such... compelling elements... is certainly worth considering. Especially when combined with the potential for tangible gains." She leaned forward, her gaze sharpening. "However, Mr. Russel, I trust you understand that 'narrative' alone is insufficient. I require more than just a story. I require guarantees."
"Of course, you are absolutely correct on that part," Russel added. "But taking risks is the adrenaline for a trader. Hence, I shall take the risk of utilizing and bringing in more manpower."
"Don't misjudge me," Anastasia replied, her smirk confident. "I am not in it for the mere satisfaction of winning. My greed exceeds that, and I am proud of the greed that has pulled me to always having the upper hand during negotiations."
The room fell silent as both of them waited, staring each other down, each poised to exploit the slightest misstep and swallow the other whole.
The room's air was thick, a suffocating tension. Sweat slicked Russel's brow, and the heavy drapes trapped a sweltering heat. The polished table reflected their tense faces, and the incense mingled with nervous sweat. The bright, overhead lamps cast sharp, unyielding shadows, amplifying the unspoken threats. The air crackled, a silent battle of wills.
THUD*
THUD*
THUD*
THUD*
The door slammed open, a jarring intrusion. "Boss, we've got some bad intel from the Kar—" The man's words died in his throat as he spotted Russel, a smug smile etched on his face, across the table.
Anastasia's temper flared, the interruption adding fuel to the already tense atmosphere. She bit back a sharp retort, maintaining her composure. Her gaze settled on the man, his white hood emblazoned with the Iron Fang emblem. The most powerful mercenary group in Kararagi, their ranks a mix of demi-humans and humans, they were funded and ultimately owned by the Hoshin Company.
Anastasia, with a sigh of annoyance, took a deep breath. "I think that's enough for today. What do you think, Russel-san?" she said, seizing the opportunity to postpone the negotiations further.
"Of course. You already have a lot on your plate, so we can definitely catch up another day," Russel replied, finishing his tea and rising to leave. He passed the Iron Fang member, giving him a stern glance that left the man momentarily confused. However, the Iron Fang member had more pressing matters to report and disregarded the strange look.
"So, how many times do I have to te—" Anastasia began, her voice laced with exasperation, but she was abruptly silenced by the iron fang member's overwhelming urgency. This unexpected interruption shocked her; she had never seen the man act so strangely. Her curiosity piqued, she waited for him to speak, prompting him, "This better be something serious. Otherwise, you know how it might turn out."
The Iron Fang member looked down, clenching his fists. He spoke in a low, trembling voice, "Ju...Jul...Julius-sama has been injured and is currently receiving treatment at the Karsten manor."
As the words reached Anastasia's ears, her hands went numb. The documents she had been holding slipped from her grasp, scattering across the floor. She lunged forward, grabbing the Iron Fang member's uniform with a tight grip, pulling him down to her eye level. "TELL ME! TELL ME HOW THIS HAPPENED!" she yelled, her voice filled with a raw, desperate urgency.
"We have limited information," the Iron Fang member stammered, his voice laced with fear. "We only know that an attack occurred at the prison where Julius was fulfilling his duties, assigned by the council. He sustained grave injuries and was escorted to the Karsten manor by the Sword Saint."
Anastasia surged forward, pushing past the man, her mind racing. "How could Julius be injured? He's not weak, and there was no intelligence suggesting an attack." Then, realization struck her. "The Witch Cult!" She halted, her breath catching in her throat. She had been so consumed by the city's renovation, her ambition overriding her empathy. She had become so engrossed in her work that she had neglected him, even knowing his condition. "Did his memory loss weaken him?" she wondered, a wave of guilt washing over her. But she quickly dismissed the thought. The Witch Cult was the only plausible explanation.
Anastasia burst through the manor doors, her voice echoing as she barked orders at the Iron Fang members to prepare the carriage. Ricardo, amidst taking reports on their current situation, caught a familiar scent. "Ana-bo?" he muttered, following the trail. He found her already boarding the carriage, her movements frantic. As the other Iron Fang members attempted to follow, their protective instincts kicking in, she was already urging the driver onward. They were left in the dust, baffled by her sudden departure and the urgency that drove her, a departure that was shrouded in the limited information they shared.
The time of the attack at the Karsten Manor
Eridna advanced slowly, her movements deliberate, her presence radiating an unnerving stillness. Reinhard, Felix, and Julius watched, stunned by her unpredictable display. Her face was ashen, her eyes gleaming with an eerie intensity, and a smile stretched across her lips, a smile that sent shivers down their spines. She approached the hooded figure, who flinched at her presence, yet remained frozen in place, as if trapped in a nightmare.
Eridna reached out, her touch cold and threatening, and grasped the hand that held Felix. The figure recoiled, feeling as though he were confronted by a predator, a creature of pure, chilling instinct.
In a surge of panic, he leaped back, creating a wider gulf between himself and Anastasia, leaving Felix with her.
"I am amused. This is related to Natsuki Subaru, isn't it?" Eridna, her voice calm and smug, spoke. The mention of Subaru's name hung in the air, a stark contrast to the ongoing chaos of battle. Faces tightened, expressions shifting to a wary alertness.
"Judging by the fact that you haven't resorted to lethal force to apprehend Julius," she continued, her eyes gleaming with an unnerving knowingness, "I'm guessing you're under strict orders to capture them alive. Isn't that right?" She punctuated her question with a small, self-satisfied smile that sent a chill through those who witnessed it.
Reinhard, his brow furrowed in confusion, silently invoked his Divine Blessing of Telepathy, attempting to communicate with Anastasia. However, the voice that responded was not hers. It was a calm, smug tone that sent a jolt of unease through him. "Just go with this plan," it stated, as if delivering an obvious fact.
Reinhard, deeply suspicious, found himself without a viable alternative amidst the ongoing fight. Reluctantly, he decided to trust, for the moment, the unsettling presence that had taken hold of Anastasia.
"YOU DAMN BITCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" The hooded figure's scream shattered the tense silence, a raw, animalistic cry. The window behind him exploded, shards of glass glinting like a deadly constellation in the moonlight. The sudden violence froze everyone in the room; the sheer force of the shattered glass sent razor-sharp fragments flying, forcing them to brace against the onslaught.
Then, darkness. The room plunged into blackness, the only illumination the sliver of moonlight filtering through the shattered window. The hooded figure's shadow stretched and distorted, growing larger, more menacing.
And larger…
Two crimson eyes ignited within the shadow, burning like embers in the night. The figure licked his lips, a predatory gesture. The shadow solidified, revealing a wolf demi-human, his features feral. His paws were rough, calloused, and a metal collar, with broken chains still dangling, encircled his neck. His breath, hot and ragged, spewed from his maw like a beast's, and his calf muscles bulged with coiled power.
"FELIX, TAKE THE OTHERS AND RUN!" Reinhard roared, his voice a thunderclap against the sudden chaos. Before he could finish, the wolf demi-human lunged, a blur of fur and fangs, directly at him.
Felix, reacting instinctively, grabbed Crusch and shoved Eridna towards the shattered doorway. The agonizing seconds it took to reach the exit stretched into an eternity. He had to save them, had to protect them. "Felix, wait—" Crusch cried, but it was too late.
A different figure materialized between Eridna and Felix, who was carrying Crusch. It was not the hooded figure, but another demi-human, his posture different, his eyes cold and calculating. "I will not permit that," he declared, his voice a chillingly childlike tone.
With blinding speed, his paws, now transformed into razor-sharp claws, snapped shut. Anastasia, her movements enhanced by Echidna's influence, dodged the attack. Felix, twisting with inhuman strength, threw Crusch aside, turning his back to the onslaught.
The claws raked across Felix's back, tearing through his flesh, while the maid assisting Anastasia was completely and brutally eviscerated. Felix collapsed, his body hitting the floor with a sickening thud. "FELIX!" Crusch screamed, her voice raw with horror. Tears streamed down her face, and a burning rage ignited within her. She tried to rise, but her legs were useless, pierced by shards of glass.
Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the second demi-human figure slid back into the shadows, vanishing as if it had never been there.
Reinhard, with lightning speed, unbuckled his sheathed sword and raised it before him. The wolf demi-human collided with him, his metal-knuckled claws, each tipped with razor-sharp blades, clashing against the sheathed blade. Reinhard, using his free hand, delivered a powerful punch to the demi-human's jaw, drawing blood.
The demi-human smirked, retracting his claws. The blades on his knuckles slid back into place. He then unleashed a devastating punch. The sheer force of the blow shattered the floor beneath him. Reinhard, anticipating the attack, leaped back, narrowly avoiding the destruction. He retaliated by kicking a barrage of broken debris towards the demi-human.
With a grin, the wolf demi-human caught the flying debris, hurling it back at Reinhard. "What's wrong, Sword Saint?" he taunted, his voice laced with mocking amusement. "Didn't you want a head-on battle?"
Reinhard, a whirlwind of motion, danced through the hail of debris, each fragment narrowly missing him. He landed gracefully, his signature smile. "Yes," he replied, as he stopped for a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. "And I am delighted to have a respectable fighter with whom to test my skills."
The wolf demi-human stared at him, his expression comically bewildered. Then, he erupted in a thunderous laugh, a sound that echoed through the shattered room. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH!"
"Respectable... fighter... haha..." he wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. "You're serious?"
Felix, a low groan escaping his lips, struggled to rise. He weaved his magic, closing the gaping wounds on his back, but the phantom pain remained, a searing reminder of his failure. He stumbled towards Crusch, his heart shattering at the sight of her injured leg. Tears welled in his eyes, a torrent of self-recrimination. He had failed her, utterly and completely. He could neither protect her nor alleviate her suffering. In a fit of desperate self-punishment, he dug his nails into his cheek, drawing blood, a raw, primal scream trapped in his throat. He teetered on the edge of madness.
"Felix! Run away!"
A familiar voice, sharp and clear, cut through his despair, jolting him back to reality.
"Crusch-sama," he cried, his voice thick with anguish, "Why...why are you still so empathetic towards me?" He couldn't comprehend her unwavering kindness, the conflicting emotions tearing him apart.
Crusch smiled, a fragile, yet resolute expression. "You may no longer be my knight, but you are still within the Karsten domain. No more will be killed here!" she declared, her voice ringing with a fierce determination, though her throat was raw from the strain.
Cough* *Cough*
"Crusch-sama!" Felix reached out, his face etched with worry, but a healer intervened, their voice firm. "I will take care of her. Go ahead."
Felix, his gaze burning with a fierce, protective fury, scanned the room, searching for any sign of movement, any lingering threat. The shadows danced in the dim light, concealing unseen dangers. The air crackled with tension, a silent promise of the brutal battle yet to come. He would not fail again. He would not let another soul be harmed. His magic pulsed, ready to unleash a storm of healing and destruction.
Meanwhile, in the garden, Wilhelm stood as an isolated figure, facing the two hooded figures. The gentle breeze rustled the leaves, momentarily disturbing the few loose strands of his silver hair, a stark contrast to the tension that gripped the air. A single bead of sweat traced a path down his temple, a testament to the simmering intensity of the moment.
With the grace of a seasoned warrior, Wilhelm settled into a battle stance. His right leg anchored him, his left hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sheathed sword, poised for a lightning-fast draw. With two fingers of his right hand, he gestured, a silent challenge, an invitation to attack.
The two hooded figures exchanged a glance, a flicker of uncertainty in their masked eyes. The larger, more heavily built of the two scoffed, scratching his head. "Old man," he sneered, his voice thick with disdain, "your empty threats ain't scaring anyone."
Wilhelm remained silent for a moment, his gaze unwavering. Then, with a sigh, he spoke, his voice low and resonant. "I am not here to scare you."
The two figures tightened their grip on their weapons, a sense of unease creeping into their hearts.
"I AM HERE TO RUIN YOU!" Wilhelm roared, his voice a thunderous declaration that shattered the garden's tranquility. The air crackled with his resolve, a promise of swift and merciless retribution.
A drop of sweat fell from Wilhelm's face, hitting the ground in an instant. With lightning speed, all three men moved. Wilhelm used the hooded figure's shoulder as a springboard, launching himself into the air. He aimed his sword to pierce the figure's flesh, but the hooded figure reacted quickly, using his own weapon as a guard.
Wilhelm landed gracefully behind them. "Good job, deflecting my attack," he said, congratulating them. The hooded figures, feeling mocked, lunged forward. Wilhelm stood still, not flinching. The hooded figure swung, but Wilhelm ducked, dodging the attack. He then kicked out a leg, forcing the figure to retreat.
Meanwhile, Reinhard dodged the wolf demi-human's relentless blows, his mind reeling as he struggled to understand how the demi-human mirrored his power with every strike. Needing a moment to create some distance, Reinhard spun his sheathed sword, a whirlwind of steel, striking the wolf demi-human and sending him crashing through the wall. Reinhard leaped through the hole, following close behind.
Back in the room, the first hooded figure slowly advanced towards Julius, who, barely standing, gripped his sword tightly. "Stop where you are," Julius declared, his voice a low, icy warning. "One more step will be your last."
"Hehe... and what if I don't?" the hooded figure replied, his voice morphing into a familiar, unsettling tone. His appearance began to shift drastically. The hooded cloak fell away, revealing a black and white tracksuit with orange stripes, the signature "N" on his chest. His posture shifted, becoming less rigid, more slouching, familiar. The mask melted away, revealing a face that was undeniably Natsuki Subaru's, but twisted, wrong. His eyes, once lively, were now dull and predatory, a chilling contrast to the familiar features. A cruel, unsettling grin stretched across his lips, a mockery of Subaru's usual friendly smile.
Julius's eyes bulged, his face white as a ghost. His hand trembled as he watched the figure twist and change. "Julius, I HATE YOU! WHY, JULIUS, WHY?" the voice screamed, a perfect copy of Subaru's. It was a horror show. Julius stumbled back, hitting the shelves, his breath coming in short gasps. "How...?" he choked out.
The fake Subaru leaned in, a twisted smile on his face. He covered one eye, and for a split second, he looked just like the real Subaru, a friendly grin. "Julius, don't you remember me?" he asked, his voice dripping with false warmth. Then, a thin line of blood snaked from his eye, and it popped out, landing with a sickening plop on the floor, joining the growing red stain.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Julius screamed, his stomach churning. He gagged, then vomited, the bile burning his throat.
Crusch and the healer exchanged worried glances as they watched Julius. He was frozen, yet his body twitched and jerked as if he were fighting an unseen enemy. "What...what is going on?" Crusch thought, her brow furrowed. The hooded figure remained motionless, while Julius seemed to be reacting to something only he could see. "But...his expressions!" Crusch exclaimed, her voice filled with concern. "He looks utterly terrified and confused."
"Based on his reactions," the healer said, his voice grave, "there are only two possible explanations. Either he's experiencing some kind of divine blessing, or it's what we in the medical field refer to as a Memory Scar."
"A Memory Imbalance," he continued, "occurs when a person is confronted with a situation that triggers intense guilt or a past trauma they've never fully processed. Given his recent experiences, and the attack he endured, it's the most likely cause."
"But why now? Why at this moment?" Crusch questioned, her voice filled with disbelief. She couldn't reconcile the Julius she knew with the broken figure before her.
Reinhard, with a casual flick of his wrist, brushed the clinging dust from his uniform. The open area, once a scene of fierce combat, was now a tableau of stillness, the air thick with settling debris. Only the soft whisper of the wind, rustling the remaining dust motes, disturbed the quiet. Then, a thunderous clap ripped through the air, a shockwave that vacuumed the lingering smoke and debris, revealing the wolf demi-human standing amidst the clearing, his eyes blazing with unrestrained rage.
Reinhard and the demi-human locked gazes, the silence charged with anticipation. Then, the demi-human exploded into motion. He vanished, not with a simple step, but with a blur of speed that left afterimages flickering in his wake. He circled Reinhard like a predator, a whirlwind of claws and fangs, his movements a symphony of raw, animalistic power. The open area became a kaleidoscope of flashing limbs and distorted shadows, the air humming with the sheer velocity of his movements.
Wilhelm and the bulky hooded figure clashed, their swords a blur of steel. It was a mirror match, an uncanny reflection, every move Wilhelm made met with an equally precise counter. Wilhelm, his mind a still pool of concentration, shifted his stance. He placed his right foot forward, dragging it gracefully from left to right. With a fluid motion, he thrust his sword straight ahead, then, with a subtle twist of his wrist, executed an unnatural, almost artistic maneuver, the slashes of his blade forming a rose-like pattern in the air.
The hooded figure, with an unnerving ease, deflected every strike. "Isn't that the 'Dance of the Iron Rose'?" he taunted, his voice laced with a chilling familiarity. "It's been a long time since I've seen anyone use it. You truly are a geezer." The figure's knowledge of Wilhelm's signature technique added a layer of unsettling mystery to the fight, suggesting a deeper connection.
Felix stood in the suffocating darkness, his feline senses stretched to their absolute limit. He was a predator in his element, every nerve thrumming, every hair on his body alert. His beast eyes, sharpened by the gloom, pierced the veil of darkness, and there—a flicker of movement. He reacted instantly, a blur of motion, launching a barrage of knives into the shadows.
The figure, agile as a wraith, evaded the deadly projectiles. "You really are annoying, to be honest," a voice hissed from the darkness.
"The real annoyance is you lot," Felix retorted, his voice laced with mocking disdain. "Barging into someone else's home? Not exactly polite, is it?"
"Tchk." The figure leaped, a dark silhouette against the faint moonlight filtering in, aiming for the opposite wall where Crusch and the healer stood. Panic surged through Felix. "As if I'd let you!" he snarled, unleashing a storm of knives. The blades, like silver darts, slammed into the walls, forming a deadly barrier, forcing the figure to veer off course and retreat back into the concealing shadows.
Felix rushed to Crusch's side. "Crusch-sama, are you alright?"
"Yes... I'm fine, but..." Crusch gestured towards Julius, her expression filled with worry. Felix, his brow furrowed in confusion, scanned the room, searching for Anastasia. He spotted her, crouched behind a fallen bookshelf, her gaze fixed on something beyond the immediate chaos. "What are you doing, nya? Stay with us!" he called out, but his words seemed to vanish into the tense air. Eridna remained motionless, her attention completely absorbed by whatever she was observing.
Eridna, temporarily taking control of Anastasia's body—a phenomenon not entirely unfamiliar—surveyed the situation with the detached precision of a chess master. She analyzed every piece, every potential move, while simultaneously attempting to mimic the fragmented remnants of Anastasia's personality. While Anastasia rested, Echidna's primary objective was to ensure her vessel's safety, to remove her from immediate danger. Whether this stemmed from a possessive greed for the vessel itself, or a genuine, albeit enigmatic, affection for the unfortunate girl, remained a mystery veiled only to herself.
The wolf demi-human unleashed a flurry of claw strikes, his movements so rapid they created a dizzying array of afterimages. The air shimmered with the phantom trails of his attacks, a calculated attempt to mask his true trajectory and confound Reinhard's defenses.
The distance between Reinhard and the wolf demi-human stretched, the demi-human circling with predatory patience. Reinhard's eyes darted left and right, tracking the shifting afterimages, his focus razor-sharp. Then, with a sudden, explosive burst of speed, the demi-human lunged. The afterimages converged, coalescing into a single, terrifying form. One by one, the phantom trails dissolved, leaving only the original demi-human, his claws extended, his eyes burning with feral intensity. Reinhard tried to evade, but the attack was too swift, too overwhelming. A deafening explosion ripped through the air, sending a shockwave that shook the foundations of the manor, a miniature earthquake.
Meanwhile, Wilhelm, his movements fluid and precise, engaged the bulky hooded figure. Even amidst the clash of steel, his senses remained alert. He scanned the surroundings, his gaze finally settling on the smaller, slender hooded figure. The figure stood defensively, no offensive spells in sight, yet Wilhelm sensed an unnerving aura, significantly weaker than his companion's. It felt like a deliberate deception.
Wilhelm leaped back, drawing his sword into a defensive stance. His eyes narrowed, focusing on the ground beneath him. The grass, the flowers, all withered and blackened, life drained away. A chilling realization struck him. In a lightning-fast movement, he charged, weaving in a zig-zag pattern, aiming for the bulky figure's chest. The figure blocked the attack, but Wilhelm's eyes, now filled with a demonic intensity, shifted. His wrists twisted, and his sword swept upward, aiming for the figure's chin, for the vulnerable hood. The figure, his composure shattered, leaped back, his panic evident, his carefully constructed facade crumbling.
"Never would I have imagined... I feel ashamed that I fell for such an obvious deception," Wilhelm spoke, his voice laced with self-disappointment.
"You geezer, who do you think you are?" the skinny hooded figure sneered.
"I am merely a butler, serving the Lord of the Karsten domain..." Wilhelm replied calmly. As if on cue, clouds obscured the moon, plunging the garden into near-total darkness. The two figures lunged, their movements a blur of speed. Sparks flared in the gloom, briefly illuminating Wilhelm's eyes—hollow and dark, capable of swallowing a soul. "Those eyes... it can't be?" the skinny figure stammered.
Wilhelm, with a sudden burst of agility, kicked the bulky figure, sending him stumbling backward, creating a brief opening. He then turned to intercept the skinny figure. A powerful blow landed on Wilhelm's back from the recovered bulky figure, his tied hair coming undone, now swaying in the wind.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" With a guttural roar, Wilhelm spun, his sword arcing through the air. He slashed across the chests of both figures, striking the skinny one first, then deeply wounding the bulky one. As the bulky figure's hood darkened with blood, his vision blurred. He could only hear the steady, approaching footsteps of Wilhelm.
"No... don't... don't come closer... It's a..."
"It's a demon," Wilhelm finished, his voice cold. He stood over the fallen figure, his hair swaying in the gentle breeze, his eyes glowing with a fierce intensity, his face obscured by the moonlight casting a long shadow, obscuring Wilhelm's features as he stood over the fallen figure. "It's deceiving when you look at it," he mused, his voice low and thoughtful, "but there's always more than meets the eye."
The hooded figure, unable to comprehend how his tricks were revealed, was consumed by fear. He was terrified of the one who stood before him – the once renowned Sword Demon.
"Who... who are... you?" the figure gasped, his voice barely a whisper.
"Wilhelm Trias," Wilhelm replied coldly.
Wilhelm glanced at the bodies of the two hooded figures, his own body drenched in sweat. As the adrenaline faded, the pain from his wounds surged forth. His knees buckled, and he fell to one knee, bowing his head. "The combination was powerful," he admitted, his voice laced with respect. "One who defends, the other who attacks. Sucking mana from the surroundings using your gate and using the flow of mana to divert any attacks is quite a remarkable technique."
Felix, his eyes darting across the room, desperately searched for any sign of the enemy. A fleeting glimpse was all he caught before the figure moved, a blur of motion, leaping from wall to wall. The swift, relentless attacks pummeled Felix's frail body, his water magic shield proving too slow against the unseen assailant. Panic seized his mind, the invisible enemy a terrifying force. He glanced at Crusch, her gaze fixed on the lifeless form of the maid. Her face was a mask of rage and guilt, the inability to protect her own staff a source of deep self-loathing. It felt like a cruel repetition of past failures, each one chipping away at her ambition. The dream of slaying the accursed dragon and saving the kingdom now seemed impossibly distant, a fading hope in the face of her perceived weakness.
Felix darted towards the shattered bed where Julius lay, just as the figure launched itself, its claws leaving deep gouges in the wooden floor. Felix narrowly dodged the attack. With a newfound resolve, he turned, his expression grim. He moved into the shadowed corner of the room, relying on his keen sense of smell to anticipate the next attack. He hurled a vial of blood, intended for Julius's treatment, into the darkness. With a burst of magic, he boiled the blood, shattering the glass and spraying the crimson liquid across the unseen figure. "AAAAHHHHHHH, IT HURTS, YOU IDIOT!" the figure shrieked, its voice filled with agony.
"Take Crusch and leave," Felix commanded the healer.
"Understood," the healer replied, lifting Crusch with surprising strength and heading for the exit.
"No, I will stay!" Crusch protested, her voice laced with fury at her own helplessness.
"There is no way you can fight, milady," the healer insisted, his voice firm as he dragged her from the hall. Crusch resisted, torn by indecision. Sensing her distress, the healer used a sleep spell, gently putting her to rest as he carried her to safety.
The wolf demi-human stood, his laughter echoing across the open space. "Is this what being a Sword Saint is all about? You can't even draw your sword!"
"GHAHAHAHA!"
"No," Reinhard replied, his voice calm, "it is not I who chooses upon whom the sword is drawn."
He appeared from behind the demi-human, emerging through the swirling dust and debris. "The sword itself deems you unworthy to be drawn against," he stated, his tone laced with a mocking amusement.
The wolf demi-human seethed with rage, his veins bulging, a guttural growl escaping his throat. The last vestiges of his demi-human composure vanished, replaced by the raw, feral fury of a wolf.
The fake Subaru crouched before Julius, drawing closer with unsettling intensity. He rubbed his cheek against his own sword, the sharp blade drawing blood. Julius, his panic escalating, flung his sword aside. Subaru's blood dripped from his cheek, flowing along the steel of the sword and coating Julius's hand in a chilling crimson, staining his sleeves and slowly painting his pristine white uniform with crimson. The cold sensation of the blood on his skin made Julius's stomach churn, a wave of nausea washing over him.
The fake Subaru laughed frantically, his voice a chilling echo of Subaru's own. "Come on, Julius, take a look."
"Isn't it a beautiful color?" he continued, his eyes gleaming with a manic intensity. "Such a magnificent red."
"Oh yes, I forgot," he added, his voice dripping with false concern. "You admire it so much, you kept on bleeding me, cutting my flesh open just so you could admire every single drop of it, isn't that right?"
Julius' thoughts became overwhelmed by the nightmare scene, leading to despair. His breath caught in his throat, stuck in a corner with nowhere to flee or hide. The self-loathing and conflict with his past acts faded into a distant memory. He was confronted with a warped imitation of the person he had previously considered a friend—despite the anguish and betrayal. Julius was the one who had caused Subaru's anguish and betrayed their friendship.
"Ah, I cannot atone for what I did to you," Julius lamented, his voice filled with remorse. "Please, take this sword and mark your revenge."
With a broken smile, he presented his own sword to the fake Subaru, who approached him with a chilling determination. The fake Subaru held the blade close to Julius's neck, the sharp edge pressing against his skin. Eridna watched in silence as the sword slowly dug deeper, drawing the first trickles of blood.
"Ju..."
"Juli..."
"JULIUS!"
A familiar voice, filled with both urgency and concern, cut through the tense atmosphere. Julius turned towards the source, his eyes widening in surprise.
SLAP*
It wasn't Eridna this time. Anastasia, taking back control of her body, rushed towards Julius, her voice tearing him from the clutches of his nightmarish illusion.
Julius's eyes widened in shock as he surveyed his surroundings. The lifeless body of the maid, the injured Felix, and the unmoving hooded figure filled him with a chilling realization. He had fallen prey to his own despair, his fear and guilt used against him in a way he never anticipated. His desire to atone for his perceived sins had been so overwhelming that he had forgotten the lady he had pledged to serve, the friends he had sworn to assist. "Was I really going to leave all of this?" The thought pierced his heart like a shard of ice, the realization of his own selfishness a bitter pill to swallow.
"Milady—" Julius began, turning to his lady, about to offer an excuse, but he was abruptly cut off by a sharp slap across the face.
He held his cheek, now red and stinging from the furious blow. His eyes widened in shock. He had never seen his lady display such raw emotion. "Wait, no," he thought, "she always did show emotions. Indeed, she was always the kind lady I knew. It was me who was blinded."
"Thinking how perfect I was," he realized, "following the smallest of details, aiming to be the finest of knights, I made sure to not make a single mistake." But in his pursuit of perfection, he had lost sight of something far more important. "Wait, I forgot the biggest reason," he thought, his heart aching with regret. "My vow to protect my lady, it was my goal to see her smile every day."
Chasing perfection, Julius had lost sight of who he was. It wasn't the work of gluttony anymore; he himself had killed Julius Juukulius, the man, and replaced him with a hollow shell of a knight.
Julius looked at his lady, who had lowered her fur hat to hide her eyes. "Julius," Anastasia said, reaching out her hand to him. She stood with a beaming smile as she spoke, "Julius, stand up, my one and only knight."
Julius's eyes slowly regained their glow, and he returned her smile as he stood up, facing the hooded figure.
"No, no, NO!" the hooded figure screamed, his voice filled with disbelief and frustration. "This is impossible! You are not supposed to break free! You should be grieving, crying, atoning for your sin! You criminal! How long will you hide the monster inside of you?"
"Sorry, but you see, I have sworn to my lady here," Julius proclaimed with pride, "that I, Julius Juukulius, the finest of knights, will protect her at all costs."
The hooded figure trembled with anger. "I will break that pride of yours into pieces!" he screamed.
"NOW!" Julius called to his spirits. "AL CLAUSERIA!"
With the guidance of his sword, swaying like the conductor of an opera, Julius swung his blade, emitting a massive sphere of mana towards the hooded figure.
"NONNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" With a final, desperate scream, the hooded figure evaporated, leaving nothing behind.
Reinhardt stood tall, observing the wolf demi-human as he shed the last vestiges of his humanity, transforming into a creature of pure instinct and rage. The demi-human roared, tearing away his metal collar and knuckle claws, raising his bare fists as a challenge to Reinhardt.
"I see," Reinhardt said, a hint of respect in his voice. "I will honor your wish."
He set aside his sword, preparing to face his opponent with his bare hands. True to his nature, Reinhardt respected his opponent's desire for a primal, unadorned battle.
The air grew heavy, the swaying grass stilled, and the tension between the two figures intensified. The atmosphere was so dense, so charged with raw power, that any onlooker would have been paralyzed by its sheer intensity.
Then, in the blink of an eye, they clashed. A furious exchange of blows erupted, Reinhardt effortlessly blocking with one hand while striking with the other. He seamlessly alternated between offense and defense, his movements fluid and precise, showing no signs of strain or fatigue.
Their movements were a blur, exceeding the speed of light in the eyes of ordinary people. All that could be seen were flashes and afterimages of their fists colliding. It was impossible to keep up, a spectacle of superhuman strength and speed, a purely physical confrontation devoid of magic.
For Reinhardt, this intense physical exchange was bearable. Similar to Anastasia, his gate functioned in a complex manner, but unlike hers, it absorbed an immense amount of mana from the atmosphere, making him practically invincible and granting him superhuman physical abilities.
He was Reinhardt van Astrea, the current Sword Saint. The complexities of his gate were such that they even posed a threat to Great Spirits, potentially draining them of their mana if they were to remain in close proximity to him.
"AHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" The wolf demi-human screamed as he exchanged blows, his face taking the brunt of the punishment. Blood and saliva mingled with broken teeth, but the adrenaline surging through him masked the pain. His eyes, clouded with fury, remained fixed on Reinhardt.
Reinhardt, on the other hand, fought in silence, his expression unreadable. Then, abruptly, the flurry of blows ceased. They both stopped, facing away from each other, standing in opposite directions. Reinhardt calmly walked back towards the manor, leaving the wolf demi-human standing alone.
The demi-human's face was a mangled mess, unrecognizable. He remained frozen in place, his eyes rolled back in his head, a sign that he had long since expired. Yet, the adrenaline that had fueled his furious assault had kept his body moving even after death. With this, the brutal, inhuman battle between the wolf demi-human and the Sword Saint came to an end.
Julius, his heart filled with renewed conviction, turned to his lady and knelt on one knee. He reached out his arm towards Anastasia. "Milady," he swore, his voice strong and steady, "I swear I will never leave you behind."
Anastasia's eyes, though hidden by her hat, couldn't conceal the single tear that streamed down her cheek. She gracefully took his hand, a silent acceptance of his vow.
Felix, lying exhausted on the floor, his body drained from the constant use of healing magic, tasted dirt. Unable to move, he clawed at the floor in frustration. "I couldn't even protect my lady," he thought bitterly. "What kind of a knight am I?"
"Even after knowing my uselessness," he continued, his self-recrimination growing, "I still had the audacity to demean Subaru's morale." He looked at his nails, broken from clawing at the floor, and a faint smell of blood caught his attention. This was no ordinary blood; his keen nose detected the scent of powerful mana. Realization dawned on him, and he quickly glanced towards the corner of the room, screaming, "Anastasia-sama!"
The shadow figure, a child-like beastman whose skin and hood were melting from the boiling blood, leaped towards Anastasia.
Anastasia's expression contorted in shock, and she turned to dodge, but Julius knew it wouldn't be enough. He instinctively jumped in front of her, acting as a shield. The beastman, blinded and screaming in pain, lunged, his claws sinking deep into Julius's flesh. Anastasia's eyes widened in horror, tears welling up as she saw her knight, Julius, with a smile on his face. It was a smile of satisfaction, a smile that conveyed his happiness in finally being able to live up to his words.
Anastasia turned and ran to catch the falling Julius, while the beastman, realizing his failure, jumped back towards the huge broken wall in a desperate attempt to escape.
He was about to make a run for it, but the moonlight that pierced through the broken wall was suddenly blocked by a towering figure. The beastman felt a shiver of fear as he looked up at the imposing wolf-human who stood before him.
It was a large wolf-human with a full set of sharp teeth, piercing green eyes, and a muscular build covered in short brown fur. He wore white wrappings under his dark-colored clothes on his arms and waist, along with an orange belt. A shoulder guard bearing the logo of the Hoshin Company completed his intimidating appearance.
The petrified beastman stood frozen in terror as the towering figure, Ricardo, raised his arms wide. In a swift, brutal motion, he crushed the beastman, leaving no time for a scream or a struggle.
"Ricardo-san!" Felix cried out, his eyes filled with tears. Exhausted and overwhelmed, he lost consciousness, his body collapsing onto the blood-stained floor.
The Iron Fang members rushed into the room, surrounding Anastasia and the injured Julius, who rested his head on her lap, blood steadily flowing from his wounds. Ricardo surveyed the scene, his gaze settling on Anastasia. Witnessing her anguish, he growled in a low voice, his brows clenched, unable to bear the sight of Julius's suffering. He clenched his fists, his anger and concern palpable.
"Milady... please," Julius spoke, raising his hand to wipe away Anastasia's tears. "Julius Juukulius, you still have a lot of years in your contract with the Hoshin Company!"
"I can't give you more leaves from your job as my knight..." Anastasia said, her voice choked with emotion.
Julius, still smiling despite the pain, replied, "I know that, milady." Anastasia's silent cries continued, her tears falling onto Julius's blood-soaked uniform.
"Julius!" Ricardo exclaimed, unable to bear the sight any longer.
"Ah, Ricardo," Julius said, "sorry for making you worry. And take responsibility, I really am not fit for the title of the finest knight."
Ricardo and the other Iron Fang members teared up, but none dared to speak out like Ricardo did. The close relationship between them was evident in their heartfelt exchange.
"JULIUS JUUKULIUS!" Anastasia declared, her voice filled with pride. "YOU MAY NOT BE THE FINEST KNIGHT BY THE BOOKS, BUT YOU ARE THE FINEST KNIGHT I COULD EVER HAVE!"
Anastasia's tears flowed freely now, unstoppable. She took off her hat and placed it onto Julius's chest as he lay in her arms.
"Thank you, milady," Julius whispered, a single tear escaping his eye as he closed them for eternity.
Anastasia held her scarf tightly, her eyes closed, her body limp as if she had fainted. The other Iron Fang members cautiously crept closer to investigate, but suddenly, Anastasia stood up. She gently moved her hat from Julius's chest to cover his face, then stood still, mourning his loss.
"Are you sure of this, Ana?" a voice asked in her mind.
"Yes!" Anastasia replied, her voice firm despite her grief.
Eridna was now in control of Anastasia's body, Anastasia's soul slumbering peacefully within. Anastasia's Od, unable to bear the loss of Julius, had desperately contracted Eridna in a last-ditch attempt to save him. Eridna knew this was impossible; the dead could not be brought back. Her creator's experiments with artificial spirits and her own existence as an artificial spirit modeled after the Witch of Greed had confirmed this.
However, she understood Anastasia's need for comfort, a safe haven to rest while her heart healed. Eridna had taken over, acting as a temporary pilot for her mind and body to prevent Anastasia from completely breaking down, a sort of emotional safety mechanism.
Ricardo leaped onto the roof of the manor and howled, a mournful cry for the loss of an ally, a friend, a companion he cherished and had fought alongside. Following his lead, the other demi-human members of the Iron Fang joined in, their howls echoing through the night, a chorus of grief for their fallen comrade.
Julius Juukulius, the knight who had striven for perfection, had ultimately found redemption not in his flawless technique, but in his unwavering loyalty and selfless sacrifice. He had given his life to protect his lady, fulfilling his vow and proving himself to be the finest knight, not in title, but in spirit. His passing left a void in the hearts of those who knew him, a testament to the impact he had made on their lives.
Reinhardt and Wilhelm, both alerted by the mournful howls echoing through the night, instantly sensed that something was amiss. A shared feeling of dread washed over them as they hurried back towards the manor, their concern for the others overriding their exhaustion. Like grandfather, like grandson, their protective instincts kicked in.
But there was a chilling sensation that clung to them, a feeling of loss and an unnatural coldness that permeated the manor. Despite it not being winter, the air was frigid, a coldness that rivaled even the permafrost nation of Gusteko. It was an ominous sign, a harbinger of the grim news that awaited them.