Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Within the small, nondescript carriage bound for the Miload manor, five individuals sat in silence. The old knight who had taken charge of driving was fortunate enough to be responsible, choosing a straight and smooth road for their journey. Even so, his attention had drifted so dramatically that he was no longer fully guiding the carriage toward its destination. All he could do was passively dwell on that horrible mantra of death that had reached his ears only moments before. He, along with the other members of the knight order, was thinking the same thing—slowly coming back to their senses as the seconds passed in cadence with the tick, tick, ticking of the newly placed countdown.

What a horrible sight and sound it had been. Truly something to behold once and never forget, out of respect for one’s fellow man. That was what he was. What he is. No matter what Agnarr said, Subaru Natsuki was a knight—and a knight who had been mercilessly killed in battle.

Battle. What a joke. There had been none. Only one terrible tragedy after another.

Has this been what has been behind his achievements? Every miraculous victory?

He had been living normally—a hardworking, kind, naïve child, hoping to create memories with those around him. And he was slaughtered, as if the mere act of existing was an affront to the murderer.

If something this vile happened with no one the wiser, then what else had happened? How many times had he—

Stop. There is no time for that. He has a duty to uphold.

Marcos: “…Men, come back to attention.”

The knight commander’s voice was soft, yet absolute. It was enough to pull the others from their trance—the kind modern humans fall into when witnessing a plot twist so unbelievable it steals the breath from their lungs.

The old knight was the first to speak.

“Sir, I apologize for losing focus on the road. It shall not happen again.”

He gripped the reins tightly, using the motion to mask his turbulent emotions. The old knight with green eyes bowed his head slightly as he apologized for his lapse in focus.

Marcos: “It is understandable, considering the current events. Though I do hope it is not enough to shake your resolve.”

Agnarr: “Not at all, sir.” Added Agnarr.

The others nodded grimly. It was basic courtesy to allow the mood in the room to settle with respect. No one wanted to do more or say anything pertaining to what they had just witnessed. It was sad—and then it was over. As proper knights, all they needed to do was acknowledge the moment and move on, no matter how unsettled they felt.

How human and vulnerable it made them feel.

Marcos, however, was a different story.

Beyond his devotion to propriety, he possessed a strong stomach. Though he had not fought in the demi-human war as his father had, Marcos was captain of the knight guard for a reason. He was also a man with deep empathy, and that was where the conflict lay. His body’s reaction was easy to suppress, but his mind was not so simple.

What he had just witnessed was a systematic torture of a future knight and a denizen from beyond the Great Waterfall. A valuable asset—and clearly, a kind and gentle boy. The kind of person the knights should have been proud to protect.

Marcos had once harbored a deep grudge against the Royal Knight Guard. He believed they existed only to arrest and imprison the impoverished and desperate, that they failed utterly at the one thing they were meant to do: protect the weak. And who, he wondered, was weaker than the boy on the screen?

Marcos hasn’t met Natsuki Subaru. Not truly.

When he first heard about what happened at the palace—how the boy stood by his liege’s side, the only one protecting the Dragon’s chosen, boldly proclaiming himself her knight—Marcos thought him brave, but ultimately foolish. Words could carry weight, yes, but status and upbringing carried far more. The boy hadn’t understood that. Marcos had seen people killed for less, no matter how bitter that truth was.

Then came the news of the White Whale, slain by Subaru’s plans. Then the Archbishop of Sloth.

Like many across Lugunica, Marcos was shocked. The weak, howling commoner had teeth behind his bark.

And the victories kept coming—miraculous victories unlike anything the knight order had achieved in decades, each one with Subaru at the center. The Great Rabbit hunt, even if unconfirmed. Priestella. Standing against multiple Archbishops—and winning. His speech, inspiring the masses in a way no knight ever had.

In some quiet corner of his heart, Marcos felt envy. He pushed it away. Such feelings were unbecoming of a knight.

Then he saw him die.

And come back.

It felt as though the very principles Marcos lived by—fight, live, die—had been mocked. With someone like that, wasn’t victory inevitable? If you could try again and again, then success was only a matter of time. There were no stakes. No hope, because there could be no despair.

How wrong he had been.

No one—especially not that child on the screen—should have to experience something like that. It was a blasphemous thought for a knight who had killed in the name of the kingdom before, but his honor recoiled at what he witnessed: the breaking of that boy, the stripping away of meaning as he begged for death.

Maybe he hadn’t chosen to be a hero. Maybe it was the only way he could survive.

Those who should have protected him—saved him—had failed to do their duty. Mathers. Lady Emilia. They had failed him completely.

Maybe no one had ever come to save him.

They failed. They refused. And perhaps the only reason Natsuki Subaru became a hero was because no hero came for him.

Marcos wished he could reach through the screen—reach into the past—and help.

But he couldn’t.

Not now. And not then.

Realistically, there was nothing he could have done.

And yet—there was one thought that gnawed at the back of his mind like a rejected prayer.

Reinhard van Astrea.

He was a knight. The greatest of them all. The only one who might have had a real chance to prevent this. Marcos knew it was unfair. Reinhard was all-powerful, but not all-knowing. That limitation made everything complicated. He was a perfect tool—but not much else.

Regardless, this was one of those tragedies that could not have been prevented, no matter what anyone did. And that was exactly why it upset Marcos so deeply.

Usually, it was the opposite. If nothing could be done, one accepted it. If something could have been done, regret would eat you alive.

But here, the certainty that nothing could have changed the outcome was what hurt the most.

Because Natsuki Subaru’s authority had introduced a cruel variable into the world—one that allowed for regret and resolution, but one that did not allow for dead ends.

Another mess.

Agnarr, on the other hand, was in a far more turbulent state. He was a proud member of the knight order—one who had never perceived its flaws in the same way his commander did. That was why, when Subaru had insulted his vision of a perfect and virtuous knighthood, Agnarr had been one of many who called for his head.

And now, he has gotten it.

Smashed to bits.

And all he felt was disgust.

Agnarr had never been in a truly substantial fight. He had grown up in the capital, protected by knights, and when he joined the order in adulthood, his role had been much the same. He had not seen death—not really. He was skilled, certainly, but not experienced. His duty was to patrol the capital and keep people safe, which meant the neutralization and capture of criminals who threatened the peace.

This was nothing like that.

But he pushed the thought away. The man still had his pride, and he had no reason to believe the matter had not already been resolved. Once he realized this, he attributed his nausea to the bumpy carriage ride—despite the road being smooth and the carriage protected by a divine blessing.

Agnarr calmly questioned how Natsuki Subaru had managed to become a knight at all. The man—no, the child—was truly weak. Even with such power at his disposal, Subaru made it seem irrelevant, as though no cursed power could ever compensate for what he lacked.

Subaru’s achievements—his victories, reputation, and fame—came to him as nothing more than a lucky break. A flailing, weak commoner somehow gathered undeserved respect and honor while dying pathetically. By no ability or contribution of his own, Natsuki Subaru had somehow earned the favor of the world.

Agnarr had already said his piece, but now he had even more reason to believe that pitiful weakling was unworthy.

Agnarr thought: “He should have remained a citizen. Then he would have been protected by true knights.”

The carriage, carrying five warriors of differing kinds—most of whom had not lived long enough to witness such a level of bloodshed—sat in a mournful, uncomfortable silence as it rolled forward. They drove toward the one they had watched get murdered, waiting for the countdown to end, for that dreadful ticking to finally stop.

—

Liliana: “...”

The girl was no longer standing. She—much like Subaru—sat on the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut, straining her neck to look upon that ticking countdown.

Liliana was a representative not only of the Water Gate City, but of a demographic—kinder, softer individuals who could not withstand horror the way others could. She had never seen pain portrayed like this. To her, pain had always been delivered in a legendary format, something along the lines of: the great warrior had many arms ripped from his body as he used the last of his strength to deliver one final blow to the villain.

Such tales never spoke of the final wishes for death that the multi-armed warrior might have had as he lay there, succumbing to his injuries. The reality was so far removed from her expectations that it made her feel sick.

And this was not merely a story of words and music.

This had sound beyond notes.

This had sight beyond language.

It was vivid and cruel and clear—a mockery of her craft while also being superior to it in every possible way.

Kiritaka, not as soft as the singer yet still stuttering and shaken, stepped forward and cupped her cheek in his hand.

He regretted putting Liliana in the position of calming the people when she was so clearly the one who needed calming herself. If she had been in a better state, she would have pouted and shouted that as long as he calmed her down, she could keep doing it forever.

And so, he would.

Kiritaka: “Liliana-san. Look at me.”

She turned her head in the direction his hand guided it, though her eyes lingered on the countdown for just a moment longer.

Liliana stared at his face—so worried, so shaken—and she could not help but condemn the unfairness of it all. Her dear friend, always so calm, reduced to trembling, the hand against her cheek shaking with nerves. Subaru, who had been unfairly murdered in a way that should never be told—not even in a great tale. And the people she had come to love over the past months, surely crying out in despair at the tragedy and its helplessness.

All of it was wrong.

Nothing was right.

Liliana grit her teeth and looked down. She placed her hand over his where it rested against her cheek. After a few moments—and at the sight of his confused expression—she spoke.

Liliana: “I don’t like it, Kiritaka-san. I really, really, really don’t like it. All of it. I… I wish there was something I could do. B-But I’m… I’m nothing—nothing but a s-singer. And I-I c-can’t—”

Her stuttering worsened as she tried to force the words out, tears spilling freely now.

She had been crying already.

Liliana took his hand and slowly moved it away from her face. Her other hand rose to wipe away her tears in a quick, uneven motion.

Kiritaka watched her closely as she did. At first, her movements grew frantic, her wiping faster and more desperate. Then they slowed. She stopped altogether. After a brief pause, she broke—throwing herself into his chest as sobs tore free.

She cried and cried, clinging to him, while Kiritaka spent the next five minutes doing everything he could to calm her down.

.

.

.

Kiritaka: “Feeling better now, Liliana-san?”

Liliana: “Y-Yeah.”

Kiritaka nodded as he helped her to her feet. The two of them stood there for a moment. Then Kiritaka spoke.

Kiritaka: “Now that we can talk, I think I should address the people. They must be frantic.”

He could feel the shift in the atmosphere the past few minutes had created, and he wanted to address it as quickly as possible.

But Liliana noticed something in his plan.

Liliana: “You?”

Kiritaka: “Ah—y-yes, me. I’ll get to work at once and—”

Liliana grabbed his sleeve, interrupting him as she shouted.

Liliana: “Why you?! Alone?! What about me?! You said it was my job—my job!”

The man was used to her antics and half-formed tantrums. As such, he answered calmly.

Kiritaka: “I know. But you need rest. I will handle this broadcast, and you can take a break. We are a team, aren’t we?”

Liliana took the bait, stomping away with all the indignation her short body could muster.

Kiritaka watched her for a while longer. He could tell her tears had lasted longer than usual—long enough to mark a change. His muse, the woman who brought positive change wherever she went, was no longer quite the same. He did not realize that it was because the way she received the very stories she loved was beginning to change—growing.

Kiritaka turned toward the metia device, thinking about what he would say. His face was grim now that he no longer needed to keep up a front for Liliana.

Kiritaka: “Thank you for your patience, people of this city—”

He winced inwardly. He already hated how formal he sounded. Liliana—heck, Subaru—could have done better.

Kiritaka: “We of the city council—”

He continued, despite being the only original council member left alive.

Kiritaka: “—wish to reassure you all that the situation has not changed. Though we know you are shocked, we must remain calm. We will repeat this as many times as necessary. This city’s hero would not wish to see us fall into chaos.”

After a pause, Kiritaka lamented his inability to deliver the message he truly wanted to convey—that he was sad, that he was shaken. He, and not “we”. That he just wanted to hug Liliana and look away from it all. That he hated this violence. That he was furious that his city was being subjected to more violence, to more fear. Then, hesitating slightly—and noticing Liliana watching him with her own grim expression—he made a choice.

Kiritaka: “We—no. I, Kiritaka Muse of the council, and employer of the White Dragon Scales, will begin a relief system for you all. This is new, so I ask for your patience as we work through the logistics. But we will deliver food and organize places where you may speak, rest, and share your burdens with us. You are not alone.”

Kiritaka, more than anything, remembered how Subaru had addressed the loneliness that they had all been subjected to. He wanted to do the same. He should be able to do it better since there are no witch cultists standing between the people and connection. He swallowed before continuing.

Kiritaka: “That is what he would expect of us. Of—of me. Liliana and I will not abandon you. So please—stay calm, and carry on.”

It felt good to say.

He had pulled it out of thin air, condemned himself to mountains of paperwork, and committed to work he had never planned for—but it felt right. He could not be as inspiring as Subaru, nor as comforting as Liliana, but he could give the people what he wished someone had given Subaru.

He could be the change he wanted to see.

Kiritaka marched back to Liliana. She sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at him with wide, stunned eyes. Before he could speak, she did.

Liliana: “Wow, Kiritaka-san! That was amazing! Are you really going to do all that?”

Kiritaka: “Yes. Thanks to you and Natsuki Subaru. You both inspired me to do the right thing for the people who matter. And this city matters.”

He hesitated, then continued.

Kiritaka: “Which is why I need to ask a favor of you.”

Liliana nodded enthusiastically, buoyed by his resolve.

Kiritaka: “I want to entrust the broadcast to you. That way, I can go and do what needs to be done. But that means you can’t break down every time something terrible happens. You need to be strong. Can you do that?”

Liliana paused. His hands rested firmly on her shoulders as he waited for an answer she wasn’t sure she could give.

She had already failed twice—run once, cried the second time. For all her pouting about having her role taken away, she had not exactly proven herself reliable.

But when she looked into his resolute eyes—into the face of someone who said he had been inspired by her—she remembered her anger. The fury at everything that was wrong.

She could not fix Subaru. Kiritaka had already chosen his own path. But the people were within her reach.

And she could not let go.

Liliana: “I know you have no reason to trust me, Kiritaka-san, b-but—”

Kiritaka: “Nonsense. There are few people I trust as much as you. Say your truth, Liliana-san. Even if you choose not to help here, there will always be another way.”

She took his words in fully, then straightened.

Liliana: “No. I’m needed here. The singer is needed here. You and the others need a performer—and I will be that person. Trust me. I’ll do my job. I’ll be someone worthy of being your inspiration.”

Kiritaka smiled, releasing her shoulders and standing tall.

Kiritaka: “Alright. I’ll send a guard to stay with you. Anything you need, he will pass on to me. I’ll take my leave now, Liliana-san—and I pray we do not need you too much.”

She nodded and smiled, barely waiting for him to disappear before turning back to the metia device.

Liliana: “Hello, hello! Liliana-san is back and ready to stay with you all the way. Kiritaka-san will take care of things on the ground—but I promise to remain in your ear, always!”

With that, the singer laughed—a bright, ringing laugh that cut through the fear.

For the first time since the viewing began, she did not speak as though she were telling a story. She did not dare besmirch Subaru like that. Instead, she focused on the world around her now—on the story she could still help shape or shatter.

The people mattered. Kiritaka had been right about that.

—

Citizen: “So… what does that mean?”

Citizen 2: “I-I think he wants to help us…?”

Kiritaka had spoken suddenly and without explanation. There was no immediate danger, so what help could he possibly provide? Everyone knew the man—he was wealthy and influential in the Water Gate City—but any aid associated with him usually meant life-saving supplies. What else could he do?

All the citizens felt awful. Some were crying, others stared at the ground in shock. Most still couldn’t fully process what they had been forced to witness. The atmosphere was heavy and mournful, born from the blood and screams their hero had endured.

Their hero.

The image didn’t match the title.

Citizen: “I-I guess we should go outside then. Whatever happens, it’ll happen out there.”

The others nodded, and they headed out. The same choice was made by nearly a third of the city—people who all felt, deep down, that they didn’t want to be alone. They wanted to know how others were reacting so they could respond accordingly. Was there panic? A riot? Should they leave the city before chaos broke out?

It was only natural to seek certainty by looking for community.

So, driven both by the desire to be with others and the need to understand what everyone else was feeling, many people left their homes.

Citizen: “If Subaru-sama comes out of this sane… then I guess it explains how he was able to save us…”

Citizen 2: “Yeah…”

Explanations didn’t always bring closure.

—

Reala was still hugging her children when Kiritaka’s voice came through the device. The mother had been in disarray as she waited for the horror to pass. The problem was that by blocking the children’s sight and hearing, she had been unable to do the same for herself.

So while the four children hadn’t heard much beyond the initial disturbance, Reala had heard everything. As a result, she was no longer hugging them just to protect them—she was clinging to them for comfort, holding back tears as she shook.

For a full five minutes, they all stayed like that. The children were confused, Reala trembling. The kids, good and perceptive as they were, understood that something terrible had happened and that they shouldn’t move. It reminded them of how they had been held by their parents after the attack on Priestella had ended.

Kiritaka’s words were what finally allowed Reala to let go and truly listen. At first, she had been sad and irritated by the seemingly meaningless interruption, her expression set in a frown. But when Kiritaka announced his willingness to assist, surprise overtook her irritation—and she smiled.

Fred: “That’s so nice!”

Reala: “Yeah… it is.”

Reala: “Come on, kids. I think we should go outside and see what they do.”

Like many others, Reala assumed they should leave their home and gather in social spaces—places where people could wait together for whatever unusual aid might be offered. In other words, they didn’t want to be alone anymore.

Lusbel: “Are we gonna watch the rest with everyone else?”

He looked up at Reala with wide eyes.

Reala paused. For a moment, she considered locking the children inside. Considered locking herself inside with them.

But she couldn’t.

She had known there would be violence. She hadn’t forgotten why she had chosen to allow this in the first place.

Reala: “Yeah. Let’s go, kids.”

The children cheered and ran for the door. Along with many others seeking comfort in numbers, they joined the flow of people heading into town squares, open restaurants, and public spaces of all kinds—anywhere they could find community.

—

Pristella Citizen 3: “That was insane… right?”

Citizen 4: “No shit. That was somethin’ messed up, I tell ya.”

Citizen 3: “Y’know… when I first realized he had that fucked-up power, I was kinda mad. I didn’t say nothin’, y’know? Didn’t wanna say anythin’ against the hero. B-but still… I kept thinkin’ he could’ve used that power for us. I know it’s wrong—b-but still. My wife died, man. She died, and I’ll never see her again…”

The man from the mansion district listened intently, on the verge of tears himself. Others nearby fell silent, their expressions grim. It was a thought many had been too afraid to say aloud, yet it resonated deeply with them all.

Everyone who had lost someone had wondered the same thing at some point.

Why didn’t he save my family?

Citizen 4: “I know. But now…”

Citizen 3: “Now I wanna hit myself for ever thinkin’ that. I mean… we all love the guy. And now, I think I get it. Y’know?”

The man struggled to explain his change of heart. What he had witnessed was systematic hell—something that finally explained why Subaru had never chosen the so-called selfless path.

Death was one thing, at least in the way people usually understood it.

But this?

This made death itself terrifying. Something to avoid at all costs.

No one could be that selfless.

Some still felt anger. Some still felt bitterness. But none were cruel enough now to demand that Subaru reset for them—especially knowing he would always choose to fight rather than die.

Especially now that they understood how death itself had been ruined for him.

Why did that realization hurt so much?

Citizen 4: “Yeah…”

The entire area fell into a heavy silence, overtaken by a shared sadness. They thought they had understood before.

Now they truly did.

The experience of death had been taken from him—and that was why he could no longer act like some distant, untouchable hero.

He was like them.

Just like them.

—

Bordeaux: “Calm yourselves!”

The man was at his wits’ end. The council was in chaos, nobles calling for blood. It was as though the moment they witnessed something so intrinsically wrong, they had run out of insults to hurl. Bordeaux was certain they would return to normal eventually—insulting Subaru as they always did.

He, on the other hand, did not think he had it in him anymore.

He would continue to hate the half-elf, but one thing had changed: Bordeaux now believed that everything which made Subaru so unbearable in the present had been born of that past. As a soldier who had seen hell, he knew that much of what made a man like himself insufferable—especially to shallow, irritating people—was forged there.

He did not know how.

But Natsuki Subaru had not come out of it unscathed.

Noble: “The boy was killed in cold blood, and now it is our duty as proud members of this nation to enact justice!!!”

What bullshit, Bordeaux thought.

The man spewing such rhetoric was the same one who had demanded higher taxes for his people while lowering his own. He had no pride. No honor. Bordeaux was dangerously close to hitting him—he still had the skill.

Noble 2: “With force if necessary!”

Knight: “Yeah!”

More calls followed, swelling into a cacophony. Miklotov tried to restore order as Bordeaux watched, exhausted and bitter. He wanted to blame someone for the mess, to direct his anger somewhere—but there was no one.

Certainly not Subaru.

No. There was one. 

The one who should have protected him. The one who profited from Subaru’s achievements the most. 

He was not a stupid man, despite what some may believe, age and experience aided him in that. He did not believe the half-elf is a malicious, manipulating witch.

But so what?

Naivety is a sin. 

Incompetence is a sin.

What difference are those from pride or wrath?

At the end, all of them end up with innocents’ blood being shed.

His hidden scars are a testament of that.

Miklotov: “SILENCE!”

The council fell into an abrupt hush. Both wise men released a breath they had not realized they were holding.

Miklotov met Bordeaux’s eyes, calm and ready to proceed.

Bordeaux: “It took you all long enough! Do you have no shame in your behavior? We cannot act while screaming for blood. We are the council—we demand order!”

Muttered acknowledgments rippled through the chamber as he continued.

Bordeaux: “I understand your desire for justice. But we must acknowledge that this happened far in the past. Natsuki Subaru joined the Emilia faction over a year ago. The killer would have been dealt with long ago.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.

Bordeaux: “Wait. Prepare for what may come. When this is over—when all the facts are known—then we will convene and plan accordingly. Is that understood?”

More quiet agreements followed from knights and nobles alike.

.

.

.

Knight: “May I ask something, sirs?”

Bordeaux: “Hmm. What is it?”

Knight: “Has this incident been reported? I assume that Candidate Emilia or Subaru-sama himself took care of the killer, considering—”

Miklotov cut in, prepared to answer.

Miklotov: “As much as I understand your concerns, one must keep in mind the nature of the event—and the unusual circumstances we currently find ourselves in.”

Miklotov continued, his tone measured.

Miklotov: “Assassination attempts are an uncomfortable, yet not uncommon, truth of the political sphere. One we tend to ignore when it suits us—”

Bordeaux almost interrupted at Miklotov’s use of “we” in reference to a cover-up, but restrained himself. It was necessary to drive the point home and to stop the endless demands for records every time something went wrong. The Sword Saint fiasco had already been enough.

Miklotov: “—Candidates to the throne are no exception. They have little reason to announce such attacks publicly when doing so would only foster dissent. It is their way of sparing us the daily turbulence of the Royal Selection.”

He continued calmly.

Miklotov: “As such, we may safely assume that the matter was resolved internally. Going forward, I—and the rest of the Council—order that this assumption be maintained whenever such events go unreported. Assume justice has already been administered. Do not act rashly in response.”

His gaze hardened slightly.

Miklotov: “You are the face of this nation. It is your duty to remain composed. Be the face you wish the public to see. Is that understood?”

The knight didn’t know that those words Miklotov said were as much to himself and Bordeaux, as to him.

Knight: “Y-Yes, sir.”

The knight quickly retreated to the back of the hall, rejoining one of the many small groups now quietly organized throughout the chamber.

After Miklotov finished speaking, Bordeaux dismissed the assembly to the break area—just as he had done less than an hour earlier.

Bordeaux: “I do hope you are correct, my friend.”

Miklotov: “As do I… as do I.”

—

The same knight who had asked a question in the council hall just moments ago was now jogging up to his group in the cafeteria. He hadn’t been far behind them, so it should have only taken a second—yet somehow, he was already out of breath.

Knight: “H-Hey, you guys.”

Knight 2: “Oh. Hey.”

Normally, this group of friends—those who trained and worked together—would have been happy to talk, gossip, or joke about anything and everything. But now, they all felt too tired to even think of a worthwhile topic.

Knight: “Hmm… I—”

He cut himself off before finishing, not feeling particularly conversational after all.

They picked at their food in silence. It was high quality, well-prepared, and genuinely delicious—but the horrific scene they had just witnessed had robbed them of any real appetite. It was a common feeling among many that day. In Pristella, Kiritaka would soon realize he wouldn’t need nearly as many supplies as he’d expected.

Knight 3: “Who do you think it was?”

Knight 2: “A-Ah… I don't know…”

Knight: “Who do you think?”

Knight 3: “Probably some assassin.”

The first knight, timid as he was, tried to lighten the mood with a joke.

Knight: “K-Kinda anticlimactic, don’t you think?”

It didn’t land.

There wasn’t even a grimace in response—just silence and averted eyes. Knight 3 muttered something under his breath before turning and leaving. One by one, the others followed, trays untouched.

The atmosphere surrounding the knights’ perception of Natsuki Subaru—of violence, and of the world itself—was beginning to shift, slowly pushing toward something deeply unsettling. No clear thoughts had formed yet, but emotions had already taken hold, suppressing their usual snark, and replacing their habitual disgust with an unfamiliar, uneasy empathy. 

Knight: “He was forgotten again, huh?”

No one heard him.

—

Vollachia was a mess.

While in countries like Lugunica, Gusteko, and Kararagi there was a quiet, heavy disturbance caused by the last forty or so minutes, in Vollachia there was outright chaos. People shouted, cursed, and raged over how dishonorable the event had been. To the Vollachians, who lived by the law of blood, a death like that was wrong in every conceivable way.

Vollachian: “Why the hell did this fuckface kill him like that?!”

Taritta: “Tch! Absolutely disgusting! It’s obvious whoever did that hurt him on purpose!”

Utakata: “What?!”

Realizing Utakata hadn’t yet grasped the truth, Taritta turned to explain. Among the Shudrak, children were raised ready to face violence at any age, so her youth was no barrier to speaking plainly.

Taritta: “Whoever killed Subaru-san was strong enough to rip his arm off. That means they were trained in an unusual weapon. And if they had that level of skill—”

Her voice slowed, growing quieter as the conclusion became unavoidable.

Taritta: “—then they could have killed him painlessly. But they didn’t.”

Zkir, who had joined them before the viewing began, was close enough to hear every word. The funny-looking man clenched his fists, fury written plainly across his face.

Zkir: “For Od’s sake… she didn’t deserve that.”

Zkir was not a vengeful man. But when he thought of Natsumi’s smile—of her mercy—the memories he had once simply appreciated now carried a heavier weight. In his chest, an angry fire burned, directed at the one so cruel as to take something so precious from the world. He swore there would be a price to pay.

Utakata: “W-Wah?!”

Holly: “Is Subaru gonna be okay after that?!”

Kuna: “No one is okay after something like that…”

Mizelda paused her shouting at the countdown long enough to add her own thoughts.

Mizelda: “I agree. That kind of death doesn’t belong to a warrior—it belongs to a victim—”

It took effort for her to admit the distinction.

Mizelda: “But we know he survives. So I’ll choose to believe in our friend and brother!!!”

She ignored the queasy feeling death gave her—the way the very things they celebrated, the things she believed in, could ruin someone so utterly.

After all, he survived, hadn’t he? The one she could proudly call a friend was a warrior; of that, she was certain. No matter how ruinous it felt, no matter the endless mantra, her memories of him told her it was something to overcome, like any other struggle in life. In a way, it even reinforced her way of thinking: that one could face something so gruesome and still move forward.

Mizelda also swore within her heart that if the killer somehow survived, she and the other Shudrak would enact rightful revenge for their friend and brother. Though she didn't believe that was the case.

She shouted loudly—loudly enough for much of the crowd to hear.

Citizen: “The fuck are you talking about?! He’s never gonna be the same!”

Citizen 2: “Friend and brother?! It’s not like you even know the guy!”

Mizelda didn’t hesitate. She was sick of hiding, sick of playing along. She and the others were proud to call Subaru their friend, and she wanted the world to hear it.

Before Taritta could stop her, Mizelda gritted her teeth, climbed onto the fountain’s rim, and shouted.

Mizelda: “Well you know what?! That boy up there is my friend! And he’s not so weak that this will break him! He’ll come back stronger and prove he doesn’t need your pity—that he’s strong!”

To Subaru, those words would sound like empty bravado.

Pity saved lives.

A “trifle” was not being killed.

Strength alone was not enough.

That rhetoric was exactly why he hated this country.

But Mizelda didn’t know any of that.

All she knew was the deep, horrible emptiness in her chest—the same one that had fallen over the world in silence—and she wanted it gone. The Shudrak did not grieve for the dead. They celebrated life and moved forward. To them, grieving a life not truly lost was an insult to their way of living.

That was why the Shudrak listening smiled.

Even Zkir and the others nearby felt their anger twist into something more bearable. They were furious, and they needed somewhere—anywhere—to put that fury. And though they weren’t Shudrak, they shared the same instinct: to reject mourning a life lost through weakness.

So, in the end, even if Subaru himself would have rejected her words, they served their purpose.

The crowd calmed—after cheering some more.

Excitement for a future battle over grief for today’s loss.

That was the Vollachian way.

Citizen: “Fine, fine, we get it. But how is it you know the guy?”

Mizelda: “Well, he is a friend. We said goodbye not long ago. And I’ll tell you—when I knew him, he was incredible. So there’s no need to worry. Have faith, my friend, and it will all be proven.”

Citizen 2: “How’d ya meet ’im anyway? Ain’t he a Lugunican?”

Kuna: “Waterfall-ien?”

Holly: “I don't know…”

Citizen 3: “Yeah, what’s with that?”

Mizelda: “I do not blame you for the confusion. He came to our nation not long ago—though he has since left. Still, I understand if you do not believe me. It is hard to believe.”

Some people looked at her in awe. Given her impressive appearance—her strength, her presence—it was clear she was someone of high standing. Most did not question her. A few remained skeptical, but no one felt like arguing. Many were still reeling from the emotional crash after everything they had just witnessed.

Those who did believe her, however, were burning with curiosity.

None of them would get the chance to ask more.

Taritta and Zkir quickly pulled Mizelda down from her elevated position and hushed her firmly.

Taritta: “Sister, what were you thinking? That was incredibly stupid.”

She whisper-shouted.

Zkir: “While I would not be so crude as to insult a beautiful lady such as yourself… I must agree.”

Utakata: “Uu thinks it was good ’cause it made everyone quiet.”

She said it innocently—and accurately.

Mizelda, who clearly hadn’t planned for that response, smirked and took full credit.

Mizelda: “Indeed. So be happy, sister!”

Taritta: “Shh!”

Mizelda: “Sorry.”

Zkir sweatdropped.

—

Abel’s thoughts were racing a mile a minute. The emperor was not the type to be shaken by violence, yet even he could admit that he had been supremely uncomfortable when he saw that scene—and when he heard that wish.

Abel thought: “The arm? It is of no consequence. Move on, Vincent. There is nothing that can be done, and no emotion that could offer comfort.”

For a man who only comforted others when it served his purpose, he felt an unusual desire to offer a few words of repose. But as always, he redirected his focus to the people, hoping to divert his wounded mind from its pain.

Abel said, “I must put a stop to the people’s panic—”

He had been listening to the noise while calming himself, but by the time he was preparing to rise and deliver another directive speech, he realized the noise had quieted. He hadn’t noticed what he had missed. Though he had been within earshot of Mizelda and her words, he had completely failed to register them.

Barstetz stammered, “I-It seems that Shudrak has taken care of the panic. Though now the people know that boy has a connection to our nation.”

Surprised that he had been so distracted as to miss this, Abel showed nothing. Instead, he nodded, as if in thanks to the minister who had managed to keep a divided focus.

“She has served my people well,” Abel said.

Barstetz did not respond. Speaking only worsened his nausea, and he had no desire to end up in a compromising position.

Abel did not care. His gaze shifted to his side, where Medium sat trembling.

A battle raged within her mind. She had told Abel she would do her best to remain calm and not get in his way. He had made it clear that while he was willing to calm her, it distracted him from his duties. She had promised she would try—and she meant it. That was why her hands were clenched tightly over her rigid lap, and her teeth ground together as she fought to hold back tears.

It was an unbearable position. She hated everything—what had happened, and how she was reacting to it. Feeling incompetent as both an empress and a friend, she sat there and lamented.

“You do not need to restrain yourself, Medium,” Abel said. “I know you wish not to be a burden, but repression will only diminish your productivity. Eventually, you will burst.”

In his own way, Abel was telling her that she was allowed to be sad—that she was allowed to show it. He did not have the heart to force her otherwise—not after his own failure to remain the same.

That was when Goz, who had been attempting the same repression as Medium, placed a hand on her shoulder in silent confirmation.

And that was when she finally broke into tears. 

Medium: “Ah—! H-He, Subaru-chin! W-Who? W-Why w-would—hk! Why w-would Subaru-chin w-want t-to d-die?!”

She kept crying after shouting that out.

The girl had known pain throughout her life. She and her brother had both gone through hell in the past, but neither of them had ever lost their desire to live. They always looked toward the future—and they had reached it. That was why seeing her friend give up like that hurt more than she could bear. To her, it meant that Subaru’s death caused more pain than anything she herself had ever experienced.

After all, Subaru was amazing. There was no way she could handle more than him. Which meant that what he had gone through—what ended him—must have been unimaginably horrific.

Abel held her as she cried, while Goz stepped away to take a walk. He had asked permission, of course—he would never leave his emperor without it—but he needed a moment.

Goz thought: “That was beyond any killing I’ve ever seen. Truly, he was slain by a deeply disturbing individual.”

Goz could only hope that next time, the others would stand by his side and protect him.

He knew how strong they were together—Subaru’s allies.

If Rem, his savior, was by Subaru’s side, then he was sure, as in his previous experiences, that the two of them could push through this.

All he could do was hope she would be there next time.

Like any skilled warrior, Goz could tell that the killer had been highly trained. Strength often translated into skill, and because of that, he knew whoever had killed Subaru Natsuki had done so with immense hatred in their heart.

Abel knew this as well.

So did all the Divine Generals.

Abel then thought: “You must fix this, and you must do so now, Natsuki Subaru.”

The emperor would not accept anything less from his head strategist. 

—

Jamal: “It’s finally fucking over!”

In true Jamal fashion, the man shouted out his frustration. He was shivering—whether from rage or sheer revulsion, it was hard to tell. He hated what he had heard. Even though he turned his head away, he had no hands with which to block his ears. As a result, he was one of the people who heard everything while desperately not wanting to. Now he could only think that he should have stopped the carriage and spared himself the sight as well.

Shit.

Spica was wailing—over and over again. Jamal wanted to scream at her to shut up. He couldn’t deal with any more sounds of distress; it was too much. In simple terms, he was overstimulated, shaking as rage continued to build.

That was when Cecilus decided to speak.

Cecilus: “So that’s the kind of enemy Boss is up against? That’s really too bad. It’s not going to be as easy as killing a normal enemy.”

Jamal: “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?!”

Jamal couldn’t stand hearing that psycho’s voice anymore.

Cecilus: “Well—”

Jamal: “Just shut up!!!”

Cecilus: “But you asked.”

Jamal: “SHUT UP!!!”

Cecilus recognized that things were getting too heated. Annoying as he was, even he knew that pushing further would cross a line.

He briefly considered jumping down from the roof and stopping the carriage so Jamal could calm himself—but decided he didn’t care enough to bother. He needed to reach Subaru and deal with what came next. Jamal’s meltdown was none of his concern—he was nothing but a meaningless side piece after all. 

As these thoughts crossed his mind, Cecilus could still hear the screaming from inside the carriage. Tanza and Flop were desperately trying to calm the girl, but it only seemed to get worse. No “it’ll be okay” could convince her that anything ever would be okay again. Of everyone who knew Subaru, she was having the most explosive reaction—and that was saying something.

Spica: “UUUUAAAAAAA!—HK! AHHH! AAAUUUU! UAU! UAU! AHHHH!”

Flop: “S-Spica-san! Please! Husband-k-kun—h-he's fine! So c-calm down! Please!”

Tanza and Flop weren’t doing much better. Tears welled in both their eyes, and Tanza found herself wishing Spica would just be quiet so she could cry silently herself—though she knew the thought was intrusive.

All in all, for the next ten minutes or so, the carriage carrying the Vollachian emissary group existed in a state of raw overstimulation—gritted teeth, shaking breaths, and fraying nerves as they struggled to regain control.

All the while, Cecilus wore his stupid fucking smile. The man recognized a killing born of hatred. He had no doubt that his boss would assume the half-elf had been the true target—someone like him would never recognize the kind of hatred that had actually ended his life.

But that only led to the question shared by those who reached the same conclusion:

Why, how, and who would ever hate Subaru Natsuki that much?

—

Felt: “Hk—! Bro…”

Still being held by Reinhard, Felt finally stopped resisting and broke down into tears. She couldn’t process the violence she had witnessed—at least, not in the way a royal candidate was expected to. But in true Felt fashion, she turned that pain into fuel for her rage.

Felt: “Let go.”

She said it with finality.

He did.

Reinhard had been waiting for Felt to calm down. Not only did he feel sad seeing her so upset, he also felt the need to confront his own grief.

Reinhard did not experience grief in the same way most people did. He knew this to be true, in part because of his many Divine Protections. While others felt pain for the suffering of others, Reinhard had been trained to believe that everything bad that happened was his own fault—something he did not even realize was unusual.

As such, when someone was lost or something went wrong, Reinhard directed all negative emotions into self-blame. In that respect, he and Subaru were the same. Both hated their own uselessness in the face of tragedy.

But while Subaru could grieve death while hating himself for being unable to stop it, Reinhard’s grief was different. His grief did not coexist with sorrow—it was erased and replaced entirely by self-flagellation.

Because of that, and because pain rarely affected him the way it did others, Reinhard did not feel sadness at the death itself. Instead, he understood that the death was wrong, and that it caused pain to the people he cared about. Much like Felt—only far more intensely—he felt the weight of that pain secondhand.

That was how Reinhard experienced pity.

That was how Reinhard experienced grief.

He could hate himself for his failures.

He could regret the pained expressions on people’s faces.

But he could do nothing beyond that.

And for that—

For his failures, and for the pain he could not prevent—

Reinhard was sorry.

Reinhard: “Felt-sama, I must apologize.”

The words were so unexpected that the rest of the camp turned to him in shock. It was completely out of pocket. The only one who didn’t react was Ezzo, who still hadn’t realized it was over—his hands clamped over his eyes and ears, refusing to let go.

Felt: “What the hell are ya on about, Rein?!”

As always, Reinhard blamed himself.

Reinhard: “I apologize for the confusion. I merely wished to take responsibility for my blunder.”

Rom stared at him, confused. Of everyone present, Rom was the most composed—and even he couldn’t understand what the knight was thinking.

Felt: “You know what? I don’t wanna hear it.”

Reinhard: “But Felt-sama—”

Felt: “No. Just no. I don’t care what it is you’re apologizin’ for, Rein—whether it’s for holdin’ me back or for apologizin’ in the first place! I don’t care. I ain’t got time for your bullshit right now. Bro just died, and we all feel like shit! So shut it!”

She recognized this behavior all too well. She’d been trying to break him out of it ever since she realized how all-consuming it was. Reinhard believed himself responsible for everything that went wrong. If there was even a theoretical way he could have prevented it, he treated it as his failure.

That was why—despite everyone else wanting to hear his reasoning—Felt couldn’t care less. If she hadn’t thought of it first, then he was wrong. And she was in charge. End of story.

Reinhard: “But Felt-sama, had I just—”

She turned around and walked away.

She was furious, and she wasn’t going to listen. Instead, she headed somewhere no one expected—somewhere no one even knew about.

As she left, Felt shouted over her shoulder.

Felt: “I’m leavin’! Ya all know the drill! Do whatever ‘til the next one! I ain’t gonna baby ya—get over it and be ready! When I find out who did this, I’ll drag ‘em outta the grave and kill ‘em myself!”

With that, she disappeared—down into the dark place beneath the Astrea manor.

Felt: “And someone get Ezzo! He didn’t get the damn memo that it’s already fuckin’ over!”

Yes, it was already over.

.

.

.

Rom: “Hey, man… it’s all good now.”

Ezzo jumped in fright when a hand tapped his shoulder, but he quickly calmed once he looked around and saw all the worried faces. Reinhard stood with his head bowed. Kadomon held his wife and daughter close as the twins clung to them. Carol and Grimm stood nearby, their expressions grim.

No one spoke. Ezzo understood why.

Ezzo: “That was really…”

Rom: “Fucked up, yeah.”

Ezzo: “How is he even sane after that?”

Ezzo lowered his gaze, mirroring Reinhard. He had never liked violence, and now he had seen what he believed to be the worst of it. He had no reason to think it could get worse—considering…

So now, all he could do was hope Subaru would be okay.

He had seemed okay the last time they met… no. That wasn’t true. Subaru had said so himself. And that girl—Petra—she had looked relieved when he admitted it, as if the problem was ongoing.

Of course it was.

No one could go through something like that and remain untouched.

So even though the mage still viewed Return by Death as a power rather than a curse, the cost of such a power was becoming more and more apparent.

Ezzo was the next to leave. He could use the break.

Rom followed after him, intending to look for Felt—she might need a friend right now. Carol and Grimm went to fetch snacks and tea for their family, even though they doubted anyone had an appetite. Still, it gave them something to do.

The rest—including Reinhard—remained behind in the Astrea garden, pristine as it always was. 

—

It was dark and damp within the Astrea Manor’s cells, a place meant for criminals and scum—those who deserved none of the respect that would earn them a nice, comfortable space. The only light came from blue mana lamps embedded in the stone walls.

The so-called prison consisted of a short hallway with cells lining both sides, five on each. On the right, the first three cells were occupied by criminals known as Ton, Chin, and Kan. Chin had stabbed Natsuki Subaru in the back, while the others had acted in compliance.

In the eyes of Felt’s law, none of them were innocent.

Yet the same girl who had sworn she would never give these people the time of day now stood in the narrow hallway, looking at them.

Screens lined the walls—one in each cell. The same phenomenon that had overtaken the world had not spared these criminals from witnessing the screams of their victim.

Felt: “Tch. Look at you. So smug before, but now—nothin’.”

The criminals didn’t reply.

Ton leaned against the wall at the back of his cell, trying to appear nonchalant. Still, he refused to look at Felt, knowing exactly how broken he must have seemed in this moment, haunted by screams that refused to leave his mind.

Kan was shivering. His small frame made it hard to keep warm down here, and when paired with the horrific scene from before, the man was left in complete shambles.

Then there was the murderer.

Truly a sight.

He stared straight at Felt, posture rigid, mind blank. Tear tracks stained his face, but he felt no shame in them. Even in the dim light, he could see that Felt had been crying too.

Felt: “Well? Ain’t ya gonna say somethin’?”

What could he say? Why was she here? What did she want from him?

Rachins: “I am sorry, Lady Felt. But there’s nothin’ any of us can do for ya’.”

Felt didn’t know how to respond. In truth, she didn’t even know why she had come.

No—that was a lie.

She wanted to look into the eyes of someone who could kill her big bro, as if doing so would somehow give her the answers she was searching for. Felt wasn’t a patient girl. She couldn’t wait for the screen to explain things like the rest of the masses—people who did nothing but wait to be spoon-fed answers like idiots.

She wanted answers now.

But she knew she wouldn’t get them.

Clicking her tongue once more, Felt turned and walked away, leaving Rachins staring after her.

—

In Arlam Village, there was an overwhelming sadness. The children had been forced to look away by the adults and didn’t see or hear most of the horror. The adults, on the other hand, had no one to stop them from indulging their curiosity—until they saw something that finally made them turn away. The young adults threw up, the horror too much for them, while the elderly felt weak in the knees, as if his screams took parts of their vitality. 

Ryuzu was the only one who didn’t.

The old clone had seen countless counterparts die in countless different ways. She wondered. Have those clones experienced death the way he did? Or did they die without struggles, without suffering? How empty they really were?

It was only through Subaru’s insistence that she and the others had come to see themselves any differently. For that, she was thankful beyond measure—for everything he had done for her and the others.

One thing that set her apart from the rest was that she didn’t see Subaru as just a hero. She could tell that the villagers saw him as more than he was. Those expectations were why they weren’t just crying, but also wearing looks of horror as they tried to reconcile their perfect image of the boy with the weak, broken victim they had seen die. Don’t misunderstand—they still thought he was amazing. But even now, understanding the method he used to save them, they couldn’t reconcile the image of a kind, down-to-earth hero with that of a helpless victim. It felt wrong. Cruel. As if something had been taken from their hero beyond just his life.

Ryuzu, on the other hand, as the old woman she was, had always seen Subaru as a kind child who was good to have around. He helped when he could and spent time with her and the other clones. He was a good boy, as Emilia would put it.

And after watching him be killed, she mourned that good boy. The good kid she knew—the one who didn’t deserve to die like that. In this moment, she wished she could go and pat Subaru on the head the way he did for others. He must be terribly upset right now. Poor thing. She hoped he would be alright.

Milde: “Ryuzu-san?”

Ryuzu: “Yes, Village Head?”

Milde: “I—I was wondering if you could do us all a favor.”

Ryuzu looked around, realizing that while she had been lost in thought, the villagers had gathered around her.

Ryuzu: “Of course. Please, what is it?”

Milde offered a sad smile, much like the pleading looks on the others’ faces.

Milde: “We were hoping you could go back to the estate and deliver this to Subaru-sama.”

Milde lifted a basket of baked goods the villagers had gathered together. Like Ryuzu, they all believed Subaru could use the emotional support of his community right now. Since the pain he endured had been used to save them, it felt only right that they reach out to him.

Milde: “We know you were ordered to watch over us—most likely by Subaru himself. But we don’t wish to be a burden. If you’re willing to go against his order to deliver our good wishes, it would bring us all great comfort.”

The villagers nodded in agreement. They all wanted the same thing.

Ryuzu thought about it for a moment. She imagined the flustered expression Subaru would surely make when she delivered their gift—and smiled.

Ryuzu: “Yes. I think that would be a good thing.”

Villager: “Thank you, Ryuzu-san!”

Villager 2: “You’re the best, Ryuzu-san!”

Villager 3: “Make sure to tell him we’re here for him, Ryuzu-san!”

And with that, the Ryuzu clone sent by the Emilia Camp began the walk back, a basket of baked goods held carefully in her hands.

Milde: “I’m sorry, Subaru. You didn’t deserve that…”

Once Ryuzu left, the village slowly dispersed back to their homes. People went to check on their families, to reassure themselves—and their children—that everything would be ok. They all knew they didn’t have much time, and each of them dreaded learning what else Subaru had been forced to sacrifice in order to save them all.

—

Felix: “W-W-W-What was that?!”

Crusch: “Who—?”

Wilhelm: “A very disturbed individual. One who has either already died… or has just had the wrath of the world pointed at their back.”

Meckart: “In what world would anyone need to kill a dying man…?”

They were all staring at the countdown in shock—except Felix and Meckart, who were still looking away as they asked their useless questions to no one in particular.

Crusch: “F-Felix, are you alright?”

Felix wanted to say that he was, if only so his lady wouldn’t worry. But as a demi-human with superb hearing, he had been unable to block out the noise. The useless, fucked-up noise that did nothing but torture Subaru. Sure, he had never really liked the guy, but Felix wasn’t a monster. He was an empathetic man who despised violence.

All he could think about was the fact that Subaru had already been dying from a curse. There was no way to reverse those effects—so why? Why would anyone go that far?!

Felix didn’t answer in the affirmative. Instead, he asked a desperate question.

Felix: “Ferris-chan d-doesn’t understand w-why anyone would s-subject Subaru-k-kyun to a curse… and t-then, k-kill h-him like—like that?!”

Though he had started mostly calm, by the end he was shouting, lamenting the tragedy. He was a healer, and he had seen many things, including bodies ripped apart—but he had never seen something so extreme happen to anyone but Crusch. It felt like he was being mocked as one after another everyone was destroyed.

Crusch: “I don’t know, Ferris. Though I know it’s terrible.”

She shushed him gently as she pulled him into a hug, and he broke down crying. Meckart glanced at the countdown only briefly before retreating into the estate to take a break. Crusch gave him a look that said ‘just be okay’, and he nodded before leaving.

He couldn’t stop his thoughts. The Karsten household was a noble house—one that had birthed many warriors, his daughter a prime example.

They were one of the few truly noble lineages, with a history of members who sacrificed their lives for the people.

He thought of the girl she once was, so different from who she had become. How sternly and nobly she carried herself back then.

Would—would she have faced the same fate if she had continued down that path? Would she have cried? Begged?

She had repelled the White Rabbit. She had been the spearhead of the Whale hunt.

How many times had she narrowly missed being tortured? Broken? Her pride and wishes torn away as she begged not to remain among the living?

For the first time, a part of him was glad her memories had been eaten—that she hadn’t walked the path he had set for her.

And he hated himself for thinking that.

at the countdown, his hand firmly secured on the hilt of his sword. He waited out the next thirty minutes in silence—just sitting there, waiting for the answers to reveal themselves.

He would not be able to move on until the matter was settled.

He would not forgive Roswaal so easily for his incompetence. Julia would roll in her grave, seeing her grandson unable to keep his own personnel alive. It seemed he would have more things to discuss with him the next time they met.

More importantly…

Wilhelm wanted to know who had killed Subaru. He, like other warriors, understood that such a title belonged to someone who had acted against him directly. Wilhelm wondered why anyone would hate Subaru. Perhaps he had it wrong, and the murderer was simply a sadistic individual like Elsa. But they hadn’t shown themselves—and sadistic people usually reveled in the act, in gloating. That hadn’t happened.

Which meant this event was personal.

But how? It's not like it was possible. 

That was why Wilhelm rejected the idea that the murderer hated Subaru personally. Perhaps they hated him for saving the half-elf. That had to be it. Subaru had saved her and ensured Elsa couldn’t win. The one who held the grudge would be the one whose plan had been thwarted.

That person must have sent another to deliver a message: No one gets in my way and walks away unpunished.

Wilhelm then began to wonder how Subaru would handle such a person. As far as Wilhelm knew, Subaru had only ever fought impersonal battles—like those against the Witch’s Cult. Now that he truly understood Subaru had no prior connection to them, he could finally put to rest the rumors of Subaru being an ex-cultist, and that being the reason he knew so much. They were false.

That meant Subaru had never faced an enemy who targeted him personally.

Unless he had in his other world.

But considering everything Wilhelm knew, he didn’t believe that to be the case.

Wilhelm: “I believe you can win this, Subaru-dono. Like always. I look forward to seeing you get your revenge.”

Just like he did.

—

Mimi, the first to cry and the last to stop, finally managed to calm down. With that, everyone who had been spending all their effort trying to comfort those who were breaking down was finally able to settle as well. They now sat in silence as Mimi sniffled softly.

Ricardo: “That was some fucked up shit…”

Hetero: “Ya’ think.”

Not a question.

Anastasia then clapped her hands once—loudly, decisively.

Everyone ignored the shaking in her voice out of respect.

Anastasia: “Alrighty! Now that that’s done, I say we all take a break. What d’ya say?”

Halibel, choosing to help, played along immediately.

Halibel: “Sounds good ta’ me! I’ll take Juli-san here ta’ get some fresh air in the pretty gardens! C’mon!”

He could see it clearly—Julius was the most distraught among them. Anastasia could handle the triplets, but he could take care of the knight.

Julius: “No thank you, Halibel-sama—”

Halibel: “I’m not askin’ ya’. C’mon, Juli-san!”

Halibel said it with a grin, stepping up to Julius, who was still seated, and giving his back a playful slap as he laughed. The only response he got was a flinch—followed by a reluctant rise as the purple-haired knight stood and followed him.

Anastasia offered one last sentence of reassurance as Julius left with the wolf-man.

Anastasia: “Trust in ya’r friend, Juls. He’s a strong one.”

Julius nodded, but didn’t look at her or reply.

—

Halibel: “I gotta say, I wish I could commend, Su-san, ya know? I just think e’s a totally amazin’ guy for stayin’ normal after all tha’.”

Halibel kept talking, saying nothing in particular. He didn’t address the actual situation—not the screen, not the logistics of the murder, not what was forgotten or what was lost. All he wanted to talk about was the positivity he felt toward his buddy, the mental fortitude that had impressed him so deeply. Of course, that was just Halibel’s way of distracting Julius as they walked through the garden.

As well as distracting himself. For all of his bravado, Subaru’s thoughts struck deep.

He is a shinobi—a merciless killer, no matter how one looks at it. He never bothered to pretend otherwise.

Hearing Subaru’s dying thoughts showed him a glimpse of something he had considered before, but never truly comprehended.

So, he distracted himself.

Even if he knew that, no matter what, Subaru could never be truly fine. He overcame it, yes—but that kind of experience does not leave someone unscarred.

Julius stared straight ahead, not admiring any of the foliage, while Halibel did.

Of course, Halibel had already come to his own conclusions about the logistics of the moment. Much like Wilhelm, he understood what kind of person had most likely killed Subaru. Now all that remained was to wait for things to be revealed. That was why he focused only on what was in front of him—and what stood before him now was Subaru’s friend, though neither of them would ever admit it. A friend who couldn’t handle his emotions at the moment, struggling to remain composed.

Julius: “What is the purpose of this, Halibel-sama?”

Halibel: “Ah, so he speaks! Well, I’ll tell ya what—ya take a deep breath, and I’ll explain.”

Julius stopped, considered walking away, then did as he was told.

Halibel: “Feelin’ better?”

Julius: “Will you answer now?”

Halibel: “Sure—though I thought ya knew.”

Receiving a deadpan look, Halibel let out a nervous chuckle and continued.

Halibel: “Look, Juli-san, I get that ya’r upset. But what ya gotta understand is that Su-san ain’t the type a’ guy ta’ lay down and give up. I know ya’r mad ya can’t help ya’r friend, but for now, ya gotta accept that that’s okay. At least wait for the world ta’ end before ya panic, yeah?”

Julius thought about it.

The truth was, he was furious that he couldn’t do anything. Separated by time and space, Julius was powerless to assist his friend. A helpless knight—incapable of doing the one thing he needed to do. He had earned back the title of the finest knight—not in the eyes of others, but in his own, and in Subaru’s—but he couldn’t even act like it.

Halibel was telling him that such a contradiction had to be accepted and moved past.

Julius didn’t want to accept it.

Julius: “Is there truly nothing I can do?”

He asked, looking to the side.

Halibel: “Well, ya could go comfort ’im like the good buddy ya are.”

He teased—but Julius answered seriously.

Julius: “If I were to join Subaru in this time of need, I would at least be fulfilling my duty in part.”

Halibel: “And leave ya’r lady?”

Julius: “I suppose not.”

Halibel: “But ya still want ta’?”

Julius thought—and that was when he reached the core of the issue.

No. He didn’t want to go.

He didn’t want to face Subaru.

Why? He asked himself.

Was it Subaru’s power? Did it make him uncomfortable enough to avoid him? No—not like that. It was unsettling, yes, but that wasn’t the reason.

What Julius truly feared was looking Subaru in the eye and having the chance to ask questions—because he knew he wouldn’t like the answers.

If he asked about the day he beat him, publicly humiliating him, would Subaru reveal everything that had been happening behind the scenes?

If he asked about Pristella, would Subaru remind him of the words he’d said—that he wasn’t the greatest victim?

If he asked about the Watchtower, would Subaru tell him about his failures?

If he asked about Vollachia… would it all repeat?

While the rest of the world—while Halibel and his lady—waited for things to progress, waited to see Subaru either win or lose, Julius wanted it all to stop. He wanted the screams to end. He wanted the questions to remain unanswered.

He had only just regained his identity, and now it was under threat again.

Julius knew this wasn’t his fault—but many things could become his fault in seven more arcs.

So he didn’t want to talk about it. Not with his lady. Not with his camp. Not with Halibel. And certainly not with Subaru.

He wanted—though he hated himself for it—to turn away.

Julius: “No. No, I don’t.”

He paused, then continued quietly.

Julius: “Halibel-sama, tell me… are you not afraid to learn of your failures?”

Halibel: “Ah… when I think about it, I don’t really see where I could’ve failed.”

Julius: “With all due respect, Halibel-sama, you were there in Vollachia. You were saved by Subaru—and when he saves someone, as we now know, it is always with sacrifice.”

Halibel froze.

Memories from a cramped dragon carriage resurfaced. What had he said back then?

I would’ve been killed if Subaru hadn’t stepped in.

Shit.

Halibel: “I suppose so…”

Julius: “This death was tragic. I hated every moment of it. I wish I could get my hands on the killer myself. But I take one comfort—I had not yet met Subaru then, and as such, I bear no blame.”

His voice lowered.

Julius: “Perhaps it is selfish, but it brings me relief to know Subaru came out the other end alright—and that if he didn’t completely, it wasn’t my fault. I hate myself for thinking this way. It is the utmost dishonor for a knight.”

He clenched his fists.

Julius: “But it is the truth. And that truth—combined with fear—makes this all feel pointless. If this phenomenon’s purpose is to shove our failures in our faces and force us into shame, then it is doing a poor job. Though later, I am sure it will make fools of us all.”

With that, Julius turned and walked away, leaving Halibel staring after him in shock.

The wolf-man hadn’t expected such layered emotions—shame, selfish guilt, fear—nor the self-awareness to acknowledge all of it.

Julius cared deeply for Subaru. Anyone with eyes could see that.

But he was more than a grieving friend. He was also a man afraid for himself.

And those emotions were not easily overcome—especially for someone meant to live and die for others.

Halibel understood that this couldn’t be resolved in thirty minutes.

So he let Julius walk away.

After all, it seemed Halibel was the one who had been affected in the end.

Halibel: “Maybe Anabo shouldn’t a’ve trusted me with calmin’ the guy…”

—

Schult was having a hard time. Those words—words he had forced himself to listen to out of the pride Priscilla had instilled in him, at least to some degree—kept repeating in his head over and over and over.

The boy, now in charge, was mature for his age—but not that mature.

Heinkel: “Hey, kid.”

From Schult’s side, Heinkel ignored the shaken staff as he turned to him in a rare but signature moment of concern. The man himself was shaken. What he had witnessed went far beyond any normal act of malevolence, to the point that it made him want to puke. But as someone perpetually drunk and perpetually upset, Heinkel was, ironically, very good at ignoring things like a professional.

Schult: “—Hk!”

Heinkel: “Hey! It’s alright! It’s over! S-So just zip it, would ya?!”

Much like how Subaru had once been calmed by Beatrice’s nonchalance after dying, Schult found himself settling down almost immediately the moment Heinkel acted like his usual aloof self.

Schult: “I-I’m sorry, Heinkel-sama. I—I just got shaken up for a moment, is all. No need to worry.”

Heinkel turned away, clicking his tongue.

Heinkel: “Tch. Like I care. Anyway, take a break, will ya’? I’m gonna go get myself a drink, and you wash ya’r face or somethin’! Ya look ridiculous for the head of a domain!”

With that final insult, Heinkel went off to get himself a drink.

The staff could handle it. He was sure that if he shouted at one of them to fetch him something, they’d snap out of their shock and scramble to comply. With no elegance, sure—but they would.

The thing was, Heinkel really just needed an excuse to leave.

And now that he knew Schult would be fine, he had no reason to come back for the duration of the break.

Once Schult was left alone with the staff, he immediately got to work helping them calm down.

Schult: “I know t-that everyone is upset. So I ask that you don’t worry about keeping up appearances with me at the moment. Go enjoy this break, a-and don’t feel bad about feeling bad.”

He wasn’t asking them—he was telling them how they were allowed to act. And that, strangely enough, was much easier than the strict composure they had been trained to maintain.

Attendant: “Y-Yes, Schult-sama. Right away.”

With that, the staff quietly shuffled away.

Once they were out of earshot, one attendant spoke softly to another.

Attendant: “Schult-sama really is the perfect choice for succession.”

Attendant 2: “Y-Yes.”

After that, they mostly talked among themselves about what they had seen, carefully avoiding food. And thirty minutes later, they all returned to their master’s side.

—

Russell Fellow had always been a practical man. He was aware that the methods he used would always lean toward—well, practicality. He knew what he needed to do to get what he wanted, and what he wanted was a protected nation.

In that way, he mirrored Subaru before the boy had reached that tea party. The ends justify the means when the ends are morally good and necessary. And Russell was good at it.

But he knew that the means did not justify this. No means could ever justify what he had just watched. Russell was a murderer, but he had never caused something like that. At least, he hoped so.

With his hands still shaking, he covered his face and let out the biggest sigh of his life. Only his hands trembled; his body was hunched over the desk. One hand pressed against his face, the other gripping the table. After a few moments, he straightened and walked toward the door.

Russell: “Are you there? Report.”

The door opened, and a nervous attendant stepped inside.

Attendant: “Y-Yes, sir, r-ready to report.”

Russell: “Go ahead.”

Russell looked over the attendant and could see that, although the man hadn’t cried, he was still shaking and mildly stuttering. It seemed most people—including Russell himself—couldn’t simply look past such violence.

No. He would. He had. Moving on.

Attendant: “There is no substantial panic. Mostly an eerie silence. Many people are shaken, but nothing has destabilized. We do predict an uptick in altercations, since so many are unstable right now. Another possibility—”

That was when Russell interrupted.

Russell: “That we will see a decrease in violent altercations, since no one will stomach it at the moment.”

Attendant: “Y-Yes, sir. All of which is possible.”

Russell: “Understood. Now leave.”

The attendant bowed, and Russell slammed the door shut behind him. He had no energy for propriety now. Nor would he do any more work for the next thirty minutes. Yes—he could move past it. No problem.

Russell then thought about it. At first, his knee-jerk reaction was that nothing could be worth this. But that was just his humanity speaking.

Once he sat back down at his desk, paperwork left unattended, he realized something. No matter how horrific the scene had been, wasn’t this exactly what Subaru would later do for the sake of the nation? If this was the reason Lugunica still stood in the face of the Witch’s Cult, then Russell had to admit—the ends might justify the means.

And once he thought like that, he truly could move past it. His hands stopped shaking, and he returned to his work.

Russell: “I am sure you would agree, Natsuki Subaru.”

—

Yaktol Suwen was desperately trying to reconcile what he had seen with the situation at hand. He could see that his family was in shambles, but true to who they were, they didn’t focus on their own emotional state. Instead, they went to comfort their friends and neighbors. As such, he would act in tandem with them. The man might be a nervous wreck at times, but he was still the one in charge.

Yaktol: “Hey everyone!”

At that, everyone stopped what they were doing and turned toward the old man.

Framir was already questioning what her father was up to. She was currently trying to calm Diadora. Although Framir had once hated the girl for being the reason her son had abruptly left her household, they had moved past it after Otto returned a few months later to ask for help. Knowing her son was no longer struggling, and seeing Diadora act with tact when she spotted him, had helped the Suwen family move forward. As such, Framir didn’t like seeing the girl cry.

Yaktol: “Don’t worry too much! Just eat and drink until your worries melt away! As bad as things are for our country’s hero, it’s important to separate a tragedy so far removed from us from our own lives. So here—take a break with us!”

Framir knew her father was right, in his own way. He was reminding them that pain was everywhere, and that if they cried every time something happened to a stranger they couldn’t reach anyway, they would be unable to help those right in front of them.

Of course, if someone was in pain and within their reach, they would act to help—which was exactly why the Suwen family would do their best for their friends and neighbors now.

Framir walked toward her father, now holding a large cup of alcohol.

Framir: “That’s not healthy, you know?”

Yaktol: “What’s not healthy is this story we’re watching. It’s so violent I almost didn’t have the guts to drink! And you know me, my daughter—I always drink.”

Framir: “Maybe that would be a good thing. One more thing to thank that boy for.”

Yaktol paused, his expression turning serious before he spoke again.

Yaktol: “If I were him, I don’t think I’d want to hear thanks. I don’t think I’d ever feel it was worth it, even if it saved lives. Not to mention, all of this will end with him saving himself—and most likely his lady—from an assassin. Heroic, but barely.”

Yaktol wasn’t saying Subaru wasn’t a hero. What he meant was that the story unfolding in Arc 2 wasn’t what made him one. That came later. For now, Subaru was just a kid trying to survive in a very dangerous world.

Framir: “I hope Otto and Regin are alright. They aren’t with us, and Otto isn’t very tethered, as you know.”

Yaktol: “Knowing him, he’ll probably try to help somehow—that grandson of mine.”

Framir: “Funny… but I know what you mean.”

Yaktol: “How about a drink, then?”

Framir: “Sounds good.”

Yaktol: “That’s my daughter!”

And for the next thirty minutes, the Suwen family coped with drink and friendship.

—

Toto: “Shit… that was bad.”

Manfred: “Very.”

Doltero: “I have never heard the thoughts of a slaughtered pig before.”

Toto: “Not fun, huh?”

Manfred: “Hypocrite.”

Toto: “Same to ya’!”

As they started bickering, Doltero stepped in.

Doltero: “Quiet. None of us have ever killed for no reason, and none of us have ever killed a child out of such malice.”

Toto: “Speak for yourself. I use kids all the time. It’s not fun, but that’s the deal.”

Toto ran the red-light district, and anyone sold to her was used as such. It wasn’t her problem if they got trapped by bad luck or stupidity.

Manfred: “We know. But it’s not the same.”

Toto wanted to agree. She wanted to avoid the thought that someone she had used might have had those same thoughts before they died. And since her livelihood depended on not thinking about that, she didn’t hesitate.

Toto: “True. True.”

Manfred: “Anyway, I’m stepping out. I need a break.”

With that, the strange-looking man left the comfortable room to take a walk.

Doltero and Toto watched him go before Toto spoke again.

Toto: “Do me a favor and leave too. It’s my room after all, and this lady needs a break.”

Doltero narrowed his eyes in annoyance but said nothing. The pale man stood and walked out. He had his own things to think about.

.

.

.

Toto: “Not the same, huh? Yeah… not the same.”

—

Regin: “You know, I’ve had many patients come to me not for bodily trauma, but for mental trauma. Those patients tell me stories—about how their parents beat them, or how they were taken advantage of. Some come from war and battle. Since not many hospitals offer the kind of mental support I do here, I’ve even had patients come from all over the world once they grew desperate enough.”

He paused, then continued.

Regin: “And I’ll tell you this, Marone—not a single one of them went through an event so short, yet so traumatic.”

Regin had gone on this resigned rant after Marone finally calmed down enough to listen. Hearing his words, she couldn’t help but worry that Subaru would never be able to recover.

So she asked.

Marone: “Do you think Subaru-san won’t recover?”

She looked at him pleadingly.

Regin thought for a moment before replying.

Regin: “As a doctor, I’ve seen many people recover from what should have been impossible. Subaru does not fit those criteria. So no—I don’t think he will recover. Or at least… he will never be the same.”

Marone’s face went through several expressions before she finally looked away.

Marone: “B-But then…”

Regin: “And yet—”

Marone: “Huh?”

Regin: “Subaru Natsuki became a hero who helped countless people. None of the patients I treated who ‘recovered’ went on to help others. All of them withdrew into seclusion, choosing quiet lives where they could never be hurt again, surrounded only by the few people they cherished.”

He exhaled softly.

Regin: “Maybe the reason this boy reached out his hand to so many is because he was unusual—so unusual that he didn’t just fail to fit my criteria, but went beyond them.”

Regin: “So, Marone… what I truly think is this: he will surprise us.”

Marone: “You really think that, Regin-san?”

Hope crept into her voice.

Regin: “If he can get past this danger—then yes. Without a doubt.”

Marone: “Right.”

She nodded with agreement. 

—

Olbart: “Hmm… so… who d’ya think killed the brat?”

Madelyn really wanted to hit the old man, but he would most likely just dodge.

Kafma: “Most likely an individual seeking revenge for having their original assassin stopped.”

Groovy: “Makes sense…”

Moguro: “It is the most likely explanation.”

Groovy: “It sounds fuckin’ madder than that! He was already dyin’ from a curse! The killer would’a known—but for some fuckin’ reason, they chose ta’ torture the guy!”

Groovy was pulling at his fur, visibly upset. How dare anyone use his craft for something like that. Of course, he was conveniently ignoring the fact that he himself had done worse—but in his eyes, the sheer lack of necessity in the murderer’s actions was enough to dehumanize them entirely.

The killer was scum. Period.

Madelyn: “This dragon friggin’ hated all of that.”

Olbart: “Same, same! Wish these old ears were as bad as they oughta be!”

Moguro: “The people are panicking.”

Madelyn: “Friggin’ let them!”

Kafma: “Stop—look. That Shudrak is calming them down.”

The Divine Generals turned their attention to Mizelda—her speech, her stance, and the way the crowd gradually settled.

Groovy: “Seems we ain’t even fuckin’ needed.”

Olbart: “Yay. Now I get ta’ rest these old bones.”

Kafma: “Shirking your responsibility as a General is the utmost disrespect.”

Olbart: “It’s not like I can do anythin’! The brat already died. Ain’t my business just ‘cause it got shoved in my face!”

Kafma: “Tch.”

He wanted to keep arguing—but he simply didn’t have it in him.

So for the next thirty minutes, he resolved to patrol the city and calm the masses as best he could.

Kafma: “Will any of you join?”

Arakiya—who hadn’t spoken a word until now—surprised everyone by answering.

Arakiya: “Sure. I’ll come.”

Kafma blinked. The second-ranked Divine General, who usually followed orders without initiative, had answered his call without hesitation.

He quickly composed himself, nodded, and gestured for her to follow.

The two would work together, patrolling the city until the timer ran out—then rejoin the others once it was over. 

—

Zarestia didn’t like what she had seen.

No—what she had heard.

It was the most revolting thought process she had ever been forced to listen to.

Why did the boy wish for death so quickly? It was just pain.

She had endured pain that would make most humans faint and still kept fighting. That was why she continued to scour the world for her lost power. She would never give up out of fear or weakness.

She had been in his position once—weakened, attacked in a place she believed was safe. The fury she felt in those moments shaped her entire existence.

She slaughtered them. Every single one who took from her. She lived. She did not give in. She did not give up.

And yet—

That human had.

He accomplished nothing. Despite his pain, despite his struggles, his freedom was taken from him—without remorse, without hesitation—as his murderer toyed with him and crushed his skull.

She was used to murder. She was usually the one who killed. But the sadistic nature of that act—how it stripped him of everything he was—left her uncomfortably bitter.

For some reason, as she ran through the city-states without stopping for anything, she found that she couldn’t fully blame him. Although she had been in a similar position, she had never been in a helpless one like his. Even she had never been placed in such a position. At the very least, she had always had something left to fight with.

Still, disappointment lingered.

Like something she had been waiting for—something she wanted to see—had failed to happen.

Zarestia: “Just do better in your next life.”

If one looked closely, they would realize that Zarestia was the kind of person who yearned to see overwhelming power triumph over overwhelming odds. That was not what had happened here, and so she was left unfulfilled.

With that, she forced her focus elsewhere.

Zarestia: “I only have thirty minutes before my attention is diverted. I must try harder to find that orb.”

Without her noticing, the viewing had begun to occupy more and more space in her thoughts—its presence quietly threading itself into her calculations. 

—

Odglass gazed silently at the snowy mountain peaks that overtook the horizon.

Death. It was a bizarre, misunderstood thing for her, once upon a time.

Spirits do not think like humans, and while they can experience the same things, how they comprehend them is an entirely different matter.

Only by her own rule—by her decision to watch over and guard Gusteko—had she come to understand death from a human perspective, even if only partially.

For humans, life is a short, irreplaceable thing. From the highest-ranking bishop to the beggars in the slums, that was the honest truth. Some denied it, of course—claiming honor, duty, love, triumph, even life itself as reasons to cast it aside. But that was only because they placed the worth of their lives within those values, not because those values surpassed life itself.

Truly, life is precious to humans, despite their hypocrisy in killing one another.

And yet, for all her years, for all her wisdom, she was still far from understanding the humans she claimed to love.

She understood life. For her, that had been enough. Death was merely the taking of life—the taking of treasure.

But this was not death. Not as she understood it.

It mocked. It stripped. It tortured.

She had killed her own children before—when their sins against her other children grew too great to ignore, too great to forgive.

And yet, hearing this child’s endless mantra, she could not help but look back and wonder how she might have avoided inflicting such cruel fates upon those she loved.

Even after all these years, she was still a mother who had never truly understood her own children.

She lifted her gaze to the sky, where the screen displayed the poor child’s death.

—

Katya was still crying, and Todd was still holding her as she slowly calmed down.

Todd was deeply annoyed by all of this. Of course that brat would be at the root of his problems. Not only had he nearly died at the kid’s hands, but now he had to worry about being dragged into danger again because that kid’s memories were being shown to the world. And on top of that, his wife was in shambles.

As a woman who had suffered so much, one might think she would be capable of stomaching violence to that degree. But no. Katya was disturbed beyond all reason—at least in Todd’s eyes—and now he had to deal with it.

Todd: “Katya, I know you’re upset, but this is none of your business. You know as well as I do that people die brutally all the time. And like always, as long as we have each other, it doesn’t matter. You agree with that too. So please—breathe.”

Katya listened. Over the next few minutes, her crying subsided.

Todd wasn’t wrong. Katya did believe what he was saying. That didn’t change her reaction to the violence—only how she acted once she calmed down.

Katya: “Y-You’re right. I—I’m sorry.”

Todd: “No need to apologize. Here—”

He took her hand and placed a snack in it.

Todd: “Eat this for now. We’ll take a break, okay?”

Katya stared at it. Something she would normally enjoy. Her fingers curled around it as she nodded, though she didn’t eat. Todd didn’t mind. Seeing her calm was enough, even as she began chewing on her nails out of habit.

Todd stepped inside and returned with a blanket, draping it over her shoulders before gripping the back of her wheelchair and pushing her inside—away from the ticking, as far as he could get her.

—

Holy King: “…”

The man did not say much. He could hear the absence of sound throughout his capital, where he would normally expect noise to carry. He knew most people were likely crying in silence or sitting in quiet mourning. Some—many—were probably drinking. The King agreed with such a practice.

As such, he did little more than refill his wine glass and think about who had killed Natsuki Subaru—and how the boy would eventually get over it.

Holy King: “He will need to ask for help. My assumption is that the reason he is always sent back five days is so that he can request a different reward—one that does not result in his death. That is the only reason he would need to be sent back so far. I assume he will continue to be killed until he uses that leverage.”

In some ways, the King was correct. Being sent back five days presented the real possibility of receiving a different outcome each time. It was almost as if Subaru’s power was urging him to prioritize survival—to use his reward to escape the death trap instead of foolishly continuing to walk into it.

Still, the boy seemed so utterly reckless that he might never understand this until it was far too late.

And perhaps, it already was.

In the end, it did not matter. As long as his nation remained largely unaffected, the Holy King had no reason to concern himself with the tragedy that had befallen some random child from another world. Let him deal with it himself.

He thought of him as an abomination. In a way, he still is. But that viewing showed him something he could not ignore. That child was human. He cried, he laughed, and he begged for mercy as he was killed.

But what of it?

People are, in the end, an accumulation of their experiences.

Someone who has experienced death. Someone who has experienced the world bending to their convenience.

What is he now?

Where is the line drawn between a child and a monster?

Holy King: “...How exhausting…”

—

Tiriena: “So…”

Tiriena: “I’ve got to say, that was not what I expected, Caroline.”

The attendant, Caroline, sat frozen in shock as she and her lady remained suspended in the murky aftermath of the vision.

Tiriena: “You know, I truly expected more of an altercation. Subaru confronting the culprit, learning something—even if he died, at least gaining the knowledge of how to win next time. Something like that.”

Caroline: “B-But not… not that…”

Tiriena could see how deeply shaken Caroline was. It pained her to see her friend in such a state, even though she herself was hardly doing any better. She had hoped that voicing her thoughts—her theories—might calm both of them. In some small way, it had.

Tiriena: “I apologize, Caroline. I didn’t mean to ignore how you were feeling.”

Caroline: “N-No, not at all, Tiriena-sama. I—I just couldn’t answer the way I normally would. I—”

Tiriena: “You couldn’t get that voice out of your head. Yes… the same for me.”

She paused, then straightened slightly.

Tiriena: “I’ll tell you what. Go out for now and take a break. Bring yourself—and me—some tea and a few snacks for when we feel ready. Water would be best as well.”

By giving her attendant a task, Tiriena knew Caroline would feel more comfortable stepping away and taking a moment for herself.

Caroline: “Y-Yes, my lady.”

And with that, Tiriena was left alone in her office, listening to the steady tick, tick, tick of the countdown.

Tiriena: “I wonder what he will do once he wakes from this nightmare.”

—

Within the Kararagian council, the members were in chaos.

Council Member 1: “What the hell just happened?!”

Member 2: “We must contact Lugunica and ensure the matter is settled!”

Member 3: “Are you mad?! What good would our involvement bring?!”

Member 4: “This phenomenon will destabilize the nation! We must act now!”

Member 5: “Nonsense. What we must do is wait for more information!”

The council members were used to shouting over one another, fighting to push their own opinions through as long as they were heard. As such, many ignored the logical choice voiced by the fifth member, choosing instead to vent their pent-up emotions at each other. After all, no one felt like calmly talking things through after witnessing that.

Member 1: “SILENCE!!!”

Much like in the Council of Wise Men’s chamber, the room immediately fell quiet.

Member 1: “There is no action we can take at this time. Let us wait until we are more calm.”

He spoke more quietly now.

Member 5: “I agree. As disturbing as I find this showing—”

Member 2: “You think?! I have never seen such brutality!”

Member 1: “Calm yourself, Council Member. For now, this session is adjourned. Go and rest.”

Member 4: “You do not have the authority to decide that.”

Member 5: “Then we won’t—for you. He and I are leaving. Since you will be unable to make any major decisions without all members present, that should give you reason enough to retract your comment.”

It was true: the Kararagi City-States operated under a system where all council members had to agree for a decision to pass. Other nations mocked it as inefficient—and sometimes it was. But right now, it was the only thing preventing a rash decision born of unstable anger.

Member 1: “Indeed. And I pray you all calm yourselves before the next viewing begins.”

With that, the two members exited the chamber. After several irritated clicks of tongues and muttered curses, the rest followed suit, choosing to make use of the break while they still could.

—

Weitz: “Schwartz! Fuck!”

Hiain: “Oh my Od!!!”

Jawsrough: “That’s… is there really going to be more?”

Idra: “Who the hell would do that?!”

Null: “Shit, shit, shit!”

Gustav: “Silence! I know you are in a panic, but in your current state, you are incapable of achieving anything.”

But no one listened. To them, a great and respected friend had just been killed in the most horrific way they could have imagined. Gustav was at his wits’ end. The man was already burdened with more than he’d ever thought he’d have to carry, and now he was faced with an army that couldn’t even process a single death without breaking down.

Idra shouted back at him.

Idra: “You shut it! We all know you don’t care if Schwartz lives or dies—but we fucking do!”

He didn’t truly mean it. Idra was angry—angry at Gustav for what they all suspected he had done to Subaru, and now, with Gustav ordering silence, it felt like confirmation that Subaru’s life meant nothing. Why else would he say that?

But in truth, Gustav was only trying to help. He was simply being practical, unwilling to let them lose themselves to despair. So, he rose to the occasion.

Gustav: “Do not speak on a matter which, in your capacity, you know nothing of.”

Idra: “Tch.”

Gustav: “I, in my capacity, acknowledge the pain you all feel now. And I understand that, in this moment, the only logical reaction available to you is a lack of trust in me. But do not assume I do not care for him. He is a respected ally—and this kingdom’s savior. So for now, vent your frustrations and calm yourselves before the next viewing. Is that understood?”

Idra: “Fuck! Fine!”

And with that, he stormed off. The other battalion members muttered among themselves about what Gustav had indirectly admitted, but his words had given their emotions structure—a direction. It was enough to help them calm down.

Weitz: “I feel like shit right now.”

Hiain: “We all fuckin’ do!”

Ignoring their complaints, Jawsrough put forth his own.

Jawsrough: “Why did they all fail to help him…?”

Jawsrough’s disappointment ran deep—disgusted at the royal candidate and that so-called greatest mage. They couldn’t even save a single servant, someone he considered a friend. The scene had left them nauseous. The image on screen clashed so violently with the indomitable will they all associated with Subaru.

Weitz: “D-Do you think he’ll be fine?”

Hiain: “I-If anyone can get up after that, it’s Schwartz!”

Null: “Well, I dunno about that. Even he might have trouble moving past that kind of shit. I mean, you heard his thoughts, right?”

Weitz: “Don’t even remind me.”

Hiain: “I’ve never heard such fucked-up shit before.”

The other lizardmen nodded grimly.

Jawsrough: “You’re all idiots. Yeah, it’ll be hard. And yeah, there’ll be more pain. But Schwartz won’t disappoint. The person we all met—the one we know—that’s no lie.”

Hiain: “Y-Yeah… and as long as we believe that, then it’s really all fine, ain’t it?”

Weitz: “Mm-hmm.”

They all agreed. None of them mentioned Gustav again, nor the tremor still in their voices. But deep down, they all believed things would get better.

They always did when Subaru was around. 

—

Serena: “Shit.”

Surprisingly, the first thing that came to Serena’s mind was her own injury. All her life, she had worn her scar like a badge of honor—proof that she had fought, been hurt, and won. But this… this was different. She had never been hurt like that. And worse, not a single scar would be left behind.

Serena realized she didn’t have time to sit and contemplate it here and now. Shaking her head, she wiped her face with her hand, stood up, and left the room.

.

.

.

Walking out into the courtyard where her most elite dragon riders were stationed to prepare for any possible danger from this phenomenon, all she heard was silence.

Serena looked over. There were eleven different sky dragons and eleven riders. Every single one of them had their head buried against their dragon partner in some way, blocking out the noise and calming themselves down. Each of them knew there was no immediate danger, so they were using the techniques they had been taught—methods meant for their sky dragons—to steady their own breathing and emotions.

Serena: “Enough!”

Everyone snapped to attention immediately. When the lady arrived, it was their duty to act appropriately.

Riders: “Yes, my Lady!”

Serena: “Good to see you haven’t been shaken too far.”

She said it sarcastically.

The riders sweat-dropped.

Serena: “But in serious matters, I order you to ride about the city and promote calm and safety. Is that understood?”

Riders: “Yes, Serena-sama!”

With that, she turned around and left—fully intending to drink heavily until the next viewing began.

—

Within the chamber of the Witch Cultists, there was cheering—so much and so loud that nothing but the fanatical joy at their enemy’s death could compare… oh wait.

Dorrell: “AND HE PERISHES LIKE THE BLASPHEMOUS TRASH THAT HE IS!!!!!!”

Cultists: “AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH”

More and more screaming followed, none of it truly coherent. For now, Dorrell waited to see how Natsuki Subaru—that deplorable trash—handled death. If he showed weakness, then that meant there was a way to fight him. Weakness meant openings, and openings meant fulfilling the ordeal.

Dorrell: “SOON, MY BRETHREN! SOON WE SHALL SEE HIS FALL!!!!”

For fanatics who had done nothing but lose, seeing their enemy tortured—put in his place—truly gave them all a confidence boost. Not that they would use it just yet. Dorrell was waiting to get the most out of this before he made his move.

—

Capella had finally stopped laughing. As a woman of taste, she always tried to create the most delicious, delightful result when hurting another. In this moment, she almost wanted to commend the killer for their work. After all, they had taken revenge for Elsa—the assassin she herself had sent.

Many across the world now assumed the killer was acting in retaliation for Elsa or her employer, and since Capella was that employer, she could confidently say that wasn’t the case. Not that she cared either way. Sure, she sometimes sent “messages” like that, but she preferred to do so closer to home.

After all, she liked to show her love in person.

Capella: “Ha! He was totally crushed like the meat sack he is—hahaha!”

She laughed a bit more before letting out a relaxed sigh, then used her Authority to check on her emissaries. She had sent them out with a vial of her blood—something she could regenerate from anywhere, and which she planned to use to spy on Subaru. She had hoped they would have arrived by now, considering they’d left two days ago.

But tough luck. Traveling across the world wasn’t as quick an endeavor as she had hoped.

She would just have to kill one of them when they returned.

As she waited, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she wouldn’t get to watch him break down after being reminded of his pain.

Capella: “This pretty lady is getting impatient. When will I get to see the good stuff?”

She complained, conveniently ignoring all the “good stuff” she had already witnessed.

The others lining the walls didn’t dare move. The first to do so would become her entertainment.

Capella: “Oh well. This lady is patient and lovely, so I suppose she’ll wait. Haha!”

—

For the next thirty minutes, the world mourned their hero, scorned his weakness, and waited curiously for it all to be revealed. 

—