Emilia sat at her desk, studying several books of political science, regarding the Kingdom of Lugunica and its monarchical governmental structure, history, dating back to the civil war and events prior to that, and economics. It was all difficult and frustrating to sift through and understand the materials even if she imagined it through simple-to-digest examples. She had limited time, and it was ticking. Some hours remained before her departure to the Royal Capital. Even though it may have been wiser to rest and take it easy, she desired to use her freetime in doing something 'productive' as Roswaal would often say.

"I want to be able to do something. I don't want to hide. I have to do my utmost best."

I want to.

I don't.

I have to.

Unsavory memories sprung up once again; her failure to protect them was made clear since that incident two months ago. Tasked with an important objective to reach, amplified by what had happened, Emilia knew she couldn't cut corners as she usually had. She was still mesmerized by the expanding world surrounding her. She wanted to learn and explore its finer details. But she had to mature; there was no other choice or way. Absorbed in the world of textbooks, attaining knowledge, powering through her resistance to exert any mental effort to studying, barely managing to maintain a consistent period of studying, she attempted to remain concentrated.

As her hand guided the quill along the notebook, summarizing what she had learned in bullet points and adding relatively important information, she recalled how long it took for her to master E-glyph, I-glpyh and Ro-glyph calligraphy. Arithmetics were too confusing for her, even now as more weird concepts and formulas kept appearing, often taking the whole day for her to master what seemed like an insignificant portion compared to the voluminous pages that awaited her. A smile crept on her lips as a faint nostalgia brimmed up. And it was sullied by the shrill screams of a little girl.

"Roooooooooooooooooom-jiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!"

She had the power to save that man. She was powerful enough to eliminate the opponent that threatened both of their lives—And yet, it was not enough.

"I have to do better. I need to do better. I must do my best to never repeat that mistake again."

I have to.

I need to.

I must.

Those same thoughts never stopped echoing ever since. They plagued her mind with worry, sorrow and guilt. However, she couldn't be brooding over it forever.

"That's right… There reaaally is always another chance for everyone. I can do it. Just like anyone else."

Even if she was shunned for something out of her control, driven away by those she would lend a hand to, her heart still pounded anew. With each hit and blow it sustained, it grew sterner and more obstinate. But that didn't mean that the cracks residing within would be sealed.

Her elven brethren at Elior Forest remained frozen. An answer as to why that had happened to them also remained unknown. However, there was a way to return them back to normal; the Dragon's blood. To attain it, she must bid for the throne wholeheartedly without a shred of naivete. It was a selfish goal, that much she knew. There was no other choice at hand except this.

"I will do the best I can. No matter what happens. I will not allow another misstep again…"

Emilia stopped writing and stood from her seat, leaving the room promptly, knowing that her desk was a mess. At the back of her head, she could imagine Ram looking at her with an unamused face as she organized the desk.

The corridor and the red carpet lining it up stretched far as the extravagant decorations and wall lamps filled the wide space, the sunshine seeping through the windows. As she sauntered ahead, a small frame clad in a regal pink dress with a shawl that complemented it exited the door nearest to her. The moment the little girl saw her, her delicate face deepened in its scowl.

It was quite rare to see her outside the Forbidden Library. And it was even rarer to see her come out of her own accord. Naturally, Emilia gasped slightly as she beheld the Great Spirit in charge of the library before her eyes.

"Beatrice?"

"It is me, I suppose. To think the first face I see the moment I step outside is yours."

Beatrice's cream-colored hair flowed smoothly in the air, styled in twin loops, caught Emilia's attention as she disregarded her ill-mannered response with a warm smile—It was such a cute hairdo that she considered having Puck fashion her own hair like it—and closed her eyes for a moment to ponder; for everything that weighed Emilia down to her core all resulted from a simple act of theft, and pursuit. Everything occurred the day she went to visit the Royal Capital as though it was predestined so. Beatrice was also standing like this with a scowl on her face the last time she saw her that day.

Surprisingly, this was the first time Emilia saw Beatrice since two months passed. Considering her usual temper and tendency to be dismissive, there was no need to bother her further but something about her presence set the heart at ease.

"In a few hours, I will be departing from the mansion."

"That doesn't concern me, I suppose."

Despite her cold attitude, Beatrice walked up to a nearby window. Had she wanted to, she would have left without a single shred of hesitation. Catching a hint of indulgence from her, Emilia stayed still where she stood and untangled the threads of reluctance constricting her throat.

"What do you think I should do, Beatrice? I have done a lot these past two months. I studied more. I put more effort and more care into everything I do. I trained more. I honed my abilities further. I strengthened my contracts and upheld them. Yet, I feel as though it isn't enough to make up for my shortcomings."

It wasn't an issue of strength or effort. It was the inability to act properly—caused by the sown seed of hesitance that called into question her capabilities—when two choices were presented before her.

"How infuriating you are, I suppose." Beatrice said, sighing as she turned to face Emilia with a sardonic smile. "With your current undeveloped mindset, it is only natural that you will be held back. However, in spite of that, you got it all twisted in your head somehow, in fact." Placing her index finger to her forehead, she inclined her head. "Have you ever wondered what those shortcomings are? For what reason have they surfaced? What can you learn from them? Until you can ascertain that, do not move a single step, girl."

"…"

The shortcomings that had been made clear two months ago, accentuated by the fact that she let someone die before her, still haunted Emilia. Outwitted by the opponent, placed at a huge disadvantage, what could she have done to prevent it? Examining the situation from every aspect, the realization that she was fooled into thinking that was the case caused a terrible headache to surface again—She had the advantage but misread the circumstances, costing a life in the end. Had Puck been there, she would have defeated the evildoer before anything bad could happen. Puck had also helped when she was afflicted with an illusion. Which brought her to another shortcoming: her dependency on Puck. It was something that she could not help, and it didn't require an explanation or reason.

As for her being outwitted in battle, that was because of her hesitance to act swiftly, and her double-edged sympathy towards her foe. What was Beatrice trying to say? Then it dawned on Emilia what she had intended to say once she went over the events that haunted her once more..

"Beatrice… It couldn't be that you—"

"Do not get me wrong, in fact. It is only because you have been troubling Puck with that depressing attitude of yours that I decided to entertain your worries, I suppose."

"Thank you. I know that I have. But I will be fine for now."

As long as she acknowledged her faults and strived to overcome them, Emilia would surely prevail over her fears. As long as the coldness of determination continued to freeze her body solid, she would establish herself as a person in this world, removed from the jeers and ridicule and the labels they would assign to her: The silver haired half-elf and The Witch of Envy.

Emilia acknowledged that no one has truly looked at her for who she was. Even though she had been in the mansion for only an insignificant portion of time, she was not oblivious to the little movements and gestures those in the mansion would make and what they indicated. Roswaal had never looked her in the eyes once, giving the impression that he only cared about her role as a candidate for the throne. Ram had shown that she doesn't acknowledge Emilia as her 'master' through her disapproving eyes, and Rem had a tendency to avert her gaze from Emilia. The littlest of abnormalities were easily identifiable over the course of a few months. But Beatrice, who treated everyone with indignation, seemed to be the only one who consistently showed annoyance when it came to her—Not that it was a unique difference, yet it set her apart from them and provided more than comfort. She would liken it to a companionship, but Beatrice would dislike that.

"I shall inform you of something else, I suppose."

Beatrice stopped Emilia from leaving with a striking tone. Turning around to face the little girl, she answered, "Yes?"

"Do not disrupt the natural flow of your growth or the consequences shall create more trials for you to undergo, in fact."

"—I understand."

Grasping the meaning of her words, the likes of which Puck would iterate to her, Emilia left for the garden with long strides ahead. Reaching a place of nature where she could think clearer. The greenery and the feeling of being swept away by the cool wind calmed her soul, allowing her to breathe in and out, her back straightened. It was on that day, where she had met Felt and Rom, that she was utterly outwitted—

"I…understand everything I need to do," Emilia, watching the sky, heard the leaves rustle as her voice came out. "Yet, no matter how much I understand, I can't seem to be practical about it. I know, and that is all I can do."

To the present and the future, she was willing to overcome any difficulty that may come across her.

"Puck, what should I do?"

She raised her hand toward the skies, trying to take hold of the clouds in futility. Memories of two months ago flashed so vividly as her tears dampened her cheeks, back when that vicious conflict occured—

"Return back what you stole! It's a very important keepsake that I must never lose!"

Throwing open the creaking door to the loothouse as specks of dust and stagnant air brushed against her face, Emilia discerned a worn bar stretching before her in which two figures, the little girl sitting on a stool facing an old man with a hulking physique behind the counter, dawdled. The old man seemed to be from the Giant race, though they had become extinct so it came off as a surprise. The little girl had blonde hair extending to her neck, her head resting atop the counter as her fingers tapped on it in boredom and it soon stopped once the room was illuminated by the golden light from the sunset, Emilia's shadow right beside her. The girl's head jolted high as though she must have expected another person, and was swift to realize who she was. The old man, though, alternatively gazed at the girl before him and Emilia with a hint of anticipation.

Ignoring them for a moment, her line of sight shifted rapidly to the rest of the interior which was filled with items that held no significant value—imitations of jewelery, broken trinkets, an array of sword replicas jagged in its edges and brittle cabinets that leaned to the right, yet seemed to be maintained to an acceptable minimum. There didn't seem to be anything that they could make use of to escape.

Emilia stood as the bastion that prevented them from escaping her confrontation. And, without the two of them looking, they understood that.

"Rom-jii… It's not her that we're waiting for."

"...I see."

The old man, addressed as Rom, widened his eyes, taking on a tinge of hostility as opposed to earlier, at the girl's whisper-like voice. Emilia's long ears twitched slightly toward the whsipers, hearing them clearly, not understanding what that meant as she tilted her head.

Could it be…that someone else conspired with them to steal her insignia?

Once they noticed Emilia walking forward, the floorboards creaking loudly with each step, a shift in the atmosphere of the room caused everyone to be silent momentarily. The body language of them both gave off their fighting plan; Rom leaned down as though his hands were reaching out to grab something, obscured by the counter—a weapon for sure—and the girl reached for her waist, her head unmoving from the counter as her feet touched the floor. Their eyes were wide open like predators, watching her every move as though they were looking for an opening in her defenses; however, Emilia had neither plans on letting them flee her sight nor letting them breach her defenses so easily.

"Wait! I don't want to fight you!" Emilia stopped before they could make a move, making an appeal to them. It didn't help them be less tense, but they seemed to show a willingness to listen. "I want my insignia back. That is all I came here for."

"Can't do that, missy. If ya want to have it back, then ya either have to negotiate with me for it or keep chasing after me till ya tire out. What do ya say's the best of the two?"

"Felt, don't make light of her and provoke her. It's already a—"

"No. I got this."

Rom placed a hand on the girl, named Felt, who reached deeper into her waist, raising her head slowly, and, regardless of his gesture, faced Emilia with daring, crimson eyes.

"Felt, is it? I am afraid I can't negotiate with you because I don't have any money on me. But I am not allowing you to run away. Also, there is nothing to negotiate for when you're the one who stole my possession."

"Yet, I'm the one who holds what ya want. Lemme make this clear, ya ain't having it if ya don't have anything equal in value to it. Otherwise, it becomes mine, ya see? Besides, someone else is supposed to be here to buy it from me any minute now. Ya understand the deal, don'tcha?"

"And I am not going to compromise any of my belongings for you." Emilia's voice grew sterner. The Dragon Insignia was not something to be bargained for to begin with as it signified her role as a Royal Candidate. Having it disappear from her person, it would cause her to be immediately disqualified from the Royal Selection. "Give it back like a good girl, please."

"What is that patronizing tone, huh? Then, what about that necklace of yours? I'm betting it mighta fetch a pretty price."

Pointing at her pyroxene crystal necklace where Puck currently slept, Emilia heaved a sigh. It was a treasured item that she could not compromise on even if the skies collapsed on her. Felt had only shown defiance throughout the entire exchange whilst not moving a centimeter from her seat, holding out a dagger promptly—not trained at her, but it was just in case as its tip scraped the top of the counter. It troubled her to an extent that she thought she might just take the insignia by force, but quickly receded that thought, wanting to conclude this situation without conflict.

"This is troubling…"

"Well? We're not gonna be waiting forever, are we? Hurry it up."

"You're too cheeky, you know that?"

Felt's voice came out as a low growl, her grip on her dagger tightening till her hand shook. She wasn't going to yield the insignia to her. Taking a deep breath, Emilia tried a different approach.

"What is your goal? What do you need?"

Felt let out a laugh, seemingly amused by the sudden interrogation. Then, she stabbed the table near her with a thud, her eyes twitching, staring deep into Emilia, her teeth grit. "The hell is it to you? My goal? My needs? Ten holy coins is all I need to get the hell out of this shitty kingdom!" Watching that shift in demeanor, Emilia's stern eyes softened, listening to her with compassion spared. Felt's voice was laced with poison, laying bare her intentions. "That's all there is to it. The more pathetic faces I see in these slums, the more I want to rise above the others. I will secure my future with my own hands. I won't wait for some hero or some saint to come save me from this shitty life of crawling for minuscule scraps of food!" She tightened her grip on the hilt of her dagger, pulling it out, knuckles turning white; her bitter eyes were obscured by her bangs as she inclined her head to the ground. "That's why I'm not letting things go the way ya want. And I won't. I'm getting the money I need whether ya like it or not. This chance's all I need for a life I can lead with my own strength, and I won't let ya strip this away from me."

"…I see now."

Emilia couldn't imagine living such a stressful life, so she couldn't empathize with her. However, she partly understood the struggle of life and death during her time in Elior Forest, being hunted by barbarians from time to time. Though she would overpower them before they could do anything significant. Getting precious crystals from caves, selling them with difficulty, and buying the bare necessities she could. It stressed her to see many disapproving faces; even today when she was walking through the capital city, not in her cloak for a brief time, she would get fearful stares from passersby.

Just like how Puck would help her through adversities, surely it was the same for her with Rom.

"Felt."

Boldly stepping forward, wary of the danger and confident enough to deflect any blows, placing a hand on Felt's shoulder, who flinched, promptly training a dagger to Emilia's neck. She lowered her eyelids, relying on the slightest change in the air to guide her if need be. In spite of the threat near her throat, she said, "I may or may not understand your predicament entirely, but it must've been rough on you, that I am certain of. I am not an enemy to you or your grandfather over there. You don't have to drop your guard around me if you're not certain of my words."

Letting go of the world around her, she attempted to understand this fearful, isolated child. With the risk of possibly sustaining an injury, Emilia met the gaze of the person before her. Eyes that seemed to be extinguished from the fires it once held within. Then, those eyes were set to the side, the dagger withdrawn, as Felt pushed her hand off, the tensions in the air ground to a halt. Setting aside the dagger on the counter, she crossed her arms, furrowing her brows in an obvious attempt to hide her embarrassment, spitting out, "You're full of openings. Don't get carried away."

"Ah. Sorry."

Retreating a few steps, Emilia still faced the two with a determined attitude. She wanted the Dragon Insignia back. Perhaps she could promise her—

"Well, ya two sure are going at it. At first, I thought ya would've been an unreasonable lass, but that seemed to be a wrong impression, eh? Ahahaha!" said Rom, dispelling the deadlock. "At this point, we will have a neverending exchange. Say, why don't we settle this once Felt's employer appears?"

"Rom-jii, do ya want the both of them to fight or something?"

Felt cocked her head to the side, facing Rom, with a concerned tone of voice, giving meaningful glances at Emilia. The little girl still seemed to harbor suspicions, Emilia thought fleetingly as Rom, with his large build, placed a hand on the counter and said, "Since the owner of the item you stole is here, and that same owner isn't willing to negotiate for it, yet isn't fighting ya right away, how do ya think this's getting resolved?"

"But that means I failed my employer! What should I do…" Felt heaved a sigh, a defeated expression painting her face unlike her bursts of defiance earlier. "I… I already knew that was the case from the beginning. Why do you think I was probing this woman to negotiate with me anyway, Rom-jii?"

"Well, just gonna have to give it up now, are we? Even from a glance, they would understand the problem. This lass won't give up the item ya stole, and ya won't get the fruits of yer labor."

"…"

Felt, listening to Rom's sound reasoning, turned silent with a crestfallen visage that made the pits of Emilia's heart churn. Having heard her motives, her desire to take control over her own life and future, she understood the little girl before her to a considerable extent. That is why she couldn't let this exchange end with Felt not getting anything. Even if it meant troubling her benefactor, earning the disapproval of the twin maids and Beatrice, she wanted to extend a hand to Felt when there were no others that bothered to do so. It was neither salvation she offered nor pity. She would have to earn it herself.

In spite of their circumstances differing, Emilia didn't think that they were much different. Even if they were not, she would still say the same words—

"If you give me the insignia back, I will make sure to give you a job under my benefactor. You can leave anytime you want. You were only trying to secure your position, weren't you? I can understand the feeling of unease."

In a world where she was shunned for something out of her control, a sense of unease would usually cloud her existence. The people she saved, the people she met, people she didn't know, would never acknowledge her as herself. As Emilia. They would hurl hurtful names, and attribute her to someone else. Was she that someone? Was she Emilia? Overtime, thankfully, that feeling gradually dissipated whenever Puck reaffirmed her existence.

Felt directed her widened eyes at Emilia, her jaw dropping at the proclamation made. "You…" Shaking her head, she countered, "I don't want that! What can you even give me—"

"Well…she might treat you to a nice dinner and introduce you to her house where you'll play with all the dolls you need. Or maybe she'll crush your skull with you being none-the-wiser. Or you three can fall victim to me, each and every one of you in despair."

An unexpected voice permeated the room, interrupting Felt midway through her speech. Emilia, turning to face the voice, spotted a black figure at the entrance—No. It was a person clothed in loose robes, their figure undefined, their head and face obscured in a hood. The moment Emilia blinked, the figure took off their hood and revealed a delicate face with a silver smooth scar painted diagonally across it; a scar that seemed to tell its own story. Her hair's length was uneven, falling down to her neck to her chest to her knee. She stood at least one head taller than Emilia herself, and unleashed a bloodcurdling, low cackle that echoed in the loothouse as her eyes, devoid of color, with pupils that seemed to fight for dominance over the irises, darted everywhere across the room calculatingly, and soon settled on Emilia; who, taken aback by the sheer coldness of that gaze, stepped back.

The eerie woman imposed her presence with a stomp on the floor, squaring her shoulders back, splitting her cheeks in an amused smile. She took a heavy step forward and said, "You just had to come over, didn't you?"

"I believe that is only natural."

"Yeeees, it is. That much is expected, after aaaaalll…" The woman's smile grew deeper, training her ridiculing eyes toward Felt, who stood from her seat brandishing her dagger. Emilia intervened and hid her behind her back. The girl seemed to want to say something aloud until… "The mediocrity of that dirty slum rat was taken into account anyway. Thanks to my expectations getting met, I get to make a bloodbath as I please."

"Taken into account… You never planned on paying me, and you made me steal from this person just to lure her in…!?" Felt growled, moving to stand beside Emilia, facing her employer with bared teeth. Her knuckles paled, holding the dagger in an inverted grip, her crimson eyes gushed with hostility. "You were playing me all along?!"

"Hey, hey, little mediocre thief, this isn't your field. Stay out of the conversation of adults, alongside your old geezer if you know what's good for you."

"Ghk…!"

"Wait!"

The words hit Felt like a cascade, frustrating her to no end. Tightening her grip on the hilt of the dagger, and when she was about to rush the woman, Emilia swiftly knelt and held out an arm to interfere.

"Get out of my way!"

"Felt! Don't make any rash decisions!"

"Rom-jii… Didn't you hear her?! She deceived me!" Felt, stopped in her tracks, exploded at Rom, perhaps unwittingly, with her voice shrill. "Get out of my way… I'll teach this bitch a lesson!"

"Felt. Stay by Rom's side. And don't intervene, like she said."

"You too…!"

"Listen to me. This concerns you and me," Emilia observing her opponent's every move, every breath and twitch, spoke to Felt and Rom pleadingly. "I'll fight her. So protect yourselves as much as you can, please."

"…"

"I'm counting on you."

Felt's silence was something that Emilia dreaded. However, she hoped her pleas would reach her. She could hear her grind her teeth, with swift footsteps thudding behind her. Relieved for a moment, she focused on the woman before her. "You took into account that I would come… What is that supposed to mean?" Emilia's question hung in the warm air as a belated realization struck her. "You planned all of this…just to fight me?"

"Well, you hit it right on the mark except that last bit. Since you already know of the deal we striked up, I will have to kill you, that mediocre thief and that decrepit half-giant."

With a glare, not ignoring the words of abuse she hurled toward Felt and Rom, Emilia poured strength into her next words.

"Who are you?"

"Me? Are you sure you should be asking questions when we're at the brink of battle?" The woman's face turned blank, her eyes scrutinizing Emilia. "Ashley. Ashley Abigor. There. Be pleased at the sound of my great name, because…" In what seemed like a split second, the woman's figure melted in the air. Emilia's ears twitched violently at the change in air pressure, a warm breath pressed against her neck as deathly words blared clearly. "...this loothouse is your funeral."

"…"

A cleaver tore through the air soundlessly before her eyes, a malevolent, pale hand guiding it in a diagonal arc. In a single instant, Emilia, driven by instinct, gathering a frantic amount of mana in the atmosphere, the air warping as particles emerged, called upon her spirits. The moment she conjured an airborne crystal shield, the thick blade struck it at the center as a wave of crushing impact burst the wind around her, stools collapsing, her hair dancing lividly. It sank, creeping inside, cracking and splitting the glimmering surface in a spiderweb as particles of crystal went flying and disintegrated posthaste. The blade retracted with a delay, notched from the impact, and slashed at Emilia's head before the shield blocked it once more.

Eyes widening with tenacity, sensing a small flick in the opponent's defenses, a fist shot out of Emilia, pummeling against the woman's abdomen, sending her reeling back as her cleaver fell out of her hand. Ashley stood her ground as she balanced her footing, unphased, donning a thrilled smile, her eyes also open wide, staring deep in Emilia's own.

"Ahh… I'd lose against the likes of you any time. Ehehehahahaha!"

"What do you mean?" Emilia asked earnestly, her eyes unyielding, rising back to her feet as the shield rapidly stirred around her. "Why do you want to fight me?"

"Do you know what I mean? What do you think I mean? I mean what I mean, don't I? You are strong. Veeery strong. Stronger than me. But if you want to know why I fight you, can you defeat me as you are? The best thing about me being so vulnerable is that… Ehahahahaha!" Ashley's shoulders rippled, her mouth letting out a cackle, slowly hunching over to take back the cleaver.

Unable to take a move due to how defenseless Ashley was as she bent, Emilia bated her breath as the woman took the knife with her right hand. Should she attack or should she talk with her? Having decided what to do, she proceeded two steps forward. "Ashley, we should ta—"

"Yehahahahahahahahahahahaha!"

Ashley cackled once more, distorting her scar, moving slowly, her arms seeming limp, hanging coldly. With a bellicose stare, she let her cleaver swing like a pendulum. The sight sent waves of pain breaching Emilia's heart. Why was she looking at her with such broken eyes? Why was she acting like this? In an instant, she, nearer to her than before, grasped Emilia's shoulder as the revolving shield batted her hand away, standing as a barrier between them.

"How will you defeat me, if you want to know why I fight you?"

"…"

"I am an enemy. You are my enemy. Let that seep through you. Let those words consume you. My lifeless eyes, do you see? I have lived through the harshness of life more times than you could imagine. Bit by bit, my soul grew warmer. Bit by bit, my soul yearned for kindness. I don't want you to be mistaken. I am an enemy. You are my enemy." Leaning too far against the crystalline shield, transparent enough to show her pitiful face, her breath pressing against it, her colorless eyes held Emilia's eyes in captivity. "I lived with many people, you see? They would beat me, cut my hair, slap my face till it was red, pinch my nose too forcefully, and force me to kill the strong. Leaving me alone, undefended, as tyrants almost killed me, slashing my face forming the scar that haunts my existence again and again. From land to land, I was tossed. From village to village, I was cursed. And finally…I was blessed… A half-elf surely understands this pain? Discriminated by many over something you can't control… A matter of indiscriminate heritage. Over a fairy tale of four hundred years ago. You always resonated with me. From the moment I saw you. I cut the horn on my forehead a looooooong time ago. A half-beast of the horned races, discriminated against, hated…" Her breathy voice brushed closer against the shield, saliva wetting the cracks. "My family was slaughtered. Over something as silly as resembling witchbeasts. They hated us for something we couldn't control. And they kept me alive to toy with me. Surely, you, a half-elf, can understand this frustration. It hurts everytime I think about it, but it also reinforces my determination. I'll do anything for love."

Emilia sensed no incoming attack. No uppercuts, no strikes. No swings, no slashes. No hostile movement. Nothing seemed to alert her. She stared back at the eyes that pleaded with her to understand. She understood and sympathized with her words, and, like Felt, she couldn't empathize with the rest. Why was she telling her this? It pained Emilia, and since Puck was not with her, she couldn't discern whether she was lying or not. But…even in those colorless eyes, she couldn't detect a lie herself.

She wondered what she could do to reconcile with her? What is it that she can do to help her, too? No matter what, the Dragon Insignia was to be retrieved. So why…

"Why did you want the insignia I own?"

"Because if I didn't have it, I would be killed. I will be killed no matter what. I will be hunted forever. So, now that you've heard my story, understood my position, give up everything to me."

As soon as she said those words, her cold voice shaking the air, the shield spun around Emilia like a whirlwind possessed despite Ashley not moving, idling; something, she couldn't perceive, was about to come. Then her smile cut across her cheeks, raising the cleaver to the side, clenching the hilt such that the sound of her skin getting scraped resounded. And only a choked gasp came out of Emilia as she witnessed the petrifying sudden shift in behavior, the sight of Ashley obscured by the raging shield.

"Your kind eyes… If you were there during my suffering, I would've endured hell itself." Ashley's eyelids simply closed halfway, her smile constant, a little laugh escaping her throat. "Even though I repeated twice that I am your enemy, and that you are my enemy, you still want to help me… Kyahahahaha…!"

Emilia did not understand. Ashley's mad, low laughter hung in the air, further deepening her confusion contrary to earlier.

"Half-elf miss, get back! Rom-jii!"

Once Felt's grating caution reached Emilia's ears from behind, feeling two arms coil around her waist firmly, reeling her back, Ashley slashed in a sweeping motion at her, pounding the shield as it intervened, shattering it mercilessly, thousands of crystal shards spraying the room, glinting in the dark, as the trajectory of the blade reached the floor with a clank. She gazed upon the ceiling ascending before her, wondering what had just happened as her form rested upon a soft, warm surface. Her instincts did not fail her. She failed to act according to her intuition. It did not take her but a moment to realize that she was shaken. Shaken to the core.

Not from fear. But from a "moral dilemma" for the first time since she left Elior Forest. However, a dominant emotion swept over that—An overwhelming pity over her opponent, over the way of life she led, over the wicked deeds that cloud her existence. She expected Emilia to understand her, and her wish was fulfilled. And the most pitiful thing was that she cut her horn; ridding herself of the heritage that defined her. Her appearance, from the very beginning, was heartrending, providing credibility to her story. That was why, rather than fear ruling her heart, the flames of passion propelled Emilia forward—There was no need for hesitation for as long as she still did evil deeds.

"Rom-jii, show that bitch who's boss!"

"Ya bet I will!"

With a newfound sense of equilibrium, lifting her head to the side, Emilia saw Felt belting a fiery command, alongside an equally fiery response from Rom, her lips in a fiendish grin, as she lowered her to the ground with a strained effort at gentleness. Then, her visage etched with regret, biting her lips, the little girl let out a sigh. "Sorry for draggin' ya 'nto my mess." Averting her crimson eyes from Emilia's own, she gazed upon the ceiling "I'll return your stuff back after this is over—"

"I expected you two to intervene at some point. This loothouse is your funeral, didn't I say so?! Ehahahahahahaha!"

"Keep it to yerself, lass."

Ashley cackled, cutting Felt's speech, striding towards the pair. Emilia watched as Rom vaulted over the counter with a large ebony club in his large hand, rushing the woman in black, towering over her. Driving the heavy mass, rending the air, against the woman's flank, Ashley staggered in a twirl, receding two steps. She deflected the next strike with her left palm to the side, the club crashing into a cabinet, breaking it asunder as motes of dust and splinters scrambled in the air. An unsettling smile ruptured the woman's cheeks, her eyes shut, as she slammed the jagged cleaver against Rom's incoming club. A drum-like resonance rumbling the room, a metallic clang echoing, they pushed against each other's strengths.

It seemed to Emilia like the battle was reaching a balance until Rom, with his superior build, forced the woman down to her knees, but Ashley flung the course of the club toward Emilia and Felt the moment she stood again. A blur of ebony wood obscured her vision of the fight, streaking through the air, then it was driven to the floorboards after a delay, shattering them as splinters erupted forth. Rom, breathing raggedly, twisted his form to face his opponent, but she was already behind him.

"Rom-jii! Behind you!"

With an urgent cry beside her filling the room, Emilia's instincts raged. She did not think. She could not think fast enough, however…

"Ofh…!"

"…Sorry."

In a mad dash, Emilia launched the half-giant to the wall with a sweep of her arm, and caught hold of the hand that wielded the broad blade that melted in the air, halting it. Eyes wide like a predator, she twisted the woman's arm, slamming her soles against the cleaver as it flew and lodged onto the ceiling. Taking Ashley's wrist, she thrust a fist to her stomach as a flash of white flooded her vision alongside a stinging sensation. She had been hit back—a realization too late as another strike grazed her ears. Emilia returned the blow, connecting her fist to the woman's scarred face. They both stood a couple meters away from each other.

"Hah…kehehahaha…!" Ashley hunched over, her unevenly lengthed hair suspended in the air, breaking the floorboard beneath her feet before training a wooden board at Emilia. She gave a serene smile. "I do not need a blade to kill. Blunt force objects will just do. But that might not even be needed."

"Haven't you had enough? I am giving you one last chance to give up!"

Emilia advanced two steps, conjuring a barrage of crystal stakes overhead, outstretching her palm. Ashley neither budged nor moved, she simply parted her lips without delay—"Butterfly Dream."

A blinding light burst from Ashley's hand as a mist enveloped the loothouse, obscuring her vision. It did not inhibit Emilia from detecting her opponent's movement, and so she kept her barrage at the ready for the slightest shift in pressure—except that Ashley did not move.

"What?"

Her surroundings warped into spirals as a sharp pain struck her mind, the mist dissipating, and reality slipped out of her grasp. A scenery of black and white, a fallen kingdom reduced to rubble, and a mountain of corpses lay. A freezing cold, a harsh unforgiving winter overtook the skies, and snow poured like torrential rain. Those who were fortunate enough to make it out of the cold, wounded and afraid, had flowers of ice grow out of their injuries as it sucked their blood till they were dry like parchment; leaving them a chance to live if they could make it farther away from her. It was a nostalgic scene, bringing back the sharp pain in her heart—It was a reality she often envisioned in her nightmares ending always in tragedy. And here it was. A reality before her.

She stood amongst a herd of knights, roaring. They didn't pay any attention to her, and they weren't aware of her either. The knights gathered around the mountain of corpses, leaving her behind, and standing atop it was…

"No…"

—A silver haired half elf. Purple irises, and blue pupils. A white dress, a white robe embroidered in a golden bird of prey design. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. White. Like snow. A smile cut across her cheeks, her brows lifted high as she regarded the knights with little to no mind. She did not speak, but her lips split apart. If she were to speak at this moment, Emilia herself would break apart a thousand pieces.

"Stop it… This is not who—"

The monster…or rather the Witch descended the mountain of corpses seamlessly, and the knights only watched, shivering in the cold as their armor, their weapons, weighed them down, providing them with no warmth. No escape from the blazing cold that came with each step she took. The Witch approached Emilia, her eyes obscured by her bangs, but her smile still tore through her cheeks. "What I am… What I became… This is a culmination of what you are deep down. You're the Witch. You keep denying it, but it is the truth. If you weren't the Witch, why do people look terrified when they see you? Why do they curse you? Why do they disregard your acts of kindness towards them? It is because you are the Witch. A half-devil. You can't even look at your reflection without resisting the urge to vomit. You know it deep down, don't you? Their jeers, their sneers, their denouncement… It must all have a reason. Nothing happens without reason as Puck said. So naturally, the truth came down to you truly being the Witch everyone else thought you were. It's not because of race. Or discrimination. Your existence in this world was simply unforgivable from the moment you were born. You were cursed to be the Witch of Envy. And this world…" The Witch raised her chin, her eyes reflecting Emilia's own face. They were alike in every way imaginable—That nasty silver hair; those disgusting pointed elf ears; those vile eyes; a vomit-inducing pale complexion… Everything about her was disgusting. Vile. Wicked. Devilish. Her existence was cursed forever to be scorned, even by those nearer to her.

Emilia shrieked as a flash of her face came to mind again. She closed her eyes, and covered her face with her palms frantically as she cowered.

"Aaahhhh… Aaaaahhhhhhh….!"

"Hiding away? Even though you know that the ugly truth will always face you head on? The darkness you inflict on yourself will only remind you of that which haunted you," The Witch that resembled her giggled in a childish way, squatting, pulling Emilia's palms away from her face. "You will never escape it. You're the scum of the earth. No one will ever thank you. No one will ever look at you for who you are. No one will accept you for who you are! Not Roswaal, not Ram, not Rem, not Beatrice, and not the villagers! Not even a knight in shining armor would dare to challenge the world for yooooou! Your hopes… Your aspirations for the future are just sweet-nothings you convince yourself of everyday!" The Witch laughed, her face darkened, rising higher than Emilia's cowering form. "See the destruction around you! This is something you're capable of doing. This is something that can even earn you a true place in the Witch Cult itself!"

"No…! This isn't right…" Emilia protested, but her voice weakened, softening to a whisper. "It can't be… I did all of this? I killed them all?"

"You know who you are."

"…"

Those accusatory words blared through her eardrums, blanking her mind out. The words gashed her heart, leaving nary a trace of warmth or mercy. She stayed silent, her gaze roaming her surroundings. The copious amount of rubble and debris that once used to be called a nation, half destroyed buildings stood barely on its foundation, and the mountain of corpses freezing together; all of that, it was her who committed these evil acts. There was no doubt.

Emilia was a witch—A being most detested, with no place in this world. Its purpose was to spread as much destruction and despair and sorrow as possible. That was the truth.

"I am the Witch of Glaciation, Emilia," So proclaimed the Witch before her, giggling. "I destroyed the Kingdom of Lugunica, and I killed Roswaal, Rem, Ram, Beatrice, and everyone who got in my way. I unleashed a fierce winter upon half the world, and now I await my death at the hands of the Hero who lost it all. But he will not come… After all, there is no one to save!"

Emilia had no rebuttal. And her resolve shattered as her arms collapsed to the snow. There was nothing that she could do to overturn what she had done.

Lia, wake up.

Even as that comforting voice filled her with warmth, the gashes she was afflicted with remained. A bandage was never enough to heal a broken heart, and the world around her would never allow her to heal.

Stand up, Emilia. Do not let this illusion overpower you.

For some reason, Emilia couldn't help but rise to her feet. Her heart simmered with hurt, but she gathered the strength to stare back at the Witch of Glaciation. The mention of an illusion… What could it mean?

"Are you grasping at straws?"

Snow poured from above once more, and as the world turned white, Emilia spread her arms high. If she was the Witch of Glaciation, then why are there two of them? She cannot undo what was done. But what if this was just an illusion—No, a reality where everything had gone wrong? Where she had transgressed against everyone? Everything that had happened here was not her doing. It was a potential reality.

It doesn't have to be that way in her reality. Whatever it shall be, she will face it head on. She will get stronger. She will be better. She will be dependent on herself the best she can. That is why she will not despair.

"I am not grasping at straws. I know that you are what I could become. But I will not yield to the pain of rejection and lash out at the world!"

"Aren't these just words to convince yourself? In the end you accepted it. That you could become like me in a possible reality."

"Yes. That is why it doesn't have to be this way. Puck is with me. I am not alone."

There was this one thing that bothered Emilia when she stood up. Where was Puck in this reality? He was nowhere. The Emilia calling herself a 'Witch' did not have anyone to guide her. Nor did she have anyone to hold her, and reassure her—That is why…

"Don't hurt anyone anymore."

"…!"

"You may be an illusion, but I won't just stop at that and snap out of it yet. You need to know this feeling again."

Emilia wrapped her arms around the 'Emilia', running her fingers through her silver locks. Her other self attempted to pry her arms away, but Emilia tightened her hold. She would not yield until she experienced the warmth that held her together again.

"You're not alone. I am not alone. We have to be strong. We have to endure. Until one day, we'll meet someone who finally accepts us for what we are. Let's not lose hope. I won't lose hope. I am not alone, and I will repeat it as many times as I have to!"

Pouring her heart out, reassuring 'Emilia', Emilia released her and took a step back.

"I won't lose heart! I… I…"

Lia, it is time to wake up from this illusion. Don't get swept up in it too much.

"Ah! I have to leave, okay? I still have to defeat Ashley!"

"…"

'Emilia' didn't bat an eye, and stared blankly at her. Out of the corner of her eye, a black void consumed the world around them until there were only the two of them. Her other self's lips parted, however even she was consumed—the illusion dissipated and with that, the dusty odor of the loothouse returned. The fresh metallic stench of oxidizing iron invaded her nostrils, polluting the dank air; it was blood. Her perception heightened, and her long ears twitched at the sound of a low, trembling bellow.

"Yooooouuuuu…! How daaaaaaaare you kill Rom-jiiiiiiiiiii!"

"That took you faster than expected, half-elf!"

"Focus on me, you piece of shit! I'll make you regret ever deceiving me again!"

Two blades clashed with a rupturing clank. The trembling fervor of a little girl, and the tranquil condescension of a mature woman similarly clashed. In their midst lay a half-giant ragdolled on the ground, his neck bleeding from a shallow gash, and his lower limbs dislocated—His shallow breaths were so faint that he could have easily been mistaken for dead. Emilia's long ears picked them up with a slight quiver, but there was no hope for recovery, because once she looked closer at Rom amidst the sparks and clanking of metal, long pink tubes could be seen spilling out of his abdomen—

"You're out of your depth, slum rat."

"Shut your fucking mouth!"

Felt's body flashed like a blur, slashing Ashley from her every flank. However, her foe's jagged cleaver deflected her attempts of killing her with practiced ease, and with her chin raised high. Every bit of Felt's movements after that display of arrogance seemed to have pushed her to the limits as Ashley's cleaver messily gashed her knee in a dance, drawing out a stifled grunt from her as she persisted in her attacks.

"I will not give up until you dieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

"Felt! Stop!"

"Kyahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaa!"

Before Emilia could intervene, Felt, with viscous blood streaming down her calf, rushed in for a dance of her own; Ashley's guffaw serving as the melody. Her speed dropped, but the gusto of her plummeting slashes never abated, trained at her foe's vitals. No matter how many times Ashley deflected and parried her blade, she continued to strike over and over even as sparks served as a barrier between them—All of it was for naught as she was swept up in a kick and hurled to the brittle walls of the loothouse. Falling from the small crater her body made, Emilia caught her midair and set her gently on top of the bar counter, holding a palm over her knee as a pale light enveloped the messy wound.

"If ya can use healing magic, then save Rom-jii…!"

"Do you really think I'll just watch you two all wishy-washy like that?"

"Look…out."

A glint of silver flashed in Felt's eye, her lips barely moving as her whole body shivered. Footsteps reached their ears, approaching them languidly. Without a need to turn back, Emilia conjured a crystalline shield once more while simultaneously healing Felt. Subsequently, the sound of clanking and clanging razed their ears.

"How persistent. Do you really think this shoddy shield won't break again? Hyahahahaha, I like your naivete."

Ignoring the heavy strikes against the shield behind her, Emilia finished healing Felt's knee—to the point that it connected the severed flesh and tissue, congealing the blood—and reached a hand to stroke her head. Her crimson eyes still held the same ferocity as earlier, but her body couldn't keep up with it as she currently was. She gripped Emilia's stroking hand, and guided it toward Rom.

"…I will save him, okay, Felt? Don't worry."

"…Do whatever ya can, please. He's the only family—Ghk…! The…only family I got."

"I understand—"

"Don't just ignore meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

With a bellow, the cleaver delivered one final slash against the shield as it burst asunder into tiny glittering chunks, littering the floorboards and their skin as they rapidly disintegrated into particles of mana. It continued its trajectory toward Emilia's throat before her pale hand held its hilt, stopping it midair. That hand twisted Ashley's wrist till it broke, disarming her of her weapon as it lodged into the wooden boards, and one other hand formed into a fist plummeted into her abdomen.

"That's enough of you! Hiyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

"You're so full of openings, half-elf!"

Emilia striked Ashley in her cheek, and leaped to shove her soles right into her flank. A hand grasped her ankle and hurled her entire body against the floorboards, and before they could break, Emilia held onto the boards as she thrust Ashley out the loothouse entrance with her foot. However, holding onto the door handle, Ashley made a quick recovery and rushed Emilia with a swing of her fist.

"Your eyes no longer hold the same sympathy they held before. Hehehehehehe."

"You're wrong. I still feel sympathy for you. That is why I can be as rough as I can with you! Now get out of my way! El Huma!"

"That's not what I said. Kyahahahahahahahahahahahaha!"

Emilia called in the mana from the atmosphere, and brought forth a multitude of ice stakes, launching it toward the woman in black; who dodged the barrage, swaying her body minimally, as her cackle twisted her scar in a pitiful shape.

Rom's breathing grew fainter and fainter to the point that her ears no longer picked it up.

"I don't have the time for this!"

"Oooooohhhhhhh? Are you really going to help that decrepit half-giant? He's already dead! And I will demonstrate it to you!"

Having already retrieved her cleaver, she broke the door off its hinges and hurled it at Emilia. Preoccupied with it as she deflected it with her sole, she noticed a silver flash zooming beside her. A loud squashing noise followed by a crunch and thud resonated in the room. She could see Ashley standing a distance away in a throwing pose, her arm jut out. When she turned back—Rom's neck was severed in half, his head rolling to his back.

It was too late.

Emilia couldn't react to the thrown cleaver in time because her instincts didn't recognize it as a threat to her. She understood this; her heart shattered. She couldn't keep her promise to Felt. A surge of bile rose up her throat, causing her to stumble to her knees. Surge after surge, it kept on going, never stopping. An impact connected with her head, staggering her to the side, but the pain of letting a life slip between her fingers stung even worse. The bile didn't stop emerging, and the kicks didn't stop landing on her body. She couldn't protect Rom's life. And soon, even Felt would fall victim. She couldn't allow that to happen and yet—

"Ghhhhrrrkkk!"

She couldn't stop vomiting, and it took all she could muster to breathe amidst the kicks that battered her body. She failed. She failed, and that cost a life. It was only her first day in the capital; and it will forever be marred in crimson.

"Roooooooooooooooooom-jiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!"

A haunting, shrill scream further gagged Emilia. It was Felt, who must have looked at Rom's state—Nothing but viscera, and no respect given to the victim. A seed of righteous anger was sown in her heart, and it bloomed and took root in a matter of seconds. Emilia stopped vomiting, and grasped Ashley's ankle as she drove her fist into her ribs, crushing a dozen.

"I won't let you…! I won't let you hurt her!"

"Like you can do anything to protect her from me, yahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaa!"

Conjuring a barrage of ice stakes, sucking in the little mana from the atmosphere—which for some reason became scarce as she supplied herself with her mana reserve to compensate—and fired them at Ashley. In the midst of that, Emilia fired a dozen ice discs from her palm as she stood in front of Felt with her arms spread out.

Some of her stakes pierced Ashley in her limbs, and some of her discs gashed her hips and cheeks. This may not be enough, but—

"That's enough. I heard reports of a scuffle going about here. But I didn't expect it to be this severe."

A young man in a white knight uniform stood at the entrance, a gloved hand over the hilt—fashioned after the head of a dragon—of his large, sheathed sword strapped to his hips. The lesser spirits seemed to flock to him, and the little bit of mana vanished from the air. His hair was a flame-red, but under the moonlight, it looked maroon, and his eyes were a bright blue. Although he already had a sword, he picked up one of the sword replicas near the broken cabinet.

"And who might you be, dear mister?" Ashley turned to the voice in a twirl, taking out a sawed dagger from her pocket. "Do you really think you can just interrupt my important task here?"

"It may have been a little rude of me to do so, but it is my duty to interrupt it after all. I am Reinhard van Astrea, sword saint." The young man countered back with a smile, before looking at Emilia, then Felt, and then Rom's corpse grimly, his smile fading. "I apologize for being late. I have no excuse for my tardiness."

"Sword saint? What is this, hahahahaha…?! Hahahahaha… You're joking, right? And what could the sword saint be doing here in the slums of the city?"

"Today is my day off, so my title of sword saint is irrelevant. I operate based on my sense of duty and obligations to this nation and its people, not by my dislikes and likes. It so happens that subduing you coincides with my duty."

"Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah? Don't you put on that smile and act all polite like thaaaaaaaaat!" Thrusting a finger toward him, Ashley snarled before hugging herself, her body shivering. "Moootheeeeerrrr, did you also want me to get rid of him toooooo?! He really is the sword saint in the flesh…! It's impossible! Taking down a monster like that is impossible! Taking just anyone would have been fine, but! Your word is absolute, yes. Your word is absolute… Kill anyone who interferes…"

Ashley clutched her temples, and shrank back only to find herself sandwiched between two of her enemies. She turned to Emilia with a livid smile that gradually cut her cheeks. "If only you allowed me to kill you and that rat…! If only! I wouldn't have to deal with him! Aaaaaahhh… It doesn't matter anymore. There is no hope of a better future for me anyway. I don't even have a chance to be her pet for eternity…even that fate would be more merciful for what I have in store for me…"

Contrary to everyone's expectations, Ashley stabbed her chest with the sawed blade, rupturing her flesh and already broken ribs over and over until a gloved hand stopped her, disarming her of her weapon, still lodged in her chest due to its sawed edges. She continued to lose blood as the seconds went by, her eyes shutting closed as she collapsed to the floor.

Emilia couldn't believe her eyes, her mouth agape as her arms fell to her sides. It had only been a minute, and the presence of the sword saint had already driven her to suicide. A pang of guilt struck her heart, pity overwhelming her over the sight of Ashley's body pooling blood underneath. Until the very end, she remained pitiful. From her words, to her backstory, to her visage, to her fate. Deep down, a maternal urge to discipline and take care of Ashley had her holding back; that led to her blundering and allowing Rom to be killed.

Everything became a blur as she sank to her quivering knees, grasping the hem of her sleeves. Two people had died. Two lives slipped between her fingers.

Her palms reached for her face, digits digging into her skin. It was because of her naivete. It was because she thought she could reason with someone like Ashley who was too far gone—Even the thought of that made her tear up. She rose to her feet and draped her cloak over Rom's indescribable body, a dreadful smell of rotten blood settling in the air.

Emilia held her throat, sore from all the bile she threw up, and coughed. "…all my fault."

"Shut up… Don't act like you're the only one to blame…! Don't you dare!"

A hand tugged at her arm, pulling her down to meet two hazy crimson irises.

"It couldn't be helped. I know that! It's so frustrating. So frustrating. I was played for a goddamn fool. I roped a stranger into my mess. I'm…the one who instigated all of this. I… I…"

"Felt… You don't have to. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Ehh…? Stop that. You're going to make me blame you for everything…"

Emilia embraced her tightly in her arms. Her voice couldn't even muster half of its usual strength. Her hand ran across Felt's back, taking a deep sigh. She could feel Felt's fingers digging into her dress.

"I'm sorry that all I can tell you is I'm sorry. So, I'm sorry—"

"I'm not even sure what you're apologizing for when ya put it like that! Do ya really want to take the full brunt of my anger…? Ghk!"

Felt stumbled into her chest with a groan, her lacerated knee growing weak. Emilia secured her in place, holding her closer. At this moment, it didn't matter how long they had known each other; it didn't matter that Emilia hadn't yet introduced herself to Felt—They were two little girls seeking comfort in one another after a tumultuous day, crying their hearts out in front of the man who had come to help.

"Rom-jiiiiiiiii… Rom-jii…"

Emilia couldn't bear to hear her cries. Every time she cried his name, it would batter her heart ruthlessly. She had to push herself harder. She had to get rid of her naivete. She had to. Otherwise, she would watch a tragedy happen before her again—

"You seem a little paaaale there, Lady Emilia. Shall we make our leave or do you want to stay here for a little while longer?"

"...Ah. No, no. Sorry for my conduct, Roswaal."

"No need to be apprehensive about the little detaaaaails. We won't be able to move if you are unwilling to proceeeeeed, however."

When she came to from her dazed state, she spotted a tall man with long indigo hair gesturing to the dragon carriage bearing a sharp smile, familiarly elongating his words. He donned an eccentric outfit and makeup comparable to that of a clown. Once his eyes seemed to focus on hers, irises aimed at nothing, Emilia stood straighter, slapping her cheeks awake. She hoped she wouldn't have to see that detached look. It made her heart clench.

Two maidservants stood with dignified postures side by side, their respective blue and pink hair flowing down to their necks, with bangs that covered one of their eyes. Their expressions were blank, but one could tell their personalities from the way they carried themselves—Rem and Ram. Their eyes were averted to the side as usual.

They were accompanying her and Roswaal to the royal capital. Though she never understood why Roswaal took the decision to bring them.

She had been afraid the mansion would be left empty, but…

"Get it together, Lady Emilia."

To make up for the lack of maids in the manor, another maidservant that arrived a few days ago happened to be standing opposite to the other maids, her long, golden hair fluttering in the wind as her green eyes shone with solemnity that had a tinge of ferocity, making contact with hers intently. Behind her encouraging smile as she said those words were fanged teeth similar to that of a tiger. Her name was Frederica Baumann. Despite being a new face, Emilia felt warm around her.

They were gathered at the front gate of the manor where a path surrounded by a forest stretched far and wide.

No matter what she did, she couldn't shake off the heavy feeling in her chest welling up. However, it was a most anticipated day that she couldn't miss in any way imaginable. With a small nod to Frederica, she said, "There is no reason to feel such an obligation, Roswaal. I am ready to proceed."

Fixing her posture, and strengthening her resolve, she spoke with a 'ladylike' manner that those of high status such as nobility adopted as she was taught to.

"Then we must make our departure."

"Please get comfortable inside."

Before opening the door to the carriage, Rem walked over to the land dragon and sat in the driver's seat, taking hold of the reins. As if in perfect coordination, Ram was already opening the door to the carriage, pulled the hem of her dress and bowed, gesturing toward the seats as she addressed them with due respect.

As Emilia and Roswaal entered the carriage and took their seats, they were met with Frederica, bowing down gracefully.

"I will take care of the mansion with due care. I shall hire some assistance if you don't mind—May you arrive at your destination safely, Lady Emilia, Master Roswaal.."

"Make sure to take care of the mansion, and yourself, okay?"

"Rest assured, Lady Emilia. If I see a single particle of dust, I will fire her the moment I see her when we get back."

With her sharp tongue cutting across the pleasant atmosphere, Ram made that comment with a wink, which Frederica regarded with a fleeting grin, before closing the door to the carriage and making her way next to Rem.

With the snap of the reins, the carriage began to move. When she took a look at the windows, its speed gradually picked up the pace as their surroundings began to blur. It wouldn't take half an hour until they were out of the forest, and into the plains.

The thought of walking through the royal capital once more dawned on her as memories flashed before her eyes. She recalled the events that took place when she went there with Ram. She had her dragon insignia stolen, and…

Furthermore, she remembered the terrified, repulsed looks the passerbyers were giving her. It was bitter. The uncomfortable feeling overtaking her chest; the thought that she would be faced with those visages once more did nothing to reassure her—Visages she was used to seeing.

Their whispers, their upturned smiles, their stiffening postures…all of it was not enough to break her, for as long as she had Puck with her. This meandering in her thoughts and worries, and still being hurt by the same things over and over, were all proof of her incapability to grow stronger. It wasn't a straight path she led, that much she knew. But it still frustrated her.

In those brief moments, however, Roswaal opened his mouth, as if he was reading her mind.

"Could it be that you are innundiaaaaaated with attending the royal ceremony? It is most certainly not the behavior of a candidate that would acquire the throne, is iiiiiiiit?"

"It may not be. But I can't help but feel overwhelmed by the prospects of being there again…"

Whether it was her fear of being ridiculed once again, or facing a tragedy like that again or her puny resolve to see the ceremony that would decide it all through, one fact remained…

"I have to set it aside for now."

"Are you certaaaaaaain?"

"I am."

"..."

With that brief response to Roswaal's question, Emilia kept her gaze trained towards him.

She neither blinked nor averted her gaze. She didn't glare or bitterly stare. She merely looked at his smiling face as a desire to prove herself burned aflame.

What lay at the depths of her heart was a matter solely for herself to wander through. It wasn't something she could disclose to others. It was sacred, not for the faint of heart to perceive. And certainly, not even those closest to her could get closer to those depths than her.

"Wonderful…but I wonder how that would translaaaaaaate moments from now? Either way, I believe in you, Emilia."

As Roswaal spoke those quiet words to her, she briefly blinked in confusion as a masked complexion lay before her. However, she did not notice the slight twitch of his lips, and his low tone of voice that instilled into the atmosphere, weighing it down and down. His eyes once again, even though it was trained at hers, looked so distant—So far away that she averted her gaze to the window to never see it again, hoping the blurring surroundings would help her calm. An uneasy feeling permeated her heart the whole time.

—Looking at the window once more, the sly lips of the clown curved deeper out of her narrowed sight…

Once they arrived at the royal capital, the bustling atmosphere of the city never ceased to amuse Emilia. Watching from the confines of the carriage, her cheeks slackened into a small smile. She watched other carriages and wagons pass by, and the pedestrians walking on the sidewalks. Since the carriage was completely muted from all surrounding noise, she couldn't hear the outside.

It was pleasant nonetheless. Maybe it was for the better that she couldn't hear them.

It wasn't long until they entered the Nobles' District. It was empty, giving off an isolated air. It was perhaps due to the royal ceremony set to take place at the castle. They were nearing the gates to the uppermost layer of the city. Roswaal had stated that they would be situated in a waiting room with the other royal candidates until the ceremony would commence under the Council's orders.

Since the king had passed away due to a mysterious plague—before the nation could succumb due to fears of the Vollachian Empire taking their chance and panic spreading all round—the Council of Wise Men have ruled over to remedy the situation, dictating the kingdom's policies.

Recalling that still tugged at her heart despite the first time she'd heard of it from Roswaal. She couldn't imagine how much the nation was in disarray at such a critical moment.

"It seeeeeeeems we have arrived at last."

"Beautiful…"

Once she caught a glimpse of her surroundings, her head couldn't move away from the window; the ornate greenery and gardens surrounding them that seemed to blossom after its flourishing was a treat for the eyes. Many flowers of different colors and species occasionally popped into view, making their entry a colorful one. Her eyes happened upon buildings and facilities connected to the castle, and even those felt like they belonged amidst the gardens.

A tower afar could be seen sticking out like a sore thumb. Before coming, she had studied fervently the last month. It was the prison tower that held evildoers at bay for sure. What lay adjacent to the castle was the knights' garrison.

What lay ahead of them, however, was the royal castle in which a ceremony would take place that constrasted their pretty surroundings. It wasn't an appropriate time to gaze at the colorful array of flowers.

After the carriage was parked alongside four other carriages, disembarking from the carriage, the grand doors to the castle stood tall as a few knights that had been anticipating their arrival placed their hands on their chests and bowed courteously in white ceremonial clothes. Their sabres were sheathed in a belt around their waist. They were part of the Royal Guard, the elite of elites, that guarded the castle.

Not a moment passed by until they were passing through the extravagant corridors of the castle as the knights proceeded to escort them to the waiting room they were assigned to. The marble beneath their feet glistened as though they were walking on solidified water, reflecting their profiles. Emilia made sure to not make eye contact with the floor, gazing head-on at the stretching corridors.

Once they entered the waiting room, six figures could be seen sitting—presumably the three royal candidates and their respective knights and servants—separately in chairs and couches upholstered in crimson velvet. The room shone bright with sunshine as the giant windowpane adorned with fine woodwork and decorations caught her eyes. A large painting hung at the center of the rightmost wall, displaying the dragon towering over the castle. Two tables of intricate design, even for a waiting room, stood in front of two opposite couches where teasets and confections were placed to suit the palates of those who wished.

Amidst the unfamiliar faces, there was one, very familiar face that she would never forget. She sat on one of the chairs legs and arms folded, making her presence in the room a tad too unsightly in comparison to the others who sat courteously. Her blond hair that only extended to her neck complemented her yellow dress with white sleeves, and her crimson eyes that radiated a stagnant ferocity was all too familiar a sight. A tinge of anger and resentment, however, betrayed her most lovable features, but when those same eyes widened slightly once they were trained towards Emilia, her complexion slackened upon seeing a familiar face. Her trademark fanged tooth, giving off the air of a cheeky, mischievous child, popped out, smiling like a lion.

"Finally, a face that I'm accustomed to. I was wondering when you'll appear!"

"How did—No, it is nice to see you again, Felt."

When Felt ignored Emilia's benefactor, jumping off from her seat and approaching Emilia while awkwardly pulling the hem of her dress to move properly, and spoke directly to her in a casual manner, Emilia mused over how the girl found herself in such a position where she would be eligible to take the throne—A misplaced relief in her heart mixed with her concerns—since she knew that the path they would both lead was laden with responsibility weighing more than the moon itself. However, she interrupted herself mid-sentence, and embraced her wholeheartedly, returning her cheerful greeting.

"It seems you are acquaaainted with a candidate already? Quite the thrill this is. Then, may we…"

"May the unnamed entrants introduce themselves?"

"My, we were just about to. Though, I don't think I'd neeeeeed an introduction myself, if you are so inclined to ask…"

With a calm, authoritative voice, the speaker, one of the candidates, interrupted Roswaal as she rested their chin on the back of her gloved hands, leaning over from her seat with an inquisitive, serious gaze. She wore clothes resembling an army uniform, wearing an armband bearing the crest of the Karsten House of a lion bearing its fangs. Her long hair was a deep green, tied back at the end with a white ribbon, almost seeming as though it was black until upon closer inspection. With a steady look forward, her amber eyes narrowed slightly. Her beautiful, feminine features contrasted with her overall masculine appearance and conduct.

"Oh, I am quite aware of who you are, Margrave Roswaal L. Mathers—Lugunica's Court Mage. You do know who I am referring to, besides your servants that is."

"—My name is Emilia. Just Emilia. And they are Rem and Ram, our servants at the manor. As for my benefactor Roswaal L. Mathers, uhm, you may be well acquainted with him just from appearance and name."

"Most splendid introduction, Lady Emilia."

"Yes, splendid, Lady Emilia."

When she picked up what the woman meant through her roundabout words and her eagle-like gaze towards Roswaal, Emilia introduced herself for the entire room to hear, placing a hand to her chest as she gestured for Rem and Ram since it would be rude to leave them out. Though she and Roswaal knew each other to a certain extent, this was a mandatory procedure, she felt. As the twin maids praised her with equally flat voices, the woman known as the Valkyrie nodded in earnest, standing up straight as she put her hands behind her back, in response to Emilia's introduction.

"Very well. I am Crusch Karsten! Surely, we would be rivals eventually, but right now, should it be imperative to know one another before that?"

"Oh, please spare me the pleasantries. Time is money, ya know? It's enough that we're waiting until we're called by the Council. Though, I'll make a lil' exception since I'm a tad bored."

"Lady Anastasia, refrain from using such a casual tone."

"Right, right. Surely ya can look past that, won'tcha?"

Another woman of petite stature seated in a chair rested her head on her palm as she watched the exchange with curious eyes, a large purse sitting atop her lap, speaking with a Kararagi accent. She donned a white dress with generous amounts of fur, as well as a fur hat that covered the top of her wavy, light violet hair that fell down to her hips. Most notably, her white fox muffler added to her youthful charms and adorable features.

She gave a curious grin as she was being reprimanded by her knight who stood beside her—A well known knight of the Juukulius' Noble Household, and part of the Royal Guard—wearing white ceremonial clothes with a sabre sheathed in a belt around his waist. His violet hair reflected the sunshine streaming from the window as a strand of hair fell towards the center of his forehead. He had a handsome visage that aligned with his yellow eyes.

"The name's Anastasia Hoshin. It's a pleasure ta meet ya, Karsten, Emilia."

"I may introduce myself—I am Lady Anastasia's knight, Julius Juukulius."

The knight, Julius, bowed down while making his introduction in what seemed to be a pompous manner, sweeping through his hair with his fingertips as he rose.

Preceding Julius, another knight—the most prominent and skillful user of water magic, otherwise known as Blue—stepped up with a wry smile, feigned resentment exuded from his yellow eyes. He wore the same uniform as Julius, and surprisingly both of their eye colors were strikingly similar, yet his was a slightly deeper yellow. His short flaxen hair beamed like his smile, running counter to his whiny words.

"No fair! Ferris wasn't given a chance to properly introduce himeowself! —Felix Argyle's the name, meow meow."

"I suppose these old bones should introduce themselves, too. I'm Wilhelm Trias."

Right next to Felix was a well-mannered, elderly gentleman who donned butler's clothing. His every movement exudes elegance, bowing down as he introduced himself. There in his sky blue eyes rested wisdom untold, and bountiful experience. To Emilia, it seemed like he introduced himself only out of necessity, and not by his own choice.

With everyone's introduction done, there was only one person left who hadn't yet introduced themselves. As the entire room eyed the crimson-eyed girl, she blurted a 'Hah!' and scoffed, spreading her arms. "Well, you see, that's the thing about names. I was simply called Felt, and therefore I'm Felt. No lofty second names, no relations to any busybody nobility or royalty. To begin with, I don't even wanna be here or attend some stupid royal ceremony. But there is nothing else to do!"

"—"

Once Felt finished her angry vortex of words, a heavy, restrained atmosphere washed over the room. And just when the other two royal candidates were about to comment on that unacceptable display, an eccentric voice lifted the laden atmosphere.

"And you happen to be a royal candidate the saaaaaame? What a colorful cast, indeed. Though, I want to inquire about your kniiiight's whereabouts. May I?"

"Ha! That freak? He said he was summoned on some 'important' business to take care of in this rotten old castle or whatever."

When Roswaal spoke, his voice gradually getting louder as though it was natural, with an exaggerated tone and gestures, Felt responded to his request without looking at the tall man, her expression contemptuous. However, the Margrave didn't mind it as he gave an unphased smile, even as the sound of a pink-haired girl clenching her hands tightly sounded.

"Is that hooooow it is? Then, Lady Emilia, I may excuse myself for business of my own relating to the Council. I'll return swiftly before the ceremony commences. If I do not return to this room, then I'll be in the throne room."

"…I understand."

Hearing the sudden request left her mind at a blank, processing all the information given to her. With a delayed response, she gave a nod to Roswaal who, before taking his leave, whispered something to one of the maidservants—Ram, specifically.

However, Emilia didn't have the time to confirm what it was as the door swung open and closed at equal intervals. She took a seat opposite Crusch, who held a teacup filled to the rim, and proceeded to take a sip before setting it back to the table with her lids closed.

"To think that a most important day would pass so casually without anything accomplished. They are merely wasting our precious time, gathering us here only to delay the ceremony at the last minute. Very peculiar considering the current state of affairs."

"I wouldn't quite say that, ya know? Ever heard of the rumor that a group of radicals would infiltrate the castle on this very day? Usually, rumors like this are ta be taken with a grain of salt, however, this one seems ta persist even after a full two weeks. Isn't that right, Julius?"

Anastasia leaned in from her chair as she eagerly spoke of a topic that gravitated all gazes in the room towards her. Urging her knight to continue, he said, "Normally, I wouldn't entertain rumors as ridiculous as that, but the castle had been infiltrated once fourteen years ago. Though, like what milady says, it should be taken with a grain of salt."

"And what is your point exactly? Surely you don't suggest that the Council would be so shaken with such a shady rumor."

Raising an eyebrow at the implications of Anastasia's words, Crusch shook her head, taking a hold of her teacup once more and swirling it round. Anastasia closed her eyes, and her smile slightly curved such that it couldn't be noticed.

"Not precisely. But surely, there must've been something concrete that happened prior that prompted the Council of Wise Men ta delay the ceremony."

"Hm. Certainly, that would be plausible. However, I fail to see how such an unsubstantiated rumor has any relevance."

"Think of it as my little trademark sample for the lot of ya ta ponder over. Besides, most rumors hold some modicum of truth, yeah? Take it however ya please—Either dismiss it or entertain it."

With those two choices presented, Emilia sank into thought, as did the rest of the occupants. Some chose the former, some chose the latter, and the rest didn't bother. While rumors tended to be unreliable, one thing that Anastasia said struck all her thoughts into a halt. Usually, rumors don't circulate for more than a week. Especially during these trying times, this sort of rumor would be dismissed as nothing more than fearmongering.

If the castle was going to be attacked, then why was this omitted from the rest? She didn't think of why Anastasia knew of a rumor like that—because she must have her own sources in the trading industry, being the founder that runs the Hoshin Company—however, there was one thing she ought to ask…

"Where did the rumor originate from?"

"Heh. That's the thing, ya see, no one knows. No one can pinpoint a source, and that's why it raises eyebrows. Believe me when I say this: No rumor can't be untraced. However, that little rule of thumb cannot be applied to all rumors as the reason it can't be traced is…"

"It came from an illusive source, yes? Which increases the likelihood of the rumor actually occurring… Certainly, that does raise some concerns. Though, I believe the possibility of those radicals actually succeeding is less than even one percent. I fail to see why they would be held to such high regard unless they are associated with the Witch Cult, which becomes a different matter of its own."

"—"

Crusch cut in, continuing after Anastasia's pause, furrowing her brows as she brought the rim of the teacup to her lips. Considering how airtight the security in the castle was, and the fact that all of the knights had been called to the throne room, the prospects of an attack on the castle seemed inconceivable indeed. Whatever the radicals' goals may be, they won't be able to penetrate the first line of defense.

However, the possibility she raised brought the room to silence.

The reason was simple.

The involvement of the dastardly Witch Cult served to explain why the rumor couldn't be traced, and it also explained why the Council had to temporarily delay the royal ceremony. And with the possibility that was raised as if it was something minor, everything made sense.

"But why would they do this?"

"I wouldn't dwell on that if I were you. Whether they are the Witch Cult or not doesn't necessarily matter." Responding to Emilia's question with mild reproach, Crusch raised her index finger as she spoke. "Their reason for spreading the rumor and wanting to commit to it can only lead into a longwinded discussion that has nothing to do with the matter at hand. Surely, everyone knows this, but we didn't come here to waste our time sitting around and gossiping."

"...Right."

Emilia's repressed response echoed slowly through. It wasn't the brightest of answers from the woman before her, but it set her mind at what laid ahead. With Crusch's conclusion as she set her teacup back on the table, the atmosphere in the room became tense. Yet, amidst that atmosphere where most had fallen silent, someone sat next to Emilia, nonchalant to it.

"Moving on from this dull discussion, there is something I wanted to tell you. In secret, that is. Lean in."

"Ah… What is it, Felt?"

"Well, I never got the chance to apologize for stealing your insignia. We did cry a lot together, though. A lot happened the past two months. I still haven't moved on from Rom's death, but I don't blame anyone."

When Emilia leaned in as told, Felt spoke quietly enough so that she could only be heard by her with a lonely smile unlike her previous display and contempt she showed. Surprisingly, her heart pounded when those awkward, yet sincere words beat into her eardrums.

Two months ago, she visited the royal capital with Ram. While exploring the merchant streets, she had her insignia stolen once by the girl next to her. However, after pursuing her without any relent, she managed to catch her in the Loot Cellar at the lowermost layers of the city along with a half-giant she named Rom in the midst of them. The rest of what happened after, she shuddered to even think about again.

And at the end of it, she retrieved her insignia, but…

"What happened when Reinhard took you? Could it be…"

"Yeaaah, it's what you're thinkin'. Because of the insignia, it turned out I was qualified to be a dragon maiden. A lot of stuff happened, and I found some peace of mind. Damn, I'm out of my depth…"

"It must've been hard for you… It was too sudden, wasn't it?"

"...It was. Being forced to do something you don't want to, attending something you don't want to, but having no other choice but to carry on with it—Nothing could ever be so frustrating…!" Felt tightened her fists, and bit the back of her teeth. Once Emilia put a hand over her back, she calmed down little by little. "Right, right, I shouldn't have… I'm sorry for venting all that out, nee-chan."

"Don't be sorry. If you want to talk more, then I will hear it to the end, okay?"

"O-okay… You're still the same as ever, huh?"

"Mhm. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. But…"

Withdrawing her outstretched hand back to her lap, Emilia rested back against the couch and mused over the royal selection. In the throne room, knights will be stationed at one side, the nobility at the other. Visualizing it, she could only imagine the shock once they realize she is a half-elf. However, those concerns were only her fears rearing their ugly heads, clouding her mind.

She wanted to be treated fairly, just like everyone else, but she had to be patient.

Patience is the solution that can dissolve the confines of time, and present an effective, potent cure that guarantees a hopeful future. For that reason, she had to remain steadfast.

"Attention! The Royal Selection will commence. All present in this room shall arrive at the throne room with due posthaste! I repeat, everyone in this room shall arrive at the throne room!"

With that announcement from a knight that swung the door open, everyone in the room departed to the corridors of the castle and made way for the throne room. The knight, to Emilia's surprise, didn't accompany them, and instead headed the opposite way.

Roswaal hadn't yet returned, but he did tell her that he would be waiting at the throne room. Surely, he would be there if he were to not return.

"Rem, Rem, why is it that we have to also attend the royal selection?"

"Yes, nee-sama, why do we need to?"

Ignoring the pair comically embracing each other as they walked beside her, Emilia focused ahead into the ever-stretching corridors alongside the other royal cnadidates and their knights and servants until they entered the door that led to the hallway connnecting to the throne room.

They arrived at the entrance of the throne room whereupon they came across a fiery presence accompanied with a cooler one sharing what appeared to be an explosive exchange. The two individuals were that of a woman holding a folding fan and a man concealing his head with a pitch-black helm, their back turned to the front of the door leading to the throne room. The woman was two heads shorter than the man, making her about the same height as Emilia.

Once they were noticed within a scant meters away, the woman in scarlet took an irritable gander at them with a mere turn of her head, and then trained her gaze back at the door.

"And so it seems that the others have also gathered at a standstill. What foolishness this all is. Shall I burn this castle to the ground for wasting my invaluable time?"

"Don't say that, princess. I don't want to face the consequences for treason against the kingdom… Besides, it isn't as though this door cannot be opened. There seems to be some kind of seal preventing it from opening."

With what sounded like a tired voice, the man in the pitch-black helm scratched the back of his nape with his one and only hand—In fact, the man was missing an arm. He wore a shabby yellow mantle that extended to his hips, and a vest that exposed his abs alongside a large sword placed on his belt. The way he carried himself seemed to conflict with his appearance, giving off the air of a friendly, yet aloof individual.

"Hmph! Even if that's the case, if there is no solution to this, then I will have to resort to burning down this door alongside its seal."

"Wait, wait, wait, princess! Don't call in your Yang Sword already!"

"Then, what do you suggest that can open this door? I will lop your head off if you don't give a satisfactory answer."

"Princess, I don't think the other party there might resolve it if we couldn't. All I have to say is that this seal's potency is on a whole other level. See? It repelled my hand."

The woman dressed in an exquisite, scarlet dress who he referred to as 'princess' snorted in response to his listless plea, raising her hand towards the ceiling. Her orange hair passed through a single barrette, flowing down her back. Once she turned to face the man next to her with the notion that he may have a solution, her crimson eyes glimmered with a fierce will that threatened to swallow anyone who looked into them whole. However, that notion was betrayed by the man stretching his arm towards the knob of the door, and being immediately shoved back with force.

Despite that, she didn't show any signs of concealing her stagnating displeasure.

From her neck to fingers to ears were jewellery of unparalleled quality. However, out of all the jewellery the woman donned, the only particular thing that caught Emilia's eyes happened to be the three jewelled necklace she wore. She sensed a sort of pressure within the emeralds the necklace held.

With furrowed brows, Crusch approached the pair with a steady gait and said, "What is this business about the door to the throne room being sealed? Is this some kind of farce?"

"Indeed, it is a farce of the highest degree. If the old folk at the Council are unable to conduct a proper ceremony and allow their doors to be sealed shut in this manner, then I pity the direction this nation is heading."

"Huh? What is with this…"

When Crusch brushed aside the woman's amused response, attempting to reach out for the doorknob, her hand was repelled back as it touched what seemed to be an invisible barrier. It didn't take long until the situation became apparent for everyone in the hallway. A seal had been placed to prevent any newcomers from entering the throne room, and, from the looks of it, there was no way to bruteforce it.

"I don't think anyone should try to penetrate that barrier. It will inflict harm on you from the inside out and might do even more harm beyond that."

Emilia warned the others once she discerned a familiar, yet distinct energy inscribed onto the barrier that separated the entrance to the throne room from reality. It would inflict harm on one who would dare attempt to penetrate it, and might even erode their strength and weaken them.

"I agree with Lady Emilia. There is something odd…no, something sinister about that 'seal'."

"He's right, meow. Whatever you do, I suggest you don't go near that door ever!"

Julius' expression turned aghast by the second, placing a hand on his sabre, as he observed the door before him. Felix nodded to him with concern in his eyes, heading towards Crusch's side. However, amidst this, a yell belonging to Anastasia from the other end of the hallway reverberated.

"The other door is also sealed! It looks like we're in for some trouble, aren't we?"

"What is that supposed to mean? So we are trapped in this hallway and we are supposed to do nothing about it?!"

"Now, now, calm down.. If you are brazen enough, surely you can blow a hole into the ceiling, he-he-he."

While Anastasia proceeded to jest despite Crusch's concerns, returning back next to Julius, the heavy atmosphere that settled in seemed as though it would crush everyone under its weight. And in that instant, something thumped the ground.

Something made its presence from beneath their feet.

Something imposed its power onto them, latching onto them, never letting them go.

Something crossed the boundaries between the power balance and power imbalance in the group, making everything and everyone equal.

"—!"

When Emilia opened her eyes wide, she perceived a circle of intricate, complicated geometrical patterns. The words inscribed, the patterns drawn so beautifully and perfectly all burned into her retinas. The very world around her distorted, creating a livid vortex of mysterious mass surrounding her body.

When she looked through the gaps of the minute mass accumulating furiously, she happened upon a horrific sight.

Everyone was engulfed in the mysterious mass that began to take a black hue that surrounded her. She didn't understand why this was happening, and that inability to comprehend her environment made her body tremble with unfathomable fear.

As her sight completely blacked out, she lost the feeling of gravity pulling her in altogether. All of her other senses faded and…

—Round and round, the world down to its essence cracked apart in that cell of black mass.

Reinhard could sense the prospects of a nasty scheme brewing up within the castle. Something was off. A burning sensation in his chest welled up as he mused over what it is.

The air wafted through the knights' garrison, completely empty, as though it was a viscous liquid. The faint, sickly sweet smell of incense seemed to draw him in. Picking up the sound of almost quiet footsteps, he lowered his sabre one-handed with an acute sense of his surroundings.

From the amount of footsteps and the hushed breathing, he deduced that there were six perpetrators lying in wait nearby, all of which possessed honed strength and builds suited for efficiency according to the way they walked. The 'rumor' entailing a group of radicals that the Council warned him about turned out to be true after all. These perpetrators, as a collective force, were more than capable of blowing away a portion of the castle and, supposedly, their goal was to sabotage the royal selection.

One thing that constantly beat into his mind was the uncertainty of whether Lady Felt would be hurt or not. It is his highest priority, as her knight, to protect her from all danger. That was all the more why he decided to take care of this under the Council's orders.

One by one, six black robed figures appeared with sabres similar to his on their person, raising an eyebrow, standing in opposition to him. They had their faces concealed with masks only revealing their mouths and eyes.

"I take it you're the radicals?"

"…"

They responded to Reinhard's question with a nod. They didn't seem hostile as of yet, but he couldn't just take them down until he assessed their position.

"We. Are. Assassins. As. You. Already. Know. We. Will. Eradicate. We. Will. Not. Relent. And. Thus…will you take us down eventually or will you stick to your heroic ideals, Sir Sword Saint…?"

With an odd manner of speaking, the group affirmed their position as they chanted in unison in one collective choir. They didn't direct hostility or goodwill towards him, but somehow judging from his intuition, there was a tinge of respect, admiration and grief in their words. Reinhard furrowed his brows as he thought of what they said. Why did they sound like they were desperate, seeking help?

For a moment, his grip on his sabre loosened. At that moment, he was bombarded with attacks from all sides. He parried all of them before they entered a radius of three meters between him, standing in one fixed position without being swayed by any pressure.

He couldn't help but sense that there was something wrong about all of this. The swordsmanship they displayed was reminiscent of the training the Royal Guard would undergo. Being somewhat skilled, and somewhat strong, they all made up for their flaws as they continued to bombard Reinhard with slashes and swings. He parried their assault.

He couldn't fight back until he cleared up the doubt arising deep within his heart.

If this is what he thinks it is, then there really is something much darker, much more sinister at play.

"Could it be that you are…"

"We. Are. Assassins. As. We. Told. You. Don't. Let. Your. Doubts. Make. Way. For. Mercy…for we are beyond no return, so let us fall silently without us committing the ultimate heresy…"

"You are part of the Royal Guard, aren't you?!"

"..."

He could sense a sinister magical energy, a link that encompassed those six individuals together, eroding at their soul. This was more urgent than he had hoped for.

And so he subdued them in a flashing instant against the ground, severing the dastardly link and the spell casted onto them by using the Divine Protection of Magic Omission which he could only use once before it was removed from his arsenal of Divine Protections.

The knights fell unconscious subsequently. Reinhard pulled their masks to show their visages—They were his companions in the Royal Guard, and by affirming it himself, he confirmed that there really was something amiss beyond any shadow of a doubt.

Though there was a strange sensation emanating deep wthin their bodies, he couldn't properly check it as he sensed a presence behind him, turning toward it.

"Why couldn't you just fell them as they asked?"

"Name yourself."

"I wouldn't quite ask that even to myself, but that's that. To fit the occasion, the name's Patra Elaridke, or as many would call me: The Phantom of Kararagi or whatnot. Judging from the look on your face, you probably may ask why I did that to your companions? Or why did I infiltrate this castle so easily? The answer to that is I have nothing to do with it, so I'd like to be held accountable for a crime I actually commited, which I haven't yet so surely you won't be able to act until I've done something worthy to act upon. As for the second question, I am under oath so I would perish immediately after telling you. Why am I telling you? Because honesty is a principle I quite hold dear, especially when it comes to you the Sword Saint. I've only been tasked with a suicidal task that would ensure my bleak fate, but refusing it and not being honest with myself when honesty's due is all too much of a chore. You get it? I am a maaaaaaaaaaaad woman."

The woman, Patra Eralidke, before him wore modest clothes with the base color being black, with each piece of cloth neither too tight nor too loose. Her hair only extended to her shoulders, and a whirl of grey swirled within her pupils. Her expression remained unchanged even as she spoke at length, a listless smile descending upon him, giving him the impression that she was somehow bored. With her facial features, he surmised that she was in her late twenties.

The way she spoke was neither condescending nor conceited, however, it seemed as though she spoke for her own amusement.

She wore a long, silver chain over her shoulder, grabbing a hold of it with one hand as an ax blade dangled from behind, connected to it. A dagger that had a malicious feel to it was sheathed above her kneecaps. Despite being armed, Patra still hadn't made a move, which made Reinhard hesitate to act.

With his knightly companions on the ground vulnerable, he had no way to guarantee their safety unless they could be recovered somewhere—

"Boredom just happens to be the thing I loathe the most. Dying to satisfy it would be an honor I would like to have the honors of honoring myself with…and for that, even if you protect those knights, I've already marked them."

"You mean…?"

"While you cut the source causing the root of the problem, there is still something else hidden deep inside them. You already felt it, didn't you? If you move them a little, that mark I set will drain their od and ensure a painful death to each of them. That also applies if you try to undo it. Let me tell you this: you can undo it with a simple touch all in quick succession, but the aftereffects will instantly sap away their souls."

"What are you getting at?"

Despite asking that question, he knew the answer. Patra's eyes lit up with the flames of excitement, wide and awake. The whirl of grey in her pupils concealed a darkness that appeared between the gaps.

Reinhard decided to remain calm, and awaited the woman's next words with bated breath.

An excited smile split across the woman's mouth.

"No matter what you do to save them, help them, resuscitate them or even use one of your divine protections to lift the marks off…the results never change. It is a constant that can never be the variable you desire. I'm sure even one percent would be sufficient for you to save them without fail, but a zero will never be a one! All you have to do is not touch them or…never mind that—In exchange for sparing their lives and lifting the mark, fight me on equal terms, Sword Saint."

Patra swung her chains in a whirl, slicing a line on the ground separating them in two sides as the ax blade dug deep into the soil.

Reinhard closed his eyes and raised his sabre once more. If all it took to save them from that dastardly mark was to fight her on equal ground, then he couldn't possibly refuse.

To fight someone on equal grounds was something exponentially rare for Reinhard. A select small number of people ever managed to. However, that wasn't what bothered him.

"You can use your swordsmanship to its fullest extent if you want to, but you will only use three divine protections of your choosing. Generous, aren't I? Usually, folks would envy you for just the little bit of blood that you have, much less the blessings handed to you by the world itself." Patra's grey eyes started whirling uncontrollably, her smile unchanging. "The fight will be over once I'm satisfied. Do you accept these conditions?"

"I accept your conditions."

Judging from the woman's weaponry, he assessed her combat style and the patterns she would use based on that. Reinhard considered what the mark casted upon his companions was, and figured out what kind of magic was employed. Thus, he kept the divine protections he needed as part of the conditions set upon him.

He didn't entirely cast aside all his other divine protection but rather deactivated them temporarily. Since it wasn't restricted, he would use the swordplay he both inherited and mastered.

And Reinhard stood vulnerable, awaiting his opponent's move—White rays, paler than the moon, exuding a malicious aura, appeared from all sides with the intention of slamming into his flesh. With two slashes, he deflected their trajectories to its owner before they could get into contact with him.

Patra held two chains carrying two distinctive ax blades that could cut the tiny particles of air apart in one hand, swinging them forward like arrows, targeting Reinhard viciously. His sabre manipulated their trajectories toward the heavens, plummeting to the ground.

"I may not have said this, but standing there and not attacking to avoid whatever it is you are avoiding won't do. If you continue to do that, I will do more than activate the marks I've set. Perhaps I should also kill your other companions over those barracks?"

"Very well. I shall not repeat that mistake."

With a bad-tempered expression rising on her face as her smile remained unwavered, Patra spoke with a dangerously low tone of voice, cocking her head toward the barracks. Closing his eyes, a thin smile ran across his lips, Reinhard responded back in earnest. He could not guarantee his companion's safety, but his foe hadn't shown or directed any kind of hostility towards them.

Surprisingly enough, no hostility had been directed at him even from the very beginning.

Reinhard rushed the woman and made a series of coordinated slashes. As he made sure not to wound his opponent too badly, his sabre collided with a small dagger, slicing it in half upon contact.

And that broken dagger reverted to its original state with a darker glint, tracing an arc aiming for his neck. Receding a few steps, he swiftly dodged the blade. The next instant, the woman took her pair of chains into both her hands and manipulated them with inhuman movement. Wriggling like a worm; unswayed by gravity; faster than a lightning bolt; the chains guided the ax blades to sink into Reinhard's abdominal region and intersected their trajectories.

Seeing the ax blades as white rays coming his way, the world guided him to deflect them to another direction. As that happened, a stinging sensation pierced his mind. A small dagger, preceding a sleeved arm, slammed into his shoulder, and it immediately flew back into its sheath as its owner retreated back a good distance away.

Holding a hand to his injured shoulder, he perceived lesser spirits flock over to his wound like butterflies, healing him collectively. To that, Patra shut an eye and trained her chains to the sky as the blades flew midair. Her expression rapidly changed from sadness to happiness to amusement as she spoke.

"I'll never defeat you, and I'll never be able to come close to your power even while you are disadvantaged. I'll never be able to kill you either. But there is no way, now, that I'll be bored of fighting you. Let's see you survive me at my fullest capabilities!"

"..."

The Phantom extended a leg and stomped the ground as the impact made it rumble. It seemed as though the buildings surrounding them were going to collapse at any given moment. She stomped the ground once more, and gravity pulled everything not rooted the soil toward the heavens.

As Reinhard floated in the air, a pair of chains shackled his limbs, restricting his movement. The ax blades sunk into his back and his femur, making him grimace slightly. In the blink of an eye, he collided against the ground, and then to several buildings adjacent to each other. He tried breaking free, but he was swung to a cornerstone, bending his form in an L-shape. Taking advantage of his position, he manuevered forward using his feet and held onto the windowsill nearby.

In a single instant, he took the chains shackling him, removing the blades lodged into him, breaking free from its grasp. The chains immediately withdrew back to the woman, embedding into the soil with a sharp noise. Reinhard landed on the ground, facing Patra. His injuries healed back to normal.

"Aha-ha! Were you another person, the blades would've torn you apart and killed you. Great, great! Let's have another bout!"

Swinging her chains forward, the ax blades sliced through the wind. The chains extended beyond its length, multiplying ever so slightly as the seconds zoomed by. Patra made a series of complex steps and movements, swerving in every direction and swayed by the wind like a leaf. Her hands followed a complicated pattern as she chanted a hushed melody.

The chains soared toward the heavens and the ax blades violently homed in on Reinhard. Appearing as white rays, he deflected their trajectories, however…

"...I see. That's your intention."

The chains guided the blades to slice him in half as several stakes of earth materialized from thin air and shot at him. Reinhard parried them all in quick succession. However, the chains still persisted to assail him as the woman's half-open eyes grew darker beneath the swirl of grey.

The chains became faster as the woman's dance became slower. Giant stakes emerged from the ground, creating a labyrinth targetting him at every direction and turn. One thought came to mind as he dodged them and parried the ax blades threatening to cut him in half: What about the other knights lying there?

And then it came to him that they weren't safe. When he shifted his focus on the unconscious knights and rushed through the stakes, the two axes caught up to him and pierced his sides, though they couldn't cut past his innermost layer of flesh. Subsequently, several stakes gouged his back. Unphased, Reinhard zoomed through the field of stakes as the ax blades withdrew from his sides.

If he couldn't save them even though he had the power to, how could he call himself a fellow knight?

Reinhard reached the area where the knights collapsed, heedless of the danger he imposed on himself. Shockingly, the knights were unharmed. The stakes didn't touch a single hair or skin on them.

"It is very rude to assume I would break a promise. If I was going to kill them, I would have done that before fighting you. Rest assured, Reinhard van Astrea, I will not question your principles or put them to the test or even ridicule you for it. When you're fighting with someone with lives on the line, you have to trust the one you're against if there is a promise involved, don't you think?"

Patra's voice echoed through the labyrinth of stakes, disappointed.

"Wouldn't that be too convenient?"

"What I am saying is that you should trust me. It doesn't matter if you take my words to heart or not."

A crisp answer followed, laced with amusement.

"No…" Reinhard shook his head in earnest, and spoke aloud to the voice calling to him. "I will take your words to heart. I will no longer doubt your integrity, Patra Elaridke."

"Integrity is too far-fetched a word to describe me. I'm one of the most wicked people in this world; the type to chop people's heads off with no remorse if they don't amuse me enough."

"You upheld your promise. That is good enough."

Rushing through the field, slashing the earthen stakes standing before him, and evading the ax blades and the chains attempting to reel him in and shackle him, Reinhard managed to meet Patra face to face. The end of this battle is at the mercy of the Phantom, however he will not be shackled by that fact. He won't let anyone die while he is present, and he won't let others suffer due to his ineptitude. It was about time to bring the conclusion that Patra wanted.

Once the woman's eyes trained upon him, the whirl of grey took over the pitch darkness beneath it. Her complexion never changed, her lips curled in a permanent smile.

"Not yet. This is the final bout. I want you to use your most powerful attack."

"If that is what you wish."

The labyrinth of stakes returned to earth; the chains returned to its owner; Reinhard retreated, putting a good distance between them and Patra chanted a hushed melody.

An earthquake overtook the knights' garrison once Patra took two steps forward. She controlled the pair of chains to attack Reinhard from both sides. Reinhard made a dash as the ground beneath his feet slowly crumbled, gathering the mana in the atmosphere as the temperature dropped significantly. Parrying the ax blades impeding his movement, he leaped through the air as the chains wrapped around his waist.

The earthquake continued to intensify as time went on. If it continued, the garrison would crumble, and the castle itself might fall prey to it and succumb. The chains were about to tear him apart. He slashed the chains with enough power to shatter it asunder and broke free.

Fifteen meters.

Patra chanted an earth spell, sending sediments bursting out the ground, aiming for Reinhard's lower half. Using the sediments as a foothold and standing atop, he raised his blade. The earthquake didn't affect him.

"..."

Five meters.

"Don't hesitate. There is no turning back now."

"I shall not."

The woman in black closed her eyes, and made a defensive stance as she let her chains collide with the soil.

The attack Reinhard was about to deploy may end up wiping a quarter of the knights' garrison. He set his resolve, knowing the consequences.

The blade gave off a dazzling, white light that encompassed the entire place. The moment he slashed down on his opponent, the world around him warped, space split in half, and the light that sprung forth destroyed everything it touched. Without the need to look, he could hear the buildings' interiors get destroyed and woodwork and stonework collapse.

He tried his best to hold back his power, but from what he heard, it didn't work the way he'd imagined. Aside from that, his concerns for the woman gnawed at his conscience. Once the dazzling light dissipated, the Phantom stood cackling behind the wreckage he caused.

Once he landed on the ground, the earthquake stopped. However…

"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! That was quite the thrill! It's a surprise I managed to survive this one."

His eyes happened upon her right shoulder—The arm that should've been extending beyond it disappeared into ash. It was the outcome that Patra opted for.

"Looks like time's up. I've already lifted the marks I set on everyone, so don't worry about them… And before ending this fight, let me ask you this: Have you ever experienced the feeling of death? Can you kill the dead? Can you destroy the soul? The od? The body? Are you really capable of doing anything?"

"..."

Barraging him with questions in an innocuous manner, Patra's pupils grew warmer syllable by syllable. Reinhard furrowed his brows over the line of questioning. Despite his bewilderment, he responded.

"I don't know if I really can do anything as great as that on my own, but I am capable of all that you ask. I will never use my abilities in egregious or malicious ways. However, I wonder what it is that brings you to question me?"

Patra closed her eyes, and held out what seemed to be a metia from her pockets and tossed it over to Reinhard. Once he picked it up, he discerned its octagonal shape. What seemed to be a button protruded the metallic surface.

"Is this…?"

"A metia to produce a shield powerful enough to absorb the attack you employed against me. I don't need it. You could probably give it to someone in case you cannot protect them."

"Wait! What is this supposed to mean? Why are you…"

Interrupting Reinhard before he could finish his question, Patra's expression slackened into a sincere one as she spoke. "Do you remember saving me some years ago? Because you saved me, this body has been this way since. It is mine, but at the same time it isn't. That's why it doesn't matter to me whether I lose an arm or not. I am just not attached to this rotting corpse. Surely, you know what kind of creature I am? My eyes aren't normal. You can only describe them as a whirl of grey, can't you?"

"...Could it be that you have undergone a mutation?"

"Exactly. Mother showered me with her hatred from afar, and then once you saved me, she began to shower me with unconditional love. I am half-dead, and also half-mutated. Weird, isn't it? I'm like a curse doll." Patra raised her left hand in a shrug, passing it off as nothing. "I shift topics a lot, but your Lady Felt, was it? If she ever goes missing, be patient and eventually you will find her along the path."

Once she finished her words, she turned her back against Reinhard. He thought of restraining her right there and then, but something held him back from doing that. It was both what she said at the end, and what she said next.

"I suggest going to the throne room at this point. You felt that surge of magical energy, didn't you? It is something more urgent, and more important than restraining me. So go on."

"..."

In an instant, Patra Elaridke left the knights' garrison, leaving her trails and footsteps present.

He could restrain her at any given moment. However, the intense stream of magical energy that exuded from the castle gave him the sense that something menacing had infiltrated its confines. It was on a much higher level than he had expected.

And so, he rushed to the throne room, and when he entered the hallway leading to it, he sensed residues of mana dissipating into the air. He couldn't discern what it was as the last remains of mana had vanished. However, catching his ears, Reinhard heard a commotion brewing up beyond the door in front of him.

And once he entered the chamber, a depressing atmosphere gave way to the hallway as he witnessed an incomprehensible sight.

"What do you mean the Royal Candidates disappeared alongside their knights, Court Mage?!"

"That is the only plausible explanation. The door to the hallway had an impregnable seal set to it, rendering our efforts useless. While it did vanish right after the Royal Candidates and their respective knights disappeared, its nature is unknown. And therefore, we cannot link its origin back to its caster in that regard."

The knights stationed to the right side of the chamber were in disarray, scattered sporadically about, their expressions painted with a blend of panic and bewilderment. The nobility on the left side were just as moved as the knights. Some had terrified expressions and the rest had terrible complexions that sullied their kempt faces. Standing in the center of it all was the Royal Court Mage, Roswaal L Mathers as Mikolotov McMahon—Representative of the Council of Wise Men—, seated at the center of the counter beside the throne, expressed his shock.

Marcos Gildark, the Royal Guard's captain, gave a crisp response posthaste, laying out the situation to Miklotov.

"As for how they disappeared alongside their knights, I am afraid even discerning what it is was difficult for even the Court Mage."

"Indeed." Roswaal stepped forward, spreading his arms, leaning in, as he earnestly spoke to the Council. "I never came across such a sophisticated surge of magical energy in recent years. Even I was not able to break through the aforementioned seal in time. However…"

"Is there something else you figured out?"

"Yes—Contrary to Marcos' words, I have figured out the cause behind the disappearance of the Royal Candidates. A magic circle was employed in the hallway leading to this room. And the output of its magical energy happens to beeeeee quite similar to that of Sphinx's own."

"You couldn't possibly suggest that that accursed Witch was behind this!? You're telling me she survived?!"

Once Roswaal brought up the name of Sphinx, Bordeaux, seated next to Miklotov, burst into a seething anger as he slammed a fist to the counter. Seeing that, Roswaal's smile grew wider.

"It is the only tangible thread that ties her into this incident. She was an ever-growing threat baaaaaack in the day, so why would it not be possible for her to survive? Thereby I am certain of her involvement in this case, considering that she exhibited an unusual maaaastery of magic circles during the Demi-Human war. While she did disappear after the war, the possibility that she decided to return to retaliaaaate against the kingdom once more cannot be disputed."

Once Roswaal reached that crisp conclusion, the entire chamber fell into a stagnant silence. The air compressed inside the lungs of those who still stood by idly. Some fell to their knees, and later picked themselves up. Marcos, Miklotov and Bordeaux haven't yet uttered a word, waiting for the next words to come out of Roswaal's lips to make their judgement.

The significance of a war figure returning back to cause problems for the Kingdom and abduct the candidates, even their knights, somewhere unknown was sure to deal a crushing blow to its integrity as a whole. It could stir the nation asunder and cause outlaws to flourish, especially after the King's death. Everyone in the chamber knew it would be covered up as a consequence of that.

Sphinx was one of the greatest enemies to the Kingdom. After the Demi-Human war, she mysteriously disappeared. No one knew where she disappeared to or wandered to. Which made the conclusion Roswaal reached even more likely to be the case than not.

"—"

In the midst of the heavy atmosphere, footsteps echoed through the room. Once the knights, the nobles, the Council members, turned to look at who it was that stepped into the chamber…

"Is it true that the Royal Candidates disappeared? May I get an explanation?"

Glaring forward, betraying his handsome features, Reinhard stood before Roswaal and Marcos. If it is true that they did disappear due to an assault by Sphinx, then he had failed his duty as Felt's knight.

"Certainly. According to the Court Mage's insight, it was an attack orchestrated by Sphinx, who had come back from forty years ago to enact her revenge."

"If that is the case, then have you any clues as to their whereabouts?"

"…"

Marcos crisply answered his question. However, when Reinhard asked another question, he fell silent. The answer is obvious.

In that defining moment, Reinhard's cheeks slackened. If there were no clues yet as to where they were, then he had to do something to recover Lady Felt at all costs. The prospects of her disappearing for eternity or even passing away stirred his heart in a cruel spiral. It is his responsibility to see through it that Felt would be king regardless of her ideologies.

The responsibility he couldn't uphold. Just like the many responsibilities he failed over and over. The people he couldn't save and could save. All of them paled in comparison to the matter of Felt disappearing.

He had to find her somehow...

"In that case, I'll search for them this instant…"

"Think raaaaationally before acting, Sword Saint. That would be a waste of time. While I did link the magic circle back to Sphinx, we don't yet know what kind of magic circle it is."

Interrupting Reinhard from leaving the chamber, Roswaal pointed his index finger to his head as he sent a bemusing expression, a smile carved on his lips. With his last words in motion, the entire room's focus shifted upon him. "I have surmised that the magic circle in question is indeed one for teleportaaaaation. After the seal had vanished, I managed to trace which direction the teleportation would lead the candidates through the residues of mana left behind."

"And which direction did it lead?" asked Miklotov, leaning in from his chair, shutting an eye as he fidgeted with his beard.

"South. Somewhere near the empire, I am afraaaaid. I trust the Council of Wise Men wouldn't make hasty decisions considering the Kingdom's position, yes? We may have made a peace treaty, but if we entered unannounced, it could produce a political conflict we caaaan't overlook in these trying times."

"Near the empire? Very well. We will trust in your insights as Court Mage and as the Margrave of House Mathers. We also appreciate your concerns for the Kingdom. However, we—The Council of Wise Men—will take it from here. From what we heard, and what we have concluded from this meeting, we will base our judgement on. And from this point onwards, no word about this incident shall leak to outsiders. Surely, no one objects?"

Silence filled the room at Miklotov's question. Taking that as an answer, he nodded to Bordeaux to speak.

"As for Sphinx, we order the Royal Guard to investigate this matter, and prepare their forces in case of another assault. We will have to borrow the combined strength of the Sword Saint and our Court Mage to aid in said investigation temporarily. You are all hereby dismissed until then excluding Reinhard van Astrea."

Once the Council of Wise Men gave their judgement and orders to fulfill in the meantime, the knights gathered into one spot and the nobles in another in preparation for leave. Roswaal took off with an eerie smile curving wide on his lips, and Marcos bowed down to the Council's members before abruptly taking his leave. The amount of knights and nobles trying to leave clogged the exit. It didn't take long until the chamber was empty with the exception of Reinhard.

In that moment, Reinhard shut his eyes as he mused over what had happened. Time passed by fast. The Royal Candidates were gone, and he had promised Felt to come back. An indescribable sensation clouded his heart and chest.

"I trust that you have taken care of the threat we warned you about?"

"I have. The group of radicals turned out to be brainwashed members of the Royal Guard. I have immobilized them and taken care of the spell casted on them. However, there was another party named Patra Elaridke that…"

"Hmm? Continue if you will, Reinhard."

As Miklotov's words fell on deaf ears, Reinhard kept silent.

The woman that he fought moments ago. She had warned him of these exact events, albeit vague. Alluding that Lady Felt would go missing, that is what she told him.

Patra Elaridke.

A woman whom he had presumably saved some years ago came back to tell him this. How could she have known about Felt?

However, in spite of his bewilderment and the thousand questions he wanted to ask, it was all interrupted with an urgent shout from an intruder.

"There is a rebellion force estimated to be over fifty-thousand storming the capital!"

—Time had stopped, and the world turned monochrome.

In the seemingly unending darkness surrounding Emilia, a brilliant, savage light opened up within the confines of the minute mass around her body and assailed her eyes. Overwhelmed, her eyes instantly shut as her face cringed. With a question mark arising atop her head, she belatedly noticed the solid ground of marble that she once stood on turned into a grainy, unsteady surface.

Opening her eyes slightly with a hand over her forehead, she managed to take a look at what spectacles lay before her—

"Huh…? What is…"

The sandy landscape stretched beyond the horizons, littered with rocks, boulders, mounds and faraway hills. No matter where she looked, the sight remained the same. Even as she took a light step forward, the grainy ground didn't turn solid. The eerie silence like a deafening siren invaded her ears.

Once her eyes adjusted to the sunlight, she noticed how there were no settlements of the sort. Not to mention the complete lack of greenery and trees. The drought ground gave a good enough explanation for her. She happened to be in a wasteland somehow…

"Why?"

She recalled that she was in the hallway leading to the throne room where the Royal Selection was going to commence. When the geometrical shapes began to appear in a circle, it was only then that she was covered in minute mass that took on a black hue. It engulfed the other royal candidates.

And now, she is standing in the endlessly stretching landscape of a wasteland.

What is she supposed to do in such a precarious situation? What if she couldn't return back to the Kingdom and do what she ought to do? She couldn't understand. There was no way she could understand what led her to such circumstances and why. Everything she thought of led to null and void.

Disappearing in the midst of a royal ceremony would be the same as cutting ties between her benefactor and abandoning the role bestowed upon her by the Dragon. She would also lose the only opportunity she had to save her brethren. Even if she wandered the ends of the world, she probably wouldn't find a cure as potent as the Dragon's blood to achieve her goal. Facing discrimination because of her lineage was but a trial for her to endure to do that.

"Why… Why am I here? Why did this have to happen now!"

She had set her resolve to go through today with a brave face. She had met the other royal candidates that she would compete against. And now all of that was intercepted due to the circle that emerged from beneath their feet.

Her cheeks hardened with a resentful look. It wasn't directed toward anyone except the ground. Her efforts couldn't have been more useless—

"Calm down, Lia. I am here, listening to your every word."

"P-Puck…?"

"Have I startled you this much? I shall burn that great reaction into my memory till death!"

Once Emilia heard the familiar, jovial voice, her shoulders jumped as her cheeks slightly slackened. Turning her head upward, she found a palm-sized cat with its head facing her, resting on her forehead, giggling nonchalantly. Despite his cheerful demeanor, Emilia couldn't share the same energy. She sighed at length as her gaze fell back to the ground.

"Puck… What should I do? I am in reaaaally big trouble."

With worry whirling her mind, she shut her eyes as she took comfort in Puck. Sitting on her left shoulder, Puck tilted his head and crossed his front limbs. "To answer your earlier questions: it seems we've done in by a third party. Judging from the weird sensation I felt, I believe a magic circle was the cause of our transportation here. Though, I don't see a reason you should worry much."

"...? How could you say that for sure?!"

"Weren't the other royal candidates and their knights with you?"

"...Yeah."

With a nod, Emilia furrowed her brows over the sudden question. What is Puck getting at? She leaned her head toward the cat to listen closely.

"Weren't they also subjected to the same magic circle imposed on you? And if you were transported here as a consequence of that, then… I'll leave it that up to you to figure it out."

"Then…does that mean they have also been transported in this wasteland alongside me? But that would mean…"

The Kingdom would be in further disarray than it is now. In vulnerable times like these, from what she studied, the fact that the five royal candidates have disappeared might topple the nation over its head. The empire down south might even take the opportunity to invade the kingdom, and instill instability and terror into the hearts of its citizens. She understood that things like economies and politics are vital to any budding nation, but the last thing on her mind was the possibility of a revolution taking place in the heart of the capital.

From political unrest to national unrest to the fall of the economy to crime rates increasing to increased guard to increased corruption to power imbalance. All of which can happen depending on the situation—all according to the multiple books she vigorously studied page to page.

To prevent those possibilities, she must come back to the kingdom as soon as possible.

As if a fire lit in her eyes, Emilia's downcast expression changed.

"I have to return back to the kingdom. I might come across the other candidates on the way…we might even return back together. We must make haste."

"If you say so. I will accompany you to the bitter ends of your journey, Lia."

"And so it seems the other candidates have also fallen prey to that devious magic circle similar to that of Sphinx's according to you. You did take part in the Demi-Human war after all. —Which means we will probably come across them eventually… If we do not return to the Kingdom and find Ferris posthaste, I am afraid the Karsten House would be in shambles over my little disappearance."

A woman wearing clothes similar to a military uniform put a hand to her chin, closing her eyes as she came to a fine conclusion. Beyond her tough exterior, a dark interior filled with the fine dust of worry and frustration lay within.

Securing Felix Argyle was the most important goal next to securing the throne to her. Even if it meant forfeiting the throne to find him, she wouldn't mind it the least.

"So it seems, Lady Crusch. "

Next to Crusch was an elderly gentleman in butler clothes with his arms to his back as he briefly spoke. Shutting her eyes for a fleeting moment, Crusch walked forward, and halted her steps.

A sigh escaped her mouth.

"It has been silent ever since we were transported here… Mark my words, the journey before us will be a tiring one."

A bleak, lifeless landscape lay before them. A wasteland with nothing but the wind flowing through. Even so, the silence beneath the wind could still be heard.

"Ahaha! I was a bit worried for a second that we were the only ones that'd been transported here. I guess I can take that ta mean the others won't take advantage of my disappearance if they're all in the same situation as me. If we could return ta the kingdom first, maybe I can secure the throne as my own already by virtue of being first. Opportunities, ya hear! Opportunities!"

With a relieved laugh, the woman in a long white dress spoke with a triumphant expression on her face. Not even the predicament she was in or the bleak wasteland before her managed to phase her enthusiasm as her beaming smile managed to outshine the sun itself.

This was all but one big opportunity for her to take advantage of.

"What do ya think, Julius?"

"I have nothing but support for you as your knight, milady. That much won't change. I shall stop at nothing to make sure you secure the throne. Although my comrades worry me, especially Ferris." A handsome man in white ceremonial clothes spoke with his lids closed, bowing his head courtesy to his lady. "I haven't yet come across a single spirit in this land… I suppose the eerie silence could explain that."

"I guess that's true! Ahaha!"

A settlement appeared from the horizon. Judging from its size, it seems to be a town. Walking with heavy steps, heavy breathing, his crinkled complexion slightly relaxed. His yellow eyes burned brightly with shattering resolve.

The grand wasteland before him was only an obstacle to overcome. Moments ago, he came to the conclusion that everyone in the hallway was transported alongside him. His hope to see Crusch again festered throughout the very inner workings of his nerves.

As her knight, he will never give up hope.

"Crusch… I promise I will return to you no matter what. Just wait, and I will come! I will never, never, never, never abandon you!"

"Damn it… Damn it…! Why… Why am I feeling so excited?"

A vast landscape of sand stretching endlessly to the horizon is all she could see. The sight was unfamiliar, giving off a sense of isolation. Yet the feeling of elation filled her heart as tears streamed down her cheeks. She didn't quite understand it herself. Maybe this was her start-over?

Being in a wasteland was the last thing to phase her. She had experienced hunger, thirst and injustice. Fighting to survive. Striving for survival. Stealing to survive. It wasn't anything unfamiliar to her, even as she spent two agonizing months with him.

"The only step I need to take from this point onwards is to just come back to the kingdom, and crush it. Crush it! I will become king, and then rip it all to shreds! Every! Single! Thing!"

Though she had the responsibility as a royal candidate to uphold, the contempt and hatred she held for the kingdom still festered. The idea of a monarchy opposed her way of living. Being handed whatever you wanted on a silver platter because of your lineage went beyond ridiculous. With Rom's death, Felt came to understand that she didn't just want a better life, and discovered the ambition to ruin as the kingdom had ruined her living conditions without a single helping hand in sight.

The only thing preventing her from being swallowed in that hatred was the warmth of a certain half-elf, and the persistence of a red-haired freak—

"Looks like we're in a real tough spot, princess. Who would've thought we would be standing in the fabled Levirah Wasteland?"

A man wearing a shabby yellow mantle alongside a vest exposing his abs spoke in a muffled voice underneath his pitch-black helm. With only one arm, he shrugged nonchalantly even as the wasteland of witchbeasts—near the empire—stared him in the face.

"Hmph. Whether it is the Levirah Wasteland or not, it won't deter from the fact that the world works in my favor." A fiery woman in a scarlet dress placed her unfolded fan across her mouth as she spoke. "Any inconvenience that may befall me is but a step to a much grander stage. The pinnacle of that stage is infinite with someone such as mineself on it."

Aldebaran couldn't believe that she would call this precarious situation a mere 'inconvenience,' but it was just like Priscilla to label it so. With an imposing stance on par with the sun, she began to move forward, zooming past the helmed man.

"Now, follow after me!"

"You're a slave driver, y'know?"

With a sigh, he followed after the princess.

"Witchbeast! Witchbeast! Witchbeast! Witchbeast! Witchbeast! Witchbeast! Witchbeast!"

A spiky, spherical metal easily flung towards the lizard-like creature, shattering its rock-like head as blood spewed forth. It returned with a brief delay to its ferocious owner, sprinting forward with inhuman speed.

A devilish smile widened across the girl's face, her blue eyes, covered at one side, gradually turned darker. A horn protruded her forehead, giving off a crushing aura.

Once she trained her eyes towards the stagnant miasma wafting about the lizards and the wolves with sand-like hide before her, she swung her morning star in a horizontal only for a rain of blood to soak the sand deep crimson.

More came. More fell prey to her devilry.

Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.

Kill everything. Kill them. Kill them all. Leave no witchbeast roaming alive. For they are the reason why her sister and everyone else had disappeared.

"Diediediediediediediediediediediediediediediediediediediediediediediediediediediediediediediediediediedie! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!"

The blue oni cackled as a torrent of blood stained her body from top to bottom.

"Such an inconvenience this is… Sigh, this couldn't be more of an incovenience than it already is. Why would a magic circle activate right under our feet? What an amatuer mistake I made. I have failed my duty as a maid of Roswaal Manor. A huge shame, indeed."

With another despondant sigh escaping her lungs, she placed a hand against the mound next to her. Under its shade, waving the bangs covering her eye, the maid scowled deeply.

"Returning back to the royal capital doesn't seem to be a choice anymore. Recovering Rem and Lady Emilia comes first. Otherwise…"

It would be unacceptable for her to return alone. After all, she came to the conclusion that everyone in that hallway had also been transported to this wasteland. It was only a lucky guess, and just happened to be the most convenient and tangible one at hand. Not to mention that Master Roswaal gave her a word of caution regarding this sort of situation she found herself in.

Thus it was accepted as the undeniable truth.

"Master Roswaal would be displeased by this—Ghk..!"

A headache overtook her head, gradually increasing in its intensity. It was a familiar sensation, however it was never this intense. What could've happened to her sister?

"Rem…? What is it that you are trying to convey?"

There was a link between her and her sister that would never be cut unless one of them perishes. Though they both cannot communicate to each other they could feel each other's existence. Know whether they are fine or not. However, all she could feel from that link is discord.

This saddened her more than anything else. Rem was in trouble.

"This… I swear I will find you, Rem."

With a scowl, sullying her beautiful face further, deeper than before, she set off into the wasteland. Even if there was no destination in mind.

"Everything is finally prepaaared. The rites to the beginning of the end have begun. Everything will bend under my will. No loose ends will remain. I will bring you back. Through your tome. Through any means necessary. Even if it means I must cast aside my dignity and humanity."

No cheap copy will ever compare to your likeness.

I will place my hopes on him. Shall he overcome the obstacles in his way, if he is truly as capable as the tome inscribed.

I will bring you back to life. You will return back to a flesh body.

That much is promised.

"Through any meaaaans necessary, I will achieve my goals. No matter what."

—And so, the curtains fall alongside the broken stage.