――A retreat battle from the Imperial Capital Rupugana.

Even though I deemed it a necessary decision, it marked a significant change since the inception of the Empire.

Not only had we permitted the advance of the “enemies” to the Imperial Capital and the Crystal Palace, the Emperor himself had to abandon both the castle and the city to escape; there was no way to avoid the loss of authority.

However――,

“Considering we don’t know how those ominous fellows will act, your judgment is certainly a wise choice, Your Excellency.”

“Hahaha! An Emperor abandoning the castle and fleeing? That’s unprecedented, right? At least I’ve never heard of it until now!”

“Don’t laugh, General Roswaal! If I consider your feelings… If I think about it, I will surely reclaim the castle and the capital under your command!!”

“Wahoo, are we really fleeing? That’s a quick decision! I prefer the idea of a glorious death, so this direction seems fine to me.”

At that moment, no one spoke against Vincent’s decision.

This speaks more to the high practical capability of those in their positions than loyalty itself. Although some rebellions occurred due to ideological differences, ultimately, the most trusted aides had betrayed me, so any slight difference in loyalty was merely negligible.

Anyway, the retreat battle begins.

“Roswaal Dunkelken, buy us some time. If left unattended, Moguro Hagane will be taken down quickly. — We can’t have the reservoir breached yet.”

“Geez, what a way to wear out an old man. Can’t we just use Goz?”

“Agility and swiftness are the domains of a Shinobi. Do your role without resistance.”

“…Just so you know, if you focus on flying, even I won’t be able to catch you, got it?”

Above, Balroi Temegurif, who had died, soared through the sky above the capital. Hearing the subtle implications from Roswaal about the trouble posed by the opponent, Vincent nevertheless entrusted this task to the already aged man.

As per Roswaal’s statement, even if it was hard to say, Goz could perform a similar role.

However, if we start discussing suitability, Goz has a particular role he must take up. His loud and boisterous presence is excessively trusted by the soldiers.

That’s why,

“Goz Ralfon! Use your outrageous volume! What we need now to retreat from the Imperial Capital is manpower. Gather the scattered soldiers around!”

“Ha! Leave it to me, Your Excellency! Right now!!”

Without hesitation, the upper-body-naked Goz jumped onto a nearby pile of rubble. After taking a deep breath, Goz proclaimed into the cacophony from the massive Moguro battle.

An absurdly gigantic voice challenged the quaking air of the Imperial Capital.

“——Listen, swordwolves of Volakia!! This is the command of our leader, Vincent Volakia! Follow my voice! Follow!!”

Like the booming sound of a magical crystal cannon, once Goz’s directive was uttered, Vincent, covering his ears, glanced at Roswaal as if to test his reaction. Having his ears plugged as well, Roswaal slowly shook his head.

“I couldn’t do that. That’s just appropriate placement.”

With only that said, Roswaal’s figure left a shadow as he ascended into the sky.

The older man sprinted up the crumbling walls of the Crystal Palace, leaping onto the massive body of the Moguro, intervening in the battlefield where the “Malicious Old Man” and the “Magical Archer” were linking up, showcasing his capabilities and twisting the battlefield.

Though Roswaal had stated such trivialities regarding the airborne opponent, he likely possessed numerous hidden techniques in the Shinobi armament as countermeasures.

If the old man joined the front lines, Moguro’s disadvantage would likely be somewhat alleviated.

“Your Excellency, is there anything you want us to do?”

“——How many of you ‘Star Readers’ are there around?”

While Goz gathered people, Vincent turned to Ubiruku, who was at a loose end. To that, Ubiruku responded, “Well,” while raising his fingers to his cheeks.

“For now, in the areas I can call out to, there are twenty-seven.”

“That’s more than I expected. Then, go from door to door opening homes. The Emperor and soldiers are abandoning the capital. Those who remain in the city will only throw away their lives.”

“Understood! This is it, isn’t it? A total war… I’ve always wanted to see the Volakia Empire unite against the ‘Great Calamity.'”

“Quickly, do it.”

Once the duties as a “Star Reader” were fulfilled, Vincent cast a glance at Belstet, who was silently observing not to disrupt his thoughts.

The mastermind behind the civil unrest, Chisha Gold, who brought chaos to the Empire by aiding in Vincent’s expulsion from the throne.

“You’re remarkably quiet.”

“In our current state, having two heads giving orders would only sow seeds of confusion. If swordwolves were birthed with two heads…”

“Would it be your job to take off one of those heads?”

“If needed, I would gladly offer this old head.”

Keeping his hands behind his back, Belstet calmly articulated his resolve.

Though a man far removed from military power, the burning desire within him is for the pride of the Empire. Vincent does not believe Belstet acted out of ambition, nor does he perceive his recently spoken words as a mere excuse.

A straightforward and sincere dedication to the Empire itself fuels Belstet.

That’s why, upon recognizing the Empire’s peril, he immediately relinquishes previous positions and plans, without hesitation standing alongside Vincent.

“Once Goz Ralfon and the ‘Star Readers’ complete their preparations, we shall commence the retreat. Belstet Fondalfon, share your opinion. Do not delay.”

“——With all due respect, Your Excellency, please follow the path of your own thoughts if you are retreating.”

“——――”

When Vincent requested brief advice, Belstet responded as such.

It sounded cryptic, yet Belstet didn’t wish to baffle Vincent. After a moment’s contemplation, Vincent understood the true meaning of his words.

To follow one’s thoughts meant Vincent’s own way of thinking.

–That is, the thought process that Chisha Gold had followed until earlier.

“If General Chisha had intentions to replace you, aiming to assist in overcoming me and seizing the throne…”

“—Then he must have predicted what the ‘Great Calamity’ might be and prepared for it.”

“Indeed. And that is something the Emperor could notice if it were him, but not if it were someone else.”

Narrowing one eye at Belstet’s words, Vincent contemplated.

The notion raised by the Chancellor is understandable. –No, it makes sense. Even without Belstet’s guidance, given enough time, Vincent could arrive at similar conclusions, but this shortened the process.

If Chisha put his life on the line to remain on the throne as Vincent, and left something beyond what was meant to be interrupted…

That would mean――,

“——Your Excellency!! The soldiers are all returning, each in their battle faces! What should we do!!”

Just as Vincent’s thoughts reached that point, Goz burst harshly down from the heap of rubble.

Around him, the Empire soldiers, equipped with swords and armor, gathered one after another in response to this unprecedented situation, likely having moments of confusion and unease. However, at the call of “Lion Knight” Goz Ralfon, they gathered, knowing their Emperor Vincent was waiting ahead, their expressions tightened in focus.

“——――”

Incredibly monstrous, detestable as it may seem, the presence of the Empire’s men like that.

But even so, to fight against the approaching calamity, swordwolves must not forget their hunger. In reflection on the years and days lived, Vincent looked up.

In order to conserve the Empire to resist the calamity, by accumulating national strength and diligently maintaining morale and training—although my calculations went awry, I have no intention of letting it be as it is.

“Moguro Hagane! Don’t let any unruly folks use magical crystal cannons! If you protect that, I will fulfill your desires!!”

“——――”

The shouting that was voiced, I could only wonder if it reached Moguro, who was currently fighting the strongest beings in this world, the “Dragon.”

However, the diligent “Meteor” was earnestly listening to human speech. Lacking even the understanding of where its ears might be, it was someone I could trust.

After issuing instructions to the assembled “Generals,” Vincent lowered his gaze and scanned the faces of the soldiers clustered around him.

While gazing into those swordwolves brimming with fighting spirit, he continued.

–If Chisha Gold fulfilled Vincent Volakia,

“We’re evacuating from the Imperial Capital! We head northwest to Fortress City Garkla!!”

Proclaimed aloud that we’d have strategies left there to combat the “Great Calamity.”

――The battle involving the fate of the Volakia Empire began transforming, and both the Empire’s soldiers and the rebels started to notice.

The degree of confusion spreading in various locations was markedly changing, and captivated by combat, the sensitive swordwolves caught scent of an unrefined interference.

At that moment, a command from a commander wearing a fierce expression wiped away the slight calmness and sharpened instincts of those who were ready to clash, alter their thoughts.

Consequently, moments ago, those now not fighting turned against the imperial soldiers and the rebels, reclaiming the title of “Imperial People” and forming a pack of wolves.

Meanwhile, in the heart of the capital, Vincent Volakia rose to call out, with Serena Dracloy amplifying her voice amongst the siege against the city.

Everyone within the Empire perceived the change and the pressing need to take action. Amidst all these dynamics, an arena still existed—that continued fiercely raging, seething and extinguishing others.

–The “Spirit Eater” Arakia, at the first apex she guarded, faced off against the luxurious and bewitching women, Priscilla Barielle and Yorna Mishigure.

“——I love you!”

With crimson flames dominating the world, Yorna, her single eye aflame, kicked off from the ground.

The hem of her kimono fluttered gracefully as Yorna’s long legs touched the earth, in the blink of an eye, the ground surged upwards, aiding Yorna’s dash with both speed and force.

This wasn’t the Magic City Chaos Frame; it was merely the land surrounding the Imperial capital in Volakia.

Far back, both as Yorna Mishigure and Sandra Benedict, there were memories distant of having gazed toward the capital.

Those that were beyond her reach, so noble that saying “I love you” felt restrained—holding hands with a man of higher status, looking toward that Imperial Capital.

Yorna’s “Soul Marriage Technique” could only be granted to those she loves.

–Then, should she not love those who love her in return, both for the unchanging affection she holds for that person and the very land cherished by that person?

“——It was stolen from me as well!”

The girl Iris, who fell in love with the then Emperor of Volakia known as the “Thorned King.”

In support of the deposed Emperor, she decided to hide him, support him, and walk along the path with him. Her courage, wisdom, and resilience led many to praise the “Thorned King” and bless the future of the two.

Yet that future was lost due to the cunning words of treacherous retainers deceiving the groundhog-like creatures and the betrayal that took advantage of the arrogance of awolfman.

The paradise envisioned by the “Thorned King,” the promised world construction awaited beyond a tiny bit, now riddled with obsession, was tightly wound around the blood of the traitors keeping Iris’s soul chained to the Empire’s soil.

Since then, she has repeatedly reinvented herself many times, changing names and appearances.

Loving someone, being loved by someone, continuing to live.

Yet at the same time, I could not love this Volakia Empire, at least the ground of the Empire. The more distanced from the dream I envisioned, the more resentful it felt.

But, still, nonetheless, that was trivial when compared to what truly mattered.

“——I love you!”

It’s not about whether I can love; I simply have to decide to love.

The Empire is not one that is happy all the time. Whether during Iris’s time or after her times, numerous lives drowning in happiness intertwined with suffering consistently came.

Just like how those who live in the Magic City, my precious children, experience the same—sometimes one’s heart is filled with love while at other times their antics frustrate.

“——It all ends up being the same sense of fulfillment!”

As this realization took hold within Yorna, the fiery earth erupted in applause.

Ground meant to merely absorb the weighty step bounces joyfully as it plays the role of a springboard, throwing Yorna high into the air.

While spinning around, Yorna’s thick-soled heels dropped toward the airborne Arakia.

Trying to blend into the surrounding air, Arakia attempted to dodge but failed; Yorna’s kick exploded, clashing with her tanned skin.

“——Huh?”

The shoulder that was kicked burst apart, Arakia gasped in disbelief, her expression now splashed with pain and surprise, an emotion rarely shown.

Utilizing the unique traits of the “Spirit Eater” to remain dominant in battles, receiving a hit like this would surely be the quintessential shock for Arakia.

However, Yorna felt neither astonishment nor satisfaction from this strike. With her heel as the pivot, she straightened up and waved the pipe clenched in her delicate fingers, launching a follow-up attack.

“Eh, ah, wha—”

The sound of a hard object hitting flesh came in rapid succession, distorting Arakia’s expression continuously.

In apparent confusion, Arakia produced faint sounds from her throat, exhibiting not so much the pain itself but the rejection of receiving it.

“Why?” with both her eyes wide, one seeking insight from Yorna while the other remained undiscerning.

“If love exists there, then vain reservations don’t fulfill any purpose.”

“Love…?”

“You must be a darling sister to my undisciplined daughter, right?”

With a lovely smile, Yorna answered, leaving Arakia in a state of puzzlement.

Even when provided such a response, Arakia couldn’t grasp its significance; her cheeks hardened as she swiftly retreated into the sky, unleashing waves of nature’s fury in a miraculous strike.

Arcing through the air, Yorna found herself cornered with no means to evade the assault of wood, fire, earth, metal, water, and light.

“Well, that would have been the case before reconciling with the Empire.”

Yorna weaved words through loosened lips while running through the air, utilizing the rising terrain beneath her feet.

Bearing a complex medley of grievances and many fond memories, upon deciding to love the entire Volakia Empire, Yorna’s passion resonated deeply, and the heated earth continued to fervently support her.

Dodging rains of fire, spears of water, towering waves of wind, and sharp slashes of light, Yorna drew closer to Arakia once more.

The ground that Yorna stepped upon responded eagerly, rendering Arakia’s aerial advantage ineffective once Yorna found herself within range.

“——Ugh!”

Merging with the spirits in the air, she continued flowing along their pathways, evading attacks offered by her foes.

Becoming accustomed to this style, as the hazard from Yorna approached, Arakia delayed her response, having momentarily struck by a blow to her exposed torso.

The force shattered beyond her back, enacting ripples upon the radiant, fiery realm she had melded with.

“——!”

Finally, upon Arakia’s face, beyond awe, a hint of anguish blossomed.

This showed that Yorna’s assault pressured Arakia considerably. Until that point, the advantage had leaned, but Yorna remained without the ease of optimism.

For any reason――,

“You dare…!”

With pain and rage distorting her cheeks, Arakia swung the wood branch toward Yorna.

Unsophisticated, just picked up, it remained undamaged even amidst turmoil, exerting its true potential in the hands of the “Spirit Eater.”

Swinging the wooden branch, Yorna abated it alongside her smoking pipe. Its tips trembled subtly while both parties glared and relied against one another.

“Gah…”

The strength behind the branch struck Yorna, leaving her straining to suppress a groan through the pipe.

Pain and injury could pass through Yorna’s “Soul Marriage Technique” to her cherished possessions. Naturally, such methods require certain affection and past affections backing them.

However, none of the items, like ornaments or treasured gifts from the residents of the Magic City, had vanished. Despite this fact, Yorna suffered herself.

The answer remained straightforward—love must not be one-sided.

“——I love you!”

Deciding to love the mixed essence of love and animosity from the Empire and adopting a disciplinary approach against Arakia wouldn’t entail the imposition of love but strive for mutual affection.

This highlighted the opposite nature of Yorna Mishigure’s “Soul Marriage Technique.”

――

In the air, Yorna and Arakia faced one another as fierce confrontations unfolded.

With a blaze residing in her eye, representing the proof of her love, Priscilla gripped the “Sun Blade” while frowning at the clash of her mother and sister.

As a wielder of the same “Soul Marriage Technique,” she comprehended its logic.

However, because both she and Yorna wielded the same method, Priscilla recognized the forbidden nature of Yorna’s actions.

“You only consider the strength of your abilities and ignore weaknesses. Mother is also doing something reckless.”

Priscilla discerned Yorna’s framework to bypass defense must have involved intricate techniques and the readiness of taking damage.

The “Soul Marriage Technique,” treated casually by both Priscilla and Yorna, historically required exceptionally rare talents not seen in successors and demanded miraculous equilibrium to actualize.

In essence, this precarious gamble portrayed by Yorna would render Arakia incapable of proper retaliation while it would risk severing the connections formed with Yorna’s beloved children.

“——”

Spending time in this risk, Priscilla found herself pondering why Yorna chose to confront Arakia.

She was not foolish nor heartless, scratching her head over this predicament.

Certainly, Yorna dared to confront that taboo for none other than Priscilla.

–To prevent a scenario whereby Priscilla laid her hands on Arakia.

“With my Sun Blade, I could achieve it without the risk you’re taking, mother.”

The essence of the “Sun Blade” is to slice what needs to be cut and ignite what needs burning.

When that true value is revealed with pure white flames, even those like Arakia, capable of commanding all natural phenomena, would find themselves disregarding her specialty, allowing Priscilla’s strike to reach hammer blows properly.

Maintaining the effects of “Soul Marriage,” Priscilla had become capable of attacking the adversary.

Indeed, this is what transpired during the first confrontation of Priscilla and Arakia, reunited after a decade, where, under this paradigm, Priscilla never conceptualized granting the same leeway.

Consequently, Yorna thumped Priscilla on the head, signifying a maternal gesture as they fought before her.

“Thumping my head is—”

Though tempted to retort, she fully recognized it was precisely that.

When reflecting on her heart’s sentiments, it was true that before Yorna had nudged her, Priscilla had been overly intense in her fervor.

Arriving at this moment, it seemed she would have to take matters into her own hands regarding Arakia.

However――,

“——The curse of ‘Spirit Eater,’ huh?”

It was an inevitability for those like Arakia, created races bearing inherently distorted attributes.

To wield strong powers necessitates the payment of corresponding costs. This applies not only to Priscilla’s “Sun Blade” or “Soul Marriage Technique” but also the power of Arakia’s “Spirit Eater.”

Naturally, Priscilla was informed about what manner of being Arakia was too. She researched and noticed the outcomes of providing Arakia proof of a basis to rely on.

“If I were to hide my sunshine, the world would be enshrouded by darkness.”

Living in a world doused in darkness for the past decade, Arakia continued living.

Wouldn’t it have been impossible for someone to illuminate even a fraction of Priscilla’s position left unattended?

Upon finalizing not to take Arakia with her, she reflected if only it had been Vincent.

“That’s impossible.”

Furrowing her brow at her musings, Priscilla discarded such thoughts.

She had misunderstood when she was still young and clever—back in her days as Priska. Thinking she could entrust a brother amounted merely to faulty reasoning.

As the battle over the capital escalated this aggressiveness, realizing the capabilities of other “Nine Divine Generals” gathered by her brother Vincent Volakia made everything clearer.

Vincent intended to face something far greater than rebellion.

At the end of that battle, he couldn’t possibly have desired to survive. When the battle ceased, to whom did he intend to bequeath the throne he would no longer occupy?

For their sake, she couldn’t afford to alter the loyalty of Arakia.

“What nonsense.”

Constructing everything on paper and forming actuality as it exists.

That is Vincent’s strength; however, regardless of how excellent his schemes might be, should a flawed creation arise from his imaginations, the distortions would inevitably manifest within the formed world.

He would eventually face the consequences of such unconscious deeds. Perhaps even experiencing them during this conflict.

“We’ve been apart for ten years. It’s about time you withdraw, brother.”

Railing against an absent target, Priscilla confidently advanced forward.

The sky darkened red with fire as the earth rampaged with “vivid colors” as if to refuse the intervention of Priscilla, the very embodiment of sunlight.

Yet against such arrogance, Priscilla Barielle—nay, she was the daughter Priska Benedict, declaring her intention didn’t stop there.

“——The world is constructed according to my desires.”

As Arakia clouded by humiliation or disgrace hovered, labeling it erroneous was flawed.

For disgrace needed a name besmirched through frustration.

Shame required pride to be sullied through falling behind.

Arakia found herself indifferent to both name and pride.

Holding the title of one of the most prestigious generals in the Empire, ranked under the absolute being called “Spirit Eater,” she was regarded as a complete aberration among the “Nine Divine Generals,” excluding Cecilus Segmunt.

Despite possessing a stature and skills many yearned for, none of it could serve as the pillars supporting Arakia.

Just like prey wandering outside, Arakia defined herself that way.

A creature living by hunting others doesn’t harbor pride in its tusks and claws. –No, perhaps Arakia just believed this; beasts indeed possess pride and their own customs.

If that’s true, then Arakia’s self-awareness had strayed even from those beasts.

Fire, wind, water, earth, light, shadow—phenomena barely grazed.

Without any will intervening, merely realizing what was longed for.

Arakia yearned to transcend being a person or beast, to become a phenomenon.

A phenomenon that did not inform disgrace or shame, yet still desired that form.

If so――,

“I――”

As onslaughts akin to sword barrages flew forth, Arakia sought to become the wind. Yet she found it ineffective. Captured by winds, impacts etched throbbing pains within her.

A choked groan escaped, distorting Arakia’s expression with a pained countenance. Rarely did she experience anguish as a “Spirit Eater.” But this didn’t mean she was entirely weak to pain.

Arakia had experienced pain upon pain since she was a mere child.

To acquire this identity of “Spirit Eater,” adults tried and tested her with all conceivable techniques, engraving them into her memory, repeating that cycle.

Pain was familiar. Remembering the past evoked no faint tremors.

Yet the realization of receiving was far heavier for Arakia than any pain felt before.

Fire would continue unscathed upon receiving water.

Arakia was no more than a flame that, upon being doused, screamed in agony before flickering out.

Merely perceived as a manifestation birthed, denouncing her presence instilled fear into Arakia.

“I――”

“——Silence!”

Chasing her racing heart, her words were knocked away by a swift palm from her adversary.

The force caused her head to spin toward the void, vanishing like smoke, yet recovering her form did little to alleviate her pain, leaving mental scars intact.

What she felt was neither disgrace nor shame; an abjection against her existence urged her to rebel as Arakia raised the earth around her and aimed toward Yorna rushing towards her.

Unsure of the mechanism, both Priska and Yorna had obscured Arakia’s attacks. The moment Yorna sealed her hold over those powers, the enemy’s strikes could find Arakia directly despite her own afflictions.

“——”

Once, just once, a single strike would suffice.

Utilizing a technique unbeknownst to Yorna, Arakia enhanced capabilities in ways disabled from thwarting Yorna.

Should it connect, losing the impediment of Yorna would establish a space solely for Priska and herself.

Should that occur, assuredly once more, all would revert to harmony.

“If you want something, it’s far more constructive to attain it than to wait for it.”

This sentiment echoed what Todd had previously proclaimed.

Despite Todd’s words deriving not from friendliness or disliking, they resonated with Arakia, producing an inexplicable impact.

Henceforth, she regarded him fondly. The manner in which he approached was spills of emptiness, thus emerging Arakia’s saving grace.

So――,

“———”

The wood branch in hand ignited from butt to tip, consumed in flames before crumbling into the black ash.

The branch was nothing the unique nor inherently powerful; it merely acted as a visible marker directing Arakia when she wielded her abilities.

With the combustion of that wooden branch indicating an abundance of unyielding flame, it marked the necessity to unleash her formidable firepower—her revered might as the “Spirit Eater.”

Behold:

Arakia, regarded as the apex of the Empire, laid to waste her maximum output, only once surely released in skirmishes with Cecilus Segmunt.

Because her opponent was Cecilus, with casualties averting his attacks, still, her reckless actions rendered the northern counterpart of the Empire scorched.

Having accomplished such a brazen act, Vincent, as Emperor, had since ruled no second instance of destruction would be tolerated. Consequently, it later transitioned to enable Chisha’s suggestion to repurpose the charred grounds as a reservoir, carrying impact immense enough to redraw maps.

“——The world is molded to favor my desires!”

Only to be extinguished by a singular, self-assured proclamation forged into a strike.

The sudden flash of the “Sun Blade” devoured flames that intended to darken the world, seizing the day.

The moment Priska soared beside Yorna, her hairband shattered; her long, beautiful hair swayed amidst heated winds while those aflame eyes met Arakia’s own.

At that moment――,

“Mother!”

The instant her lips moved, Yorna propelled with a wide kick behind Priska.

Matching her own foot against the sole of Yorna’s kick, converting the potency of that strike into propulsion forward towards Arakia at breathtaking speed.

In that bet, Priska raised her “Sun Blade” high,

“Arakia!”

With that phrase, every motion and response of Arakia were sealed, culminating in a brilliant strike.

Reflexively, Arakia self-defended, blending with the atmosphere evaded to no avail as Priska’s decisive volley, offering no mercy, tore through her form.

“———”

Arakia’s consciousness waned.

Ironically, just as the flames of the northern Empire scorched its soil, she had once again succumbed to Cecilus’s decisive strike.

However, in those last moments, she heard.

“My Sun Blade cuts that which should be cut and ignites that which yearns for flames. — And strikes to hit that which needs striking.”

As she uttered, Priska wielding the “Sun Blade” — it wasn’t the edge aimed at Arakia, but the hilt faced towards herself in those fleeting seconds, a realization eluded the descending Arakia.

 

---