The siege of the Imperial Capital Rupugana by the Rebel Army—it’s not as if the gathered rebels from various regions worked together in perfect harmony to take down Emperor Vincent Volakia.

Indeed, numerous rebels have now gathered around the Imperial Capital Rupugana.

These individuals, assembled from all over the empire, have encircled Rupugana, the heart of the Volakia Empire, deploying a force that overwhelmingly surpasses the number of imperial soldiers stationed within the capital.

In most cases, battles are determined by numbers.

This principle becomes even more decisive as the scale of the conflict increases, and the Rebel Army, having gathered more than double the number of troops, could be said to have an overwhelming advantage in the assault on the capital.

However—

“That is only true if the gathered troops function as a cohesive unit.”

Sitting on his throne in the Crystal Palace’s audience chamber, Vincent squints his dark eyes as he receives reports of the full-frontal clash with the rebels.

Despite being surrounded by the Rebel Army and facing an overwhelming disparity in troop numbers—a situation unprecedented in the history of the empire—there is neither fear nor concern etched upon his cold visage.

This is largely due to the analytical elements he himself has just articulated.

“Though the assembled rebels may be united in their desire for my head, there is no room for compromise in their methods to achieve this. They were only quick to join once the situation arose.”

“The more desperately they try to outmaneuver one another, the less likely they are to cooperate. It reminds me of the ‘Ceremony of Selection.'”

“—”

“In that blood ceremony, where members of the Volakia royal family clawed at each other for the throne to determine the next emperor… even then, those who refused to ally with others were cast off the board. However.”

At this point, Belstets, standing beside the throne, pauses for a moment. His thin, thread-like eyes convey emotions that are difficult to interpret, but the general idea can be inferred.

After all, Belstets, too, is someone who experienced the brutality of the ‘Ceremony of Selection.’

“Back then, Lord Bartloy, who amassed the largest faction, was regarded with suspicion due to his character and was quickly removed from the game.”

While Vincent’s inner thoughts wander, Belstets touches his mustache and continues his paused statement.

His manner of speaking feels somewhat detached, as though he’s discussing someone else’s affairs.

“You speak as if you’ve got the moral high ground. Excluding that older brother of yours was, after all, the work of none other than you and Lamia.”

“I must admit, I merely followed Lord Lamia’s judgment. Moreover, I still live, bearing the shame of not understanding Lord Bartloy’s true intentions.”

“The intentions of Brother Bartloy, hmm?”

“Indeed. It was a conspiracy between none other than Yourself and Lord Bartloy.”

As Belstets maintains his expression, unchanged, he answers with a deep tilt of his chin.

Considering the events, one might expect him to share some grievances, but he is a man unfamiliar with such human emotions. Besides, he understands that voicing them to Vincent would be futile.

What he did reflects the actions of Vincent Volakia—no, rather the results of Vincent Abelkus before he became emperor.

“The real Lord Bartloy is now outside the walls, so I can understand how the Chancellor feels lost in directing his sarcasm.”

“—”

“What’s this? Both of you are staring at me with such stern looks… Did I say something unnecessary?”

As he speaks, he’s met with the keen gazes of Vincent and Belstets. The carefree demeanor of this gentleman, Ubiruku, who enjoys an unconventional status by being allowed to enter the Crystal Palace regardless of rank, is apparent.

Ubiruku wasn’t suddenly interrupting the conversation; he was already there from the beginning, simply choosing not to speak.

Still—

“Even if no one else is around, I think this isn’t something to speak of so casually.”

“Oh, I see; the ‘real thing’ was an unnecessary qualifier. It’s no wonder your excellency and Chancellor would be angered. However, if I don’t let off some steam once in a while, I might inadvertently explode—after all, I owe my life to those who are risking everything to defend the capital.”

“—”

“What if the truth came out that the Emperor you all toiled to protect is actually a fraud?”

With his hand over his mouth, Ubiruku tosses out words that he had just been rebuked for with unrepentant ease.

Though valuable due to his abilities, he certainly embodies the essence of a jester; however, it would be troubling if such a profession was merely seen as a free pass for mischief.

Even if his “Star Reader” ability is remarkably exceptional—

“Your repeated breaches of etiquette won’t just be erased. Should you continue down this path, I shall gladly cut off your head myself.”

“Of course, I understand. But, Your Excellency… no, you are a cautious man. Until the last moment, I genuinely believe I wouldn’t be the one to lose my life.”

Even when Vincent’s piercing gaze seeks him out from the throne, Ubiruku receives it with his smile unbroken. He then turns his attention and says, “More importantly,” towards Belstets.

“I find you to be far scarier than your excellency. You seem like you might hide a hellish inferno within.”

“There’s no need to fear a person like me. Why not ask the stars if something as inconsequential as I am is worth fearing?”

“I apologize, Chancellor. The stars merely look down upon us from the high sky, shining brightly without a care in the world.”

That which is inconsequential does not reflect in the future seen by the “Star Reader.”

It’s impossible to discern from Ubiruku’s demeanor whether this is a façade or sincerity. Nevertheless, disregarding his idle banter, Ubiruku’s words as a “Star Reader,” when fulfilling his role, cannot be ignored.

It has been nine years since Ubiruku began to serve this Volakia Empire with his “Star Reader” abilities—perhaps his accomplishments have been built for this very moment.

“—Oh.”

Suddenly, a great sound, like thunder from the distant sky, crashes into the silence of the audience chamber.

A tremor sweeps through, even within the Crystal Palace, the atmosphere of fierce conflict can be sensed. However, it’s likely that the phenomenon brought about by this sound originates largely from the capital side.

“Despite having the larger numbers, the Rebel Army should—”

“Ultimately, they’re a ragtag bunch… no, they’re not even properly coordinated. In some cases, they might even pull each other down with their lack of discipline. They wouldn’t stand a chance against the disciplined wolves of iron and blood.”

“I see. However, no matter how aggressive the Imperial citizens may be, they wouldn’t recklessly invade the capital without hope for victory. Surely the tribes will send forth their own heroes to fight.”

“Did you forget what I just said before you, Ubiruku?”

As his attention shifts towards the outside battle triggered by a tremor, Vincent remarks. When Ubiruku closes one eye, Vincent props his chin on his hand.

“If they see a bright light from the ground, they’ll notice it, right? So, it wouldn’t be strange for you to tell me about this shining star that could change the tide of this battle beforehand.”

“Oh—”

“Now that brings it to mind? ‘Star Reader’.”

With slitted black eyes, Vincent quietly prods, and Ubiruku scratches his cheek in a wry smile.

“Unfortunately, I haven’t heard such things.”

“Then that’s in line with your own role, I suppose.”

Ubiruku’s wry smile is concluded by Belstets.

Ubiruku, who wears an awkward expression, does not feel a sense of defeat. After all, regardless of the presence of Ubiruku’s “Star Reader,” this was a foregone conclusion.

Indeed, the rebels will certainly seek to take the head of Vincent, seated upon this throne. For that purpose, the tribes will dispatch their mightiest warriors to assert dominance.

Yet that consideration was fundamentally flawed from the beginning; they’ve seriously misjudged the situation.

Isn’t it clear? — What do they think the “Nine Divine Generals” are?

“If you measure against the heroes of the tribes with such a diminutive ruler, you’re sure to err. Do you really think I would choose a general and the ‘Nine Divine Generals’ based on any such small standards?”

Vincent Volakia gathered the strongest from within the Volakia Empire.

The heroes of the wild from various regions around the empire are nothing in comparison. If there were any slumbering lions in those lands, Vincent would never have overlooked them.

No matter what, he would keep them close and grant them positions worthy of their might, preparing for the future.

The moment their strength failed to meet Vincent’s standards, those heroes were no better than beasts.

—The Emperor of the Holy Volakia Empire has assembled “monsters” that heroes cannot contend against.

Within the impregnable city of the Imperial Capital Rupugana, a star-shaped fortress that has never once allowed the invasion of an outsider since the foundation of the empire, five peaks remain under the vigilance of these “monsters.”

Undoubtedly, these transcendent beings will crush the boastful heroes who have gathered, and in witnessing that carnage, the bloodied ones will surely realize.

That they had turned a blind eye to reality, lost in the dream of their own madness.

“However, it may be difficult to expect decorum from all the rebels.”

“Indeed. So what will we do?”

“While the main generals are currently deciding the battlefield, I understand that someone like myself should not intrude… Still, it’s hard to just sit and wait.”

“Oh, my, how sanguine for the Chancellor himself to possess such spirit.”

As Ubiruku bends at the waist, bowing to Vincent, he sneaks in a jab. Yet, the old chancellor accepts that remark without showing a hint of strain.

“I, too, am of Volakia’s blood.”

Without so much as a smile, muttering that, Belstets walks out from the audience chamber. Vincent silently watches the old general go without attempting to stop him.

Once the doors close and Belstets departs, Ubiruku shrugs, pondering, “Is it okay?”

“As you said yourself, I think there’s not much the Chancellor can change about this situation,” he mumbles.

“Well, he is indeed someone who’s persevered far beyond my expectations. After all, he’s a man who’s locked himself away for the sake of an ideal. If he’s to be cautious, he’d like to avoid an explosion.”

“I see… so then, does the Chancellor know?”

Ubiruku questions as he hooks a thumb into his clothing’s neckline, fluttering his remaining fingers. Vincent squints, understanding the implication behind Ubiruku’s inquisitivities.

Upon receiving that silence from the Chancellor, Ubiruku nods, saying, “I had a feeling about this, which is why I nearly refrained from speaking recklessly… but now that I’m sure, I’m feeling a complex mix of joy and sorrow.”

“Sorrow? Can you truly comprehend such a human emotion?”

“How cruel! It’s as if you’re saying I’m not human. That stings! I assure you, I’m far more coherent than ‘One’ or ‘Two.'”

“Take Cecilis as an example, he loses in most discussions. Arakia, while a beastly spirit, is manageable because she has an owner. But…”

Cutting off his words, Vincent pierces Ubiruku with his black gaze. Ubiruku stands unfazed, exhibiting a disregard for his life.

“You resemble a human in form, yet you’re merely a human form（ひとがた） made of human flesh.”

“…That stings.”

At Vincent’s remark, Ubiruku’s eyes narrow, and bitter laughter crosses his face.

In that way, he appears to display anguish and distress, mimicking emotions he must have learned from someone. At least, that’s how it looks to Vincent’s discerning eye.

With a facial expression that does not stray from that impression, Ubiruku places a hand on his chest.

“According to your reasoning, would you label all the ‘Star Readers’ who share an identical role as mere puppets in the same manner as me?”

“I know of no ‘Star Reader’ besides you. I cannot answer that.”

“Oh, come on, you need not tell such lies. I don’t presume to be so trusted. Of course, you must have sought out and tortured the ‘Star Readers’ across the country.”

“—”

“Surely, I trust that you wouldn’t be so thoughtlessly reckless as to define all ‘Star Readers’ by a single glance at me.”

In the face of Ubiruku’s challenge, Vincent keeps a blank expression.

He neither agrees nor denies the accuracy of his remarks. However, he firmly believes that every ‘Star Reader’ who receives divine fate bears some form of mental instability.

How he came to know this will remain unspoken.

“Unless so, such indiscretions as blinding one’s own magic eyes cannot be performed merely for self-validation.”

“Ah, that hurt. The feeling of loss was unimaginable. However, thanks to that, I was able to gain your attention, wasn’t I?”

While saying this, Ubiruku pulls at his chest, revealing his bare skin. In the center of that thin chest lies the gruesome mark of a severe burn.

Once, Ubiruku burned his own chest with an iron to obliterate the magic eye he possessed.

Despite being a member of the mysterious magic-eye clan, he eliminates the very eye that epitomizes his existence—an act to prove he’s no longer in danger, but had this not been done, he might have destroyed his four limbs.

Thus—

“I do not seek a straightforward answer from you. However, answer me with due consideration.”

“Ask away.”

“Do you hear any whispers of a new divine fate?”

“—Yes. I assure you, no new divine fate has been bestowed upon me. After all, divine mandates don’t come down before the previous one’s time is due.”

Shaking his head slowly, Ubiruku smiles.

There’s no joy or humility in his grin—a very mechanical smile, as he continues.

“The board you’ve set cannot be disrupted by the whims of destiny. —Every citizen of the empire is in the palm of your hand.”

“—”

“What troubles you?”

As Ubiruku’s assertive words imply desired effects that don’t manifest, Vincent shakes his head.

He doesn’t suspect Ubiruku’s words contain deception. Ubiruku is a man who prioritizes the unknown whispers of the stars over loyalty to the emperor, yet the absence of self-interest is genuine.

Thus, there aren’t Ubiruku’s ulterior motives behind that statement.

Yet—

“—The people of the empire are in my palm, huh?”

That decorative embellishment, left unsaid, sticks in the chest of one who plays at being emperor.

△▼△▼△▼△

—And, that intrigue on the throne bears fruit.

“Uoooooohhh—!!”

From one of the peaks of the star-shaped fortress, a mighty roar echoes as a tiger charges forward.

With both arms clad in shining silver gauntlets, it charges at lightning speed into the enemy’s ranks, delivering a terrifying barrage of strikes against the mass of men.

Step by step, at a speed that defies the eye, Garfiel Tinsel bellows.

However—

“Indeed, I excel in multi-against-one fights, but—”

“—!”

“Even in a one-on-one duel, my skills remain unparalleled!!”

In response to the defiant voice, Kafuma Ilurukusu readies his arms.

His brown skin, covered in tattoos, bulges from within, and in an instant, an immense barrage of thorns shoots forth, filling Garfiel’s sight as he charges head-on.

The speed at which these thorny vines shoot out resembles that of a carnivorous beast leaping toward its prey, making it the fastest strike meant to claim his life.

“Shut up already!!”

On the walls, while the thick barriers built to protect the city offer a wide enough stance, they still feel constricting when compared to the battlefield.

Blocked by the wall of thorns that surges toward him like a great wave, Garfiel opts to raise his gauntlet and charge directly into it instead of attempting a poor dodge.

Trusting in the strength of his gauntlet and his legs, he dives straight into the storm of thorns—

“Your determination is commendable, but your judgment is flawed.”

As Kafuma murmurs, Garfiel makes contact with the barrier of thorns at that moment, and in the next instant, he bites his molars against an impact greater than he could ever have imagined.

“—Ugh.”

He expected some degree of force from the thorns as a result of their size and the manner in which they’d been deployed. However, the actual power behind the thorns far exceeded his expectations, causing Garfiel to lose momentum.

It felt as though an entire forest were crashing into him.

He recognized he was being faced with the power of nature, thick with brambles.

“And this is how it goes!!”

“What?!”

Garfiel, having grit his teeth to the point of creaking, slams his feet down hard. Through the soles of his boots, a part of the wall rises beneath him, causing Kafuma’s footing to tilt while the expression on the face of the startled general crumbles.

This was the effect of Garfiel’s “Protection of the Earth Spirits.” Supposed to provide the grace of the earth, allowing him to intervene, the extent is significantly influenced by what the bearer considers “earth.”

In Garfiel’s case, as long as his feet are firmly planted, it could be regarded as the earth.

“Even if the sky is out of reach!”

While dragon ships of the Volakia Empire might change that dynamic, as long as he had his feet on the ground, Garfiel was able to believe this was the earth itself.

Kafuma’s footing didn’t tilt once but rose again and again, causing it to bounce beneath him as the horned tribesman made his escape. During those moments, Garfiel exploited the disarray of the assaulting thorns before advancing, torn at his side and shoulder.

Warm red blood scattered while sharp pain tore through his body, but the distance shrank, shrank.

Just moments before they would close in on one another,

“Then let’s cut through!”

Abandoning the mid-range assault of thorns, Kafuma prepares to counterattack.

For a single heartbeat, Garfiel readies himself against the shockwave that would sweep the horsemen away yet, Kafuma doesn’t open his chest, separating the thorns from both arms, and with a flap of his wings, he vaults into the air.

In that instant, his wings fluttered at such a speed it was almost impossible to see, the next moment, Kafuma’s figure appears directly beside Garfiel. It’s not merely about speed but timing as well.

That execution causes him to sneak around behind Garfiel.

However—

“Not a chance!!”

Desperately spinning around towards the direction of his awareness, Garfiel lets loose a vigorous roar.

A backfist is thrown with a deadly swing, crashing into Kafuma’s face—a heavy blow Kafuma blocks with his raised arms, which are shielded by black armor.

Much like Garfiel’s own gauntlet, this is a form of protection. Yet this is already the fourth type of ability seen—thorns, wings, ribs, armor—just how many ‘bugs’ are embedded within him?

“Shut up!!”

Receiving the blow, the confrontation does not stop there between the two.

Close quarters are Garfiel’s domain. From the position where his backfist was deflected, he spins into a left hook aimed at Kafuma, landing a headbutt instead.

An explosion of shock and agonized cries erupts between them, and both unleash a barrage of devastating punches aimed at critical points.

“—Ugh!”

The gauntlet and armor collided in a fierce display. However, despite the circumstances, Garfiel’s sense of determination to not give in to this space is resolute.

“Uuuuuuuuhhhh!!!”

As he reels back, Garfiel redirects the momentum and delivers a punch into Kafuma’s stomach and chest, causing him to rear back, followed by a swift knee strike to the torso. Kafuma groans, attempting to back off with his wings.

“Not a chance!”

Gripping the fleeing feet, Garfiel forcefully slams them into the wall. Immediately, he presses Kafuma’s body against the ground, raging forward to rip the wings from his back.

As Garfiel charges over the wall, smoke swirling around him, Kafuma’s back bursts forth into a fountain of blood, causing one and then the second wing to be torn away. In that very moment, a sudden—

—In an instant, Kafuma, now airborne, thrusts open his chest. Through the protruding ribcage, his eyes meet with a golden “bug” nestled within his torso.

“——”

Obeying the primal instincts for survival, Garfiel abandons Kafuma’s body and swiftly dives sideways. It is a correct decision. The space wherein Garfiel stood just moments ago, right in the firing line of the golden bug, is entirely carved away, leaving a circular cavity in the upper section of the fortress.

Garfield is shorn of his remaining fur, and his spine stiffens.

“—I shall acknowledge my ignorance.”

“Huh?”

Feeling the ghost of blood leave his face, Garfiel is pulled back by that voice.

Looking up, Kafuma, who kneels with torn wings, gazes at him with admiration and respect.

Wiping the blood trickling from the side of his mouth with his hand, he rises to his feet.

“I’ve been unaware of a brave warrior like yourself. I feel ashamed of my ignorance.”

“Hmph, I won’t blame you for not knowing, but better to know than to not.”

“—? What do you mean by that?”

Kafuma furrows his brows in confusion over Garfiel’s cryptic words.

He likely never dreamed that someone foreign to this empire, a being from a royal family, plays a part in this grand saga.

“We never reveal who we are, as it might spin off into great diplomatic trouble. Therefore, it’s wise not to get caught up in needless conversation with strange provocateurs.”

That was precisely what Otto had drilled into Garfiel before he was thrust into the heat of battle.

Given that Kafuma has begun exclaiming his name, Garfiel has already countered, yet providing more information could lead this astute warrior to deduce everything.

There’s certainly no room to escalate this empire’s inner turmoil into a catalytic catastrophe involving a kingdom.

“I’m sorry, but aside from my name, I won’t say anything else. And that’s pushing it, you know. It’s “I was mistaken for Krurekiyac.””

“—While I won’t urge you to remain silent, I have no doubt you carry exceptional technique. That’s yet another reason I feel regret.”

“…Regret?”

As Kafuma speaks, lowering his tone slightly, Garfiel’s brow furrows at his response. There’s no dishonesty evident in those intonations, revealing the pinched sentiment that resides there.

However, that sense of regret stems not from Kafuma himself but—

“If the circumstances were not what they are, I would’ve wanted to face you head-on and converse.”

“What do you—”

Just as Garfiel attempts to question the intent behind those words,

the strength in the knee he was prepared to step forward with drains away, causing him to fall to one knee. “Huh?” An exhaled breath escapes him as he clutches his chest, his eyes turning red with rage.

Pounding steadily, the frantic heartbeat grows stronger, more desperate. —An incredible alarm bell resounds, warning of impending death. Recognizing this, Garfiel shifts apprehensively.

—Something is writhing within him.

“Guh…”

“It was wise to avoid taking damage close up.”

As Kafuma speaks to Garfiel, who trembles in pain, he thrusts forward his own hand. At the tips of Kafuma’s bent fingers, Garfiel can see the white wriggling “bug” tubes.

The wounds inflicted by the thorns bear the marks of “bugs” implanting eggs from those tubes. They hatch and now writhe within Garfiel’s body.

“Gah, ohhhhhh…”

The moment he realizes it, Garfiel wraps his arms around himself and activates healing magic.

A powerful healing wave envelops Garfiel’s body in a soft glow, forcefully mending his wounds. Kafuma, witnessing this, raises an eyebrow, visibly astonished.

“Healing magic? So you’re a healer too? Your versatility is impressive. However…”

“—Ugh, ahh!”

“The purpose of the ‘bug’ coursing through your veins is not just to inflict injury; they aim to use your body as their breeding ground. —Even if the wounds heal, the changes cannot be erased.”

Kafuma’s cruel declaration is corroborated by the undeniable discomfort that Lingers.

Garfiel, while letting out strangled cries of agony, curses himself for sealing the escape of the “bugs” crawling within him.

Breath quickens, his vision swimming in red. Unable to watch Garfiel’s torment, Kafuma steps forward with a grave expression.

“I will indeed carve your skill and might, and this Kafuma Ilurukusu shall remember well. —Sleep bravely.”

Once again covering his right arm with black armor, Kafuma’s fist plunges forcefully into Garfiel, crushing his skull, blood splattering everywhere as his body is sent rolling.

Rolling and rolling, crashing against the edge of the wall, engulfed in a sensation of weightlessness, he plummets.

“—Aah.”

The death rattle emitted is alarmingly thin, slipping from his throat with no means of resistance. Garfiel’s body falls down below the fortress walls, unprotected.

△▼△▼△▼△

“Listen well, Garfiel, remember this clearly.”

“What we are and where we hail from can lead to immense diplomatic issues if made clear. So, it would be wise to refrain from involving too much in others’ provocations.”

“While I don’t expect too much patience from you, given who you are, I can only recommend you remain smart in discussions—”

“Therefore, you must remember this clearly: if you engage in negotiations over words—”

△▼△▼△▼△

—In the battle against the “Bug Tribe,” it is impossible to avoid every hidden ambush.

The “bugs” we let inside our bodies have transcended the boundaries of human imagination, growing and evolving in ways beyond belief, showcasing abilities beyond comprehension.

On top of that, the ability to resonate with the “bugs” growing within their bodies to hone their techniques means no two warriors of the “Bug Tribe” will ever be the same.

Moreover, Kafuma Ilurukusu is a prodigy born of the Bug Tribe.

Having refused the promotion to the esteemed “Nine Divine Generals” on the grounds of his beliefs and philosophy, Kafuma has been acknowledged by Emperor Vincent as comparable to a general.

From the perspective of Volakia’s warriors, he stands alongside the pinnacle of combatants.

Naturally, having been born into the Bug Tribe, he has no qualms or guilt about leveraging the strength of the “bugs” to manifest that power in his own techniques.

The strength of Kafuma Ilurukusu includes the power of the “bugs.”

That said—

“I don’t feel completely fine about this.”

Faced with a situation where he must ensure victory and eliminate as many enemies as possible, Kafuma found himself with no time to spare in facing off against just a single warrior.

Consequently, he resorted to forbidden techniques to swiftly eliminate the enemy.

“——”

The ceremony of implanting the “bugs” into one’s body is something to be done after meticulous preparation, even for a member of the Bug Tribe.

Beginning physical alterations at a young age with the intention of later implanting the “bugs,” ceremonies are prohibited until they are twelve years old—meaning a minimum of twelve years of preparation is required to safely introduce “bugs” into the body.

By bypassing that process and having “bugs” surgically implanted, the bodily system cannot endure it.

Thus—

“It’s disheartening to conclude matters with you in this manner.”

Expressing his regret, Kafuma closes his eyes, offering a moment of silence to his fallen foe. Yet no sooner had he indulged in sentimentality, he soon turns back to cast his gaze outside the fortress walls.

The initial assault from the horsemen was pushed back but a second wave would soon come. They may repeat the charge as many times as needed. Every single one would be cut down—and just as that thought surfaced,

“—What the?!”

As Kafuma aimed to call forth the “bugs” nesting within him, a massive tumultuous roar erupted just in front of him.

For a moment he feared that the rebels had unleashed some weapon to break through the wall, but it quickly became clear that this assumption was misleading.

However, this realization did not lead to relief.

For,—

“—Garfiel Tinsel!”

Before Kafuma’s shaking sight, there stood Garfiel, who had indeed risen from the collapsed wall.

A raging beast, clad in flames, the visage of the mad warrior has returned.