The more I was needed, the more certain I became that this was an unprecedented situation.

There was a historical text documenting events that once occurred in Lugnica, which had similarities to this abnormal state, but the treatment of those instances within the series of events was quite minimal.

— “The Subhuman War.”

It was a large-scale civil war that erupted in Lugnica in the past, and akin to the current situation, it documented instances where the dead rampaged as enemies.

However, the main focus of the historical record was the friction between humans and subhumans, and it did not delve deep into the details of the absurd attacks executed as part of the civil war.

It was frustrating. If only the specifics from that time had been recorded more thoroughly—

“I won’t fall behind these bastards!!”

With a roar, I swung my fist as a group of pale-skinned imperial soldiers were blown away en masse.

Rather than punching, it felt more like a sweeping strike, harnessing the vitality drawn from the earth beneath my feet and unleashed with raw force.

I continued to rain down blows, launching the enemy formation back again and again. —No, it wasn’t even a proper formation.

The enemy was advancing in a somewhat horizontal line, but there was no coordination or tactical planning among them. That meant they were merely a mass of individuals.

If they were just masses of individuals, Garfiel would certainly not fall behind!

However—

“Zea! Zuā!”

In sync with a sharp step, twin slashes grazed the nape of Garfiel’s neck.

With the hair on my arm standing on end, I glared at the foe, who was unlike the other subhumans, emerging from the shattered remains of the undead.

“Tch.”

Clicking my tongue, I lifted my shoulder slightly and checked my grazed neck.

The range of the first and second slashes was merely a fingertip apart. It was the hallmark technique of a master, intentionally showing an easily dodged strike, trying to take the opponent’s head with the second.

While they were just a mass of individuals, occasionally, there would be such skilled warriors among them.

This was surprisingly troublesome, as one in twenty seemed to be well-trained. Because of this, I couldn’t carelessly support my allies, thinking that as long as there were cooperatives, we would be fine.

With a single misjudgment, a hundred-strong formation could be collapsed by one expert.

“Zea! Zuā—!”

Garfiel frowned as a subhuman unleashed the same twin sword strikes again.

Having shown this technique once, the range had changed even more boldly. Just a moment ago, it was a fingertip apart, now it was a full fist-length. If a blow were to dig in a fist deeper, any shallow cut could become a fatal wound.

However, the subhuman who unleashed the technique widened its eyes in surprise, showing a contrast to its confidence in victory.

The reason was simple — Garfiel’s sword-wielding right arm had been shattered at the wrist.

“No matter what little tricks you try, the grip on a stretching sword won’t change. ‘Even the Three-Headed Balgur’s body is one’… Ze!”

Twisting the left hand that had shattered the wrist, Garfiel’s fist crashed into the shocked subhuman’s face.

The shockwave from the strike shattered the subhuman’s head, exploding it like fruit. As the head crumbled, cracks spread toward the body and limbs, causing the entire entity to shatter into pieces.

“I don’t like it.”

Looking down at the remnants of the defeated enemy, Garfiel spat.

What irritated Garfiel was how the subhuman met its end in this manner. As dead beings, “how they die” might be an inappropriate term, yet the sheer destructiveness of their demise robbed Garfiel of the sense that he was fighting living creatures.

Only a chilling sensation remained of what he was even fighting against.

“——”

Wiping the sweat off his jaw with his arm, Garfiel scanned the battlefield where subhuman soldiers appeared incessantly across the night plain.

To counter them, a delayed tactics squad, including Garfiel, was battling away.

Initially, Garfiel had been assigned to a healing team that utilized healing magic, but he found it more fitting to focus on preventing injuries rather than treating the injured.

“Garf, you’re fidgeting and it’s concerning! If you can’t settle down, go help those fighting directly!”

It was the statement of Petra, who had been fighting alongside him in the same healing team.

Not exactly obeying her, Garfiel jumped outside. In fact, he thought he had achieved some results fitting his voluntary actions.

Still, he couldn’t let himself be vain enough to say he was performing at his best.

The reason being—

“Yare—!!”

A sharp battle cry echoed through the darkness of the night, and just after, the twang of a drawn bowstring was chained together.

Under the leadership of Talitta, the chief of the People of Shudrak, a torrential rain of arrows was unleashed at incredible density.

There was no option for dodging the arrows that fell not as individual points but as a solid mass. They could only be intercepted or deflected. In fact, subhumans capable of avoiding the arrows tried their best to do so using their own weapons or shields.

However—

“I can see you!”

“I’ll take them out!”

Subhumans concentrated above were knocked away by the strong bow’s shot.

The impact was far beyond mere piercing; it was like being hit by a speeding dragon carriage, launching the subhuman defenders and their surrounding group away together.

“I may not lose, but that was something else.”

The rain of arrows cleared out the weaker subhumans in suppression, and Garfiel took aim at the surviving stronger subhumans with his strong bow. The rhythm of the hunting tribe showed strong synergy that left Garfiel in awe.

Even for Garfiel, being turned into a pincushion by arrows and then fired upon by that strong bow would inevitably lead to massive damage. He was grateful for the strategy.

“Yet, over there, it’s utterly incomprehensible.”

Despite Shudrak’s strength, there was a different meaning behind Garfiel’s admiration for the group — they were a rugged bunch led by Subaru, who had fought alone in the Empire, calling themselves the Pleiades Battalion.

“Let’s do this, let’s do this, let’s do this!”

“The strongest! Invincible! Amazing! Amazing!!”

“Woohoo—!!”

In the midst of the night battle, their boisterousness was exceptional, and even from Garfiel’s perspective, there didn’t seem to be anyone particularly skilled in martial arts. Of course, several of them had mastered skills typical of Imperial soldiers, but still.

Most fought in a way that could hardly be described as refined, relying on instincts for their wild behavior.

Yet, they were strong. The gap in physical abilities felt akin to that of an adult and a child.

“Impressive. Their strength is almost refreshing.”

As Garfiel watched their battle, a voice called out to him. Before he even turned around, the figure standing next to him was a woman with tanned skin and red-dyed hair — Mizelda.

With a wooden leg, Mizelda watched the unconventional performance of the battalion with a blood-colored smile.

“I don’t get it, but they’re related to the general. Even if I wonder what on earth they’re doing, I don’t have any worries about it being bad.”

“The general… Is Subaru. I trust him quite a lot along with Emilia and others.”

“Hah! Trust? That’s not enough. The general’s the kind of guy who repays a hundredfold for the expectations and trust I have in him!”

Not a hint of exaggeration or bravado, Garfiel spoke these praises with zero doubts. Mizelda’s expression changed at Garfiel’s answer.

From a combative one to one that contained understanding, now somewhat gentle.

“I get how you feel. Subaru continues to prove it to us during the Ritual of Blood and afterward in battle. That warrior’s spirit. A man who doesn’t look good at all but is still worthy of being Talitta’s husband.”

“Stop talking about his looks! The general’s actually concerned about that sort of thing! And…”

“And?”

“No matter how infatuated I am, the one the general loves is set in stone.”

“——I see. That’s true.”

Garfiel, scratching his nose, nodded deeply with Mizelda.

Not knowing how much of her words were jokes and how much pure praise, the fact that Subaru was still valued in this Empire filled Garfiel with pride.

No matter where he was, Subaru had a way of pulling people in and achieving great things.

However, Garfiel genuinely wished for Subaru to stay with them even though he could get by anywhere.

That was the shared sentiment of the entire camp.

Thus, they had courageously come all the way to this dangerous land of the Empire together.

“Yet, here we are, being interrupted by enemies trying to have fun with the general…”

Garfiel was a military officer who loved to compete in strength. But he wasn’t a battle junkie who wanted to fight anyone anywhere at any time.

The continuous appearance of enemies that interrupted the joyous reunion with an important individual was nothing short of infuriating.

“Still, these guys are completely incomprehensible.”

“It’s unnatural for the dead to revive. I get what you mean, but…”

“Ah, no, that’s not what I meant.”

“——?”

Making his canine teeth grind, Garfiel murmured, and Mizelda raised an eyebrow in confusion.

To respond to that dubiousness, Garfiel gestured and stared at the group of undead that were still being showered with Shudrak’s arrows.

“Looking closely, it’s evident… their ways of being defeated aren’t uniform. Some break with one arrow, while some don’t break even with five.”

“Even beasts have their resiliency. Humans do as well. Isn’t it the same?”

“I can see the difference between the strong and the weak. But it’s not simply that…”

It was hard to explain, but even from Garfiel’s perspective, it felt like there was a limit to their stubbornness even among similarly strong undead.

Whether the arrow struck a vital spot or not seemed to hold little relevance. Some could withstand an arrow through the eye while others would shatter from one struck in the shoulder.

It felt like it couldn’t be simply quantified by mere vitality or resilience.

“Dammit! Thinking about it makes my head throb! ‘Just one more step with guilt’… If I can crush them all, that’ll work out anyway…”

“—That very thought is what ‘just one more step with guilt’ means.”

In an instant, that voice fell from above Garfiel, causing his shoulder to jump.

Looking up in a hurry, he saw a shadow slowly approaching from the cloudy night sky. It rapidly morphed into an unmistakably displeasing male shape in Garfiel’s view.

And then—

“Sorry for interrupting your struggle.”

“You… Dudley…”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to reveal my alias so soon, but during that earlier meeting, the reason to hide my name has vanished. From now on…”

“Damnit, Roswaal!”

“Though I have an unnecessary title attached, feel free to call me that.”

With a grin, Roswaal landed on the ground, igniting Garfiel’s irritation.

Since his clandestine entry into Volakia, his makeup and flamboyant attire had been subdued, but his distinctive manner of speaking that should’ve been sealed reemerged.

Hearing that aliases were now off the table, he presumed the discussions on the dragon carriage had reached a conclusion.

The conclusions Otto and Frederica had mentioned beforehand regarding relations with the Empire — How Subaru and Emilia would not compromise their feelings.

That in itself was good news for Garfiel.

“So, if the discussions have ended, I’d like to know what happened… Beatrice! Have you changed your mind? It’s rare to see you with this guy.”

“It was out of necessity. I didn’t want to leave Subaru’s side even for a second if I could help it. But since I was relied on, it couldn’t be helped.”

With that, Beatrice hopped away from Roswaal’s arms.

Over the past month, Beatrice had been active even in Subaru’s absence, and now that they had finally reunited, Garfiel thought she had resolved never to leave Subaru’s side again.

Just before that, when they were about to smother Subaru in the dragon carriage, she had been muttering such things with her usual intense gaze.

That she had now left Subaru’s side to appear on the battlefield with Roswaal was—

“Garfiel, did you come to determine the true nature of the discomfort you felt?”

“The true nature of the discomfort?”

“To charge into battle without knowing the enemy will yield results that don’t meet expectations. To compensate, we must understand the enemy. Furthermore, this enemy is rife with enigmas.”

As Beatrice shook from being released from Roswaal’s embrace, Garfiel felt a surge of hopeful determination related to the positive resolution of the meeting and the rising battle spirit.

Even if it was delivered by the Roswaal he disliked.

“It’s not Dudley anymore; it’s Roswaal… so that’s your name.”

“Yes, Mizelda. I apologize for having concealed my name for my own reasons. Not just me, but Emilia, or rather the Lady Emilia, has as well.”

“A handsome deed. I forgive you.”

“That’s quite an unusual standard of judgment…”

Mizelda digested the alias issue with her unique values.

Meanwhile, Garfiel looked between Roswaal and Beatrice, saying,

“So, does this mean the battle in the Empire will continue, and you two are here because…?”

“For occurrences beyond reason, those who possess knowledge of magic that interferes with the principles are best suited to identify them.”

“This is a historical alliance between Lugnica and Volakia. The most valuable resource the kingdom can offer them is a magical approach for identifying the cause.”

As the undead continued to emerge endlessly, if knowledge as a mage could aid in tracing their cause, undeniably, Roswaal and Beatrice were the most suitable members of Emilia’s faction.

Emilia being a spirit mage, Ram a sensory type, and Petra still being in the learning phase.

“How has it been after actually fighting for a while? Have you grasped anything?”

“— I don’t understand the difference between ones that are easy to defeat and those that are hard. There’s something different from strong and weak that lies beneath…”

“Hmm. Differences in the survival ability and vitality of individuals, perhaps?”

With his slender finger on his chin, Roswaal pondered, and Garfiel clicked his tongue inwardly.

It wasn’t so much that he disliked every little action of Roswaal’s, but the current tongue-click was not due to irritation with him but rather disappointment that matched his expectations for Roswaal’s thought process and knowledge.

In this situation, it was hard to admit that Roswaal seemed dependable.

“Roswaal, mindlessly staring won’t lead us to answers.”

“Agreed. Now then, let’s see… Beatrice, what about your mana reserves?”

“Now that I’ve reunited with Subaru, I’m in top form!”

“Good. Then—”

Roswaal’s smirk brightened as his mismatched irises narrowed down. Immediately after, four colors of light—mana—floated around him.

When Roswaal snapped his fingers, the four-hued lights shot through the darkness like arrows, targeting the distant group of undead where they unleashed their respective powers.

One undead ignited in flames, another froze solid. One was sliced apart with wind blades, while another was impaled from underneath by a jagged rock jutting from the ground.

All of them suffered fatal injuries, shattering into pieces with a crunch a second later. The results left Garfiel and even Mizelda raising their eyebrows in awe.

“As reported, the most effective seems to be fire. The wind’s passability is poor, and the earth’s impact is no different from a physical strike. Ice seems to have poor economy.”

Yet, Roswaal wasn’t so concerned with the fact that he had defeated the undead but was instead evaluating the strength of the attacks based on how well they pierced the fallen undead.

Meanwhile, Beatrice had also begun her own examination in a different manner from Roswaal.

“—Vita.”

Raising her hand to the night sky, Beatrice’s spell interfered with the rain of arrows launched by the People of Shudrak that sliced through the air.

Countless arrows that targeted the undead began to rain down due to Beatrice’s dark magic’s effects — the spell that varied the weight of the target, increasing the arrows’ weight several times as they fell upon the enemies.

The amplified impact resonated with a deafening sound as it struck the earth alongside the undead.

“As Garfiel mentioned, while the arrows have varying weights, it’s odd that there are zombies that collapse and ones that don’t.”

“If all the arrows were heavy, wouldn’t it be indistinguishable?”

“Don’t underestimate Beatrice. I didn’t make all of them the same weight; I tried changing the weight one by one.”

Beatrice puffed her cheeks in indignation, but her assertion was far more ridiculous than anything.

Garfiel, although primarily skilled in healing magic, understood the level of precision in the control of magic that Beatrice was exhibiting.

What she did with magic just now was akin to threading several needles with one motion.

Moreover, Beatrice and Roswaal—

“The cause of collapse isn’t the loss of limbs. Some remain intact even when pierced in a vital spot. Although they appear humanoid, it would be best to stop considering them as living beings.”

“Isn’t treating even those who joke and speak a living creature far more simple for anyone but you? —Perhaps accumulating a certain level of damage is the condition for collapse.”

“That’s quite an outrageous evaluation. Even so, I thought I was recovering my humanity after spending so much time with you all. In fact, a single blown-away leg could take some down. If the condition were damage accumulation, it wouldn’t really sit right.”

“Dismissing it merely as differences in durable strength may be a fallacy.”

“There must be some other reason. The flow of mana remains uniform.”

“Indeed, uniform… wait a minute. Too uniform, perhaps.”

Even amidst their banter, Roswaal and Beatrice continued to analyze their enemy.

Remarkably, they were utilizing their respective fields of magic to check the characteristics of the attacking undead while exchanging back-and-forth dialogues.

Flames, winds, and purple arrows rampaged while the undead could not approach the two battling back to back.

Of course, Garfiel and Mizelda were also attacking the undead to prevent them from coming closer, but even without that, Roswaal and Beatrice would likely remain unshakeable.

This… was something Beatrice likely hated to her core, so he wouldn’t speak it out loud—but—

“Those two definitely have an unparalleled synergy.”

“I could never let that slip.”

Mizelda, echoing Garfiel’s thoughts, made the exact same evaluation.

While displaying cooperation that forced such thoughts, Beatrice was entirely unaware that they were thinking so, her eyebrows furrowing as she called out to Roswaal.

“Just once, I want to touch it!”

“—That’s reckless.”

At Beatrice’s parting words, she lightly kicked off the ground and leapt forward.

As she fluttered her dress’s hem, her small body soared lightly, the leap achieved seemingly through her dark magic, lightering her weight.

Onward, Beatrice approached a single undead that had turned its back towards her — sensing her approach, it turned to face her.

“Jirwaldo!”

In an instant, the undead’s sword-wielding right arm evaporated as it tried to slash at Beatrice.

Pointing at the undead, Roswaal unleashed white light from his fingertip, igniting the arm of the foe. As the subhuman stood frozen in shock, Beatrice placed her hand against its forehead.

With that, Beatrice’s eyes, featuring the characteristic swirling patterns, widened.

“I thought so.”

As Beatrice quietly remarked, Garfiel instinctively pressed his lips together in disbelief.

Beatrice’s body was then grasped, and in a motion that switched their positions, Roswaal smashed a sharp punch into the head of the frozen undead before it could recover.

“Goodness, it’s me who will get scolded by Subaru, isn’t it?”

“And the one to be praised by Subaru will be Beatrice! —Restoration magic, perhaps.”

“—So that’s what it is.”

Roswaal, who had offered criticism toward Beatrice’s recklessness, closed his eyes for a moment, feeling regret upon hearing her explanation.

Through the contact with the undead, Beatrice gained some form of conviction. That information conveyed a message to Roswaal, apparently, but Garfiel couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

“Hey, I don’t understand at all! Explain it so Emilia-sama would understand too!”

“Roughly speaking, Emilia and Garfiel’s comprehension levels are about the same. —Did you perhaps uncover the structure and mechanism of the zombies’ bodies?”

“So, what does that mean?!”

Garfiel gritted his teeth, expressing doubt.

He knew of restoration magic. It was the magic to repair broken things, and he’d heard that an excellent user could even restore a burned book back from ashes.

However, such users were few in number, and the required precision of magical power was quite delicate, with the repaired item easily suffering quality degradation as a drawback.

And most notably, reviving life was impossible — that domain belonged to forbidden arts like the “Secret Art of the Immortal King,” frequently mentioned in discussions.

“The teacher chose mana for the vessel, while I have chosen blood. —However, this ‘enemy’ opts for earth, even at the cost of letting the contents spill out.”

With the revelation provided by Beatrice, Roswaal pressed his hand against his mouth.

Garfiel still couldn’t grasp their shared understanding, but he could intuitively identify that their line of reasoning led to an alarming and unpleasant conclusion.

Then, completely disregarding Garfiel’s presence, Roswaal gazed at Beatrice with a serious expression.

“Beatrice, this isn’t the ‘Secret Art of the Immortal King,’ is it?”

“….While the origins are the same, the approach is different. The ‘Secret Art of the Immortal King’ places the vessel first, with the soul afterward. Yet, these zombies…”

“The souls come first, followed by the vessel. —The body changes shape in accordance with the soul.”

At Roswaal’s statement, Beatrice nodded deeply.

Even so, Garfiel struggled to comprehend the crucial elements of their discourse. While he continued to grapple with the bitterness of uncertainty, he suddenly found himself doubting his own eyes.

“——”

Far from Garfiel, Roswaal wore an expression that clearly reflected his own inner turmoil.

He never expected to see Roswaal showing such a distressed face. —No, he had once fantasized about landing a punch in his belly to see that agonized expression, but beyond Garfiel’s expectations, Roswaal was indeed in quite an internal struggle.

With that distress traced across his eyes, Roswaal finally opened his mouth.

“—I may have some leads regarding the identity of the ‘enemy’.”

“—Is that true?! Then—”

“But wait. That can’t be. Because he was… at my hands…”

The previous confidence evaporated, and Roswaal’s voice was now filled with hesitation and doubt.

Garfiel blinked at his demeanor which avoided making a clear statement, quickly baring his teeth. If it were Garfiel himself, he might spout some ridiculous notion.

However, it was none other than Roswaal who was entertaining such thoughts.

“You shouldn’t be making such weak remarks!”

“——”

“Roswaal, I want to ask you something.”

Garfiel leaned forward, ready to grab at Roswaal’s collar. Yet, quicker than that rough hand could reach, Beatrice’s voice pierced through to the silenced Roswaal.

Beatrice remained fixed on Roswaal, waiting for him to meet her gaze before asking,

“Is your hesitation related to your mother?”

“…Am I that easy to read?”

“The only reason you’re this stirred up must involve your mother. Otherwise? Perhaps it’s about Ram lately?”

“I have faith that I won’t become giddy or restless should anything happen to you.”

Responding with a wry smile, Roswaal tightly shut his eyes, clenching his cheeks. When he opened his eyes again, they replaced the moment’s hesitation and weakness with a nod.

“Beatrice’s assessment is correct. The mechanisms behind how zombies can rise without their original corpses is an application of restoration magic. To do that, the soul must descend, for which the ‘Secret Art of the Immortal King’ must be at play.”

“Restoration magic and the ‘Secret Art of the Immortal King’ are not something one can wield merely by understanding their principles. To combine such fundamentally distinct magics would require a handful of exceptionally talented individuals. Only those who could… can…”

“—The lineage of the teacher. But it wouldn’t be the teacher. Therefore…”

The “teacher” mentioned by Roswaal and the “mother” referred to by Beatrice were the same person, someone who was not entirely foreign to Garfiel either.

The confusion arose from the fact that multiple individuals shared the same name, yet hearing that a name associated with the “witch” was involved suddenly clarified Garfiel’s comprehension.

With Beatrice’s revelation severing his torment and Roswaal’s determination to acknowledge what he didn’t want to, it contributed significantly to Garfiel’s clarity.

However—

“—That’s a rude gaze.”

Suddenly, Mizelda murmured in a low voice.

Due to her closer affinity with magic, she hadn’t grasped the conversation between Roswaal and Beatrice as well as Garfiel. In frustration, she abandoned any understanding regarding Roswaal’s distress and dedicated herself entirely to attacking the undead.

Stopping in her tracks, she gazed up with a firm look, her eyes narrowed fiercely at their target.

Following the hunter’s gaze, Garfiel shifted his attention toward it, swallowing hard. The same could be said for both Beatrice and Roswaal.

However, the reasons behind the reactions of the three varied slightly.

For Garfiel, it was because he saw a familiar silhouette that shouldn’t have been there.

For Beatrice and Roswaal, it seemed their reactions stemmed from a more negative sensation.

—In the night sky, a black-clad girl with long pink hair billowed.

She had the same face as the person Garfiel had admired since he could remember, yet was gazing down upon him with icy eyes, never having looked at Garfiel.

“I didn’t wish for it, but it seems I’ve succeeded in practice… It seems this world has acknowledged me as a single life.”

The familiar face whispered in a well-known voice while tracing the cracks that ran across her own face with delicate fingers, glaring down at Garfiel and the others with golden eyes.

In response, a gulp echoed as Roswaal opened his mouth.

“You’re alive… Sphinx.”

“No, I am dead. —Observation necessary.”

In a tone that seemed almost teasing, the girl — Sphinx, who looked identical to Garfiel’s grandmother Ryuzu, said this to the faces of the undead.