A boiling sense of foreboding lingered.

When Ubiruku, the Stargazer, designated her to be the light that would save the Empire, I racked my brains to think and think again.

What exactly about her could make her the natural enemy of the resurrected dead?

What was it that made her different from other humans?

She was kind. She worked hard. She could stand firm for someone else. All of that was wonderful, but those criteria also applied to others.

No, it was something else—something special that only she possessed, something that others did not have…

“—The power of Gluttony.”

Even if she wanted to sever ties with her past as an Archbishop of Sin, that Cross would never let her go.

Subaru vowed that he would never let that Cross escape her.

And she vowed to him that she would never run away from that Cross.

—Therefore, hope lies there.

“I have the powers of Sloth and Greed.”

The accursed Witch Cult, the detestable Archbishops of Sin.

Petelgeuse Romanee-Conti and Regulus Corneas—the powers they possessed now reside within Subaru himself, twisting and turning.

Why had it come to this? It felt disgusting, as if he had been entrusted a baton from them, and Subaru hadn’t faced it deeply enough. But that was no longer an option.

For her sake, and for the sake of Subaru who chose her, he had to confront it.

And—

“If you choose to live as Spica and not Louis Arnebe, you should be able to change how you use that power just like I do.”

Everything has its two sides, and any tool is just that—a tool. —No, it’s not just the tools.

Whether one becomes good or succumbs to evil, that last line is drawn by oneself. There are environments where that is not possible. But now, she has been given the opportunity to do so.

—Rai Batenkaitos of “Gourmet”

—Roy Alphard of “Malnutrition”

—Louis Arnebe of “Gluttony”

Those who wield the given power, becoming unforgivable sinners in the eyes of the world.

Walking the path of atonement while possessing the same powers as they.

“—Star Eater”

Creating a bad precedent—inseparable siblings.

To devour those precedents, the acts of the sinners bearing the names of stars, anew as a penitent.

A newly born girl who devours stars, Spica, the “Star Eater.”

“—Iah Iah U”

Sealed in a bug, calling the “name” of the one revived in a vessel made of dirt, the girl of the “Star Eater,” her outstretched hand, and the fingertip activated.

She knew the white, empty place where nothing had meaning.

A place where every soul’s beautiful and ugly aspects are stripped away and reborn anew.

To devour their roles, torn from that place.

So that their souls are never again made food for someone else, she would consume that karma.

—To consume the actions of the Archbishops of Sin bearing the names of stars, the “Star Eater” was realized.

“—Oi Ou A Ah E I A”

In that instant, the Lamias were struck by a gust of wind all at once, and their movements halted.

Goz Ralfon, showing off his burning wounds, did not miss that moment.

“—I caught it.”

In the midst of battle, being pressured from all sides by the threat of the “Sun Sword,” Goz endured as he shed the armor engulfed in flames.

While he deftly dodged attacks, Goz closed his eyes and surrendered to the sounds.

Thanks to the “Wind Shield Blessing,” Goz could concentrate on the sounds of the Lamias he faced. With over twenty Lamias, every sound was identical, making Goz truly understand he was up against a formidable foe.

However, for all the identical Lamias, Goz was their worst match.

For some unknown reason, all of the Lamias lost their stance at once.

It must have been Vincent. The Emperor of Volakia, to whom Goz swore loyalty, had prepared a countermeasure even in such a crisis. It made him want to weep with gratitude.

Swallowing those tears, Goz raised the spear he held, twisting the middle of the long handle to dismantle it, splitting it into two—a striking part and a handle—he struck the striking part with the handle.

In an instant, a shockwave of sound spread, only hitting the disrupted Lamias.

“——”

The golden spear Goz swung was a unique weapon forged specifically for him, combining a long spear-like handle with a spherical striking part.

It weighed as much as ten humans in a single swing, and with Goz’s strength and special ears combined, he executed a technique impossible for others—”Howl,” which hits the unique vibrations held by each living being with identical sound.

Goz Ralfon, despite his boisterous appearance, possessed the ability to discern even the melody of wind and the skill to play every instrument delicately.

That deadly “Howl” was the reason Goz was called the “Lion Knight.”

Goz’s “Howl” attacked the Lamia who had grasped the unique vibrations and swelled, the undead princesses shattered.

—The same unfolded in different carriages unrelated to Goz’s battlefield.

Realizing that fire was ineffective against “Sun Sword,” Roswaal faced the Lamias and “Pruning Squad” using blades of wind and avalanches of earth.

With beastly power, Garfiel savagely tore apart both the Lamia and “Pruning Squad” and even the dragon carriages without distinction.

Emilia, freezing and reinforcing the rapidly crashing dragon carriages, fought against the Lamias while avoiding the mass of ice statues created by the “Pruning Squad.”

Everyone aboard the Dragon Carriage did not miss that instant created in an unforeseen manner.

They did not know who would create it, but they believed someone would.

Holding the luminous “Sun Sword,” Lamia Godwin was crushed one after another—

“—”

“Aggh!”

Biting her molars, the long leg of the Lamia swung toward the girl—Spica—who touched her back. Spica was sent flying violently, and Subaru and Beatrice, who were tethered to her, soared alongside her.

The reason was not just the Lamia’s leg strength. Thanks to Beatrice’s “Murak,” the gravity imposed on Subaru was reduced to the limit, making him as light as a ping pong ball.

“Go!”

“Going!”

As Subaru and Spica were blown away, Julius rushed toward the Lamia.

He tore through the dust of the “Pruning Squad” he had cut down, thrusting the knight’s sword imbued with a rainbow at the Lamia. Julius’s sword strike, infused with aurora, could slice through even the largest scissors of strong soldiers like pudding.

However, the “Sun Sword” the Lamia wielded also emanated more light and heat than Julius’s sword, directly facing his thrust.

A clash of swords resulted in an explosion of light, and both Julius and the Lamia were pushed back. They immediately countered, but the next round of sword fighting—did not begin.

“…You never laid a hand in the “Selection Ceremony,” did you?”

“—Ah, that’s true.”

With a soft smile, the Lamia’s words slipped out like a sigh. The one who responded to her was Abel, standing just behind her.

In Abel’s hand was a crude weapon with half its blade melted, a short and dull blade still piercing through the Lamia’s body from behind.

“Finally feeling like harming your blood sibling, huh?”

The undead’s vital points aren’t the heart or the head.

It was the core bug that caused all the activities that Beatrice and the others discovered in the vessel made of earth. As long as that was not destroyed, the undead would not stop functioning.

Yet, slowly, the “Sun Sword,” directed down towards the floor, began to drop. Before the tip stabbed into the ground, it seemed to vanish as if swallowed by the empty space.

The Lamia dropped it because her fingertips crumbled, unable to hold onto the sword.

“——”

Twisting her body, the Lamia pulled out the weapon still embedded in her body, shaking off Abel’s hand.

Stumbling along, she was in a dead state, seeming like she would shatter if someone simply picked up a weapon and poked her. In fact, Jamal showed a motion to slash with his melted twin swords, but that was held back by Abel’s extended arm.

And when the barely living Lamia turned to Abel, she said,

“Father and Brother Balroi are not here. They are satisfied.”

“—Lamia.”

At Lamia’s single, lingering word, Abel’s black eyes swayed.

Seeing that simple response, Lamia smiled slightly, her shattered, pale face narrowing her lifeless golden eyes in a mischievous smirk.

“—Tamugrif!”

Right after, the Lamia’s expression changed, calling out a name sharply.

It was a name that meant a great deal to several people present, though it was one that Subaru did not know.

Of course, it meant the same to the one addressed.

“Alclauseia!”

Reacting instantly, Julius painted an aurora across the air.

He danced the tip of his sword and created a wall of aurora, using the power of spirits borrowed. Julius’s decision saved everyone’s lives aboard the vehicle.

But at the same time, the wall made to protect them prevented actions, causing the next move to be delayed.

Responding to the Lamia’s voice, a light bullet shot through the side of the carriage.

That bullet exploded against the walls of the dragon carriage, shooting through the people inside, while the aurora defended them. However, the light bullet that could not be fully blocked tore off the roof, leaving the inside of the carriage wide open.

Gliding toward that exposed interior was not a swarm of undead dragons thrown repeatedly at the “Pruning Squad”—no, it was a single one performing acrobatics far superior than those.

That black undead dragon dove into the carriage, swirling strong winds and snatching away the Lamia.

With her arm already gone after dropping the “Sun Sword,” the Lamia was taken into the sky by a single undead—

“—Lord Balroi!?”

“Balroi…”

“Balroi!?”

That unexpected sight drew chunks of shock from multiple voices.

But among them, the most profound surprise and the greatest sorrow came from.

“Brother Bal!? Brother Bal—!!”

With wide eyes, Medium muttered, the undead he called did not reply.

Only, pulling the reins of the undead dragon from which she was plucked, he reared it up into the sky. The undead dragon that carried the undead now turned its head away from the dragon carriage, flying away.

With every run of the Dragon Carriage, with every flight of the undead dragon, the distance between the two expanded.

“Brother Bal!? Brother Bal—!!”

Desperately stretching out her hands, Medium chased after the shadow disappearing in an instant.

But Flopp, leaping from behind, caught and stopped his sister’s reckless rampage. After all, the “Pruning Squad” was still in the dragon carriage.

“Oh, oh no—!!”

Those covered in black armor let out low growls, raising their massive scythes.

It was as if they were intent on seeing their lord escape.

When their lord was defeated in the “Selection Ceremony,” they had failed to accomplish that due to being beaten by the “Blue Lightning.” Now, as undead, they intended to fulfill that wish.

“Everybody, don’t let your guard down till the end!”

Anastasia’s command flew, and Julius, the first to receive that spirit, ran.

Those who could fight took their weapons, clashing against the “Pruning Squad,” and this time, that clash would annihilate even the last soldier.

—Yet, that was correctly to buy time until their lord escaped, and to vividly bloom the final flower of this raid by the “Pruning Squad.”

△▼△▼△▼△

—At the same time Balroi Temegurif snatched away Lamia Godwin and flew off.

Collapsed on the tracks where the Dragon Carriage ran far away, the old man covered his face with his hands.

Everywhere his body ached painfully, and his burnt foot audaciously cried out. But that pain and those wounds were not what the old man had wished for.

Pain or wounds didn’t matter. —Why had he not perished again?

“I was given an opportunity.”

Lying on his back on the ground, cursing his shameful self, she spoke to him.

She did not take a human form. Only her supple and strong beast form, which the people of the Volakia Empire praised as superb, was complete.

She had acted with the group left behind to relay information, and in that moment she saw the old man’s figure fly out with the flames of “Meteora.”

And right before the old man crashed to the ground, she had plucked him from death.

“An opportunity, you say…”

“When you were thrown from the dragon carriage, I could not reach in time. However, the dead who jumped out together pushed you away.”

“——”

“In that fleeting moment, my legs arrived just in time. That is all I can say to you.”

Slowly shaking her head, the beautiful golden-furred leopard told the old man.

He understood what that meant and what she wanted to say. However, the truth was incomprehensible.

That person may have simply found it bothersome to pounce and had shoved him away. He was a person whose true intent was completely opaque.

And not knowing what they were thinking was a common trait amongst all the Volakia royals.

“—You, making such a regretful expression.”

“—”

Her unexpected face rose in his memory, causing the old man to choke on something.

What exactly that was, even he did not know. Just, simply think.

“If the Empire gained from killing my sister—Lady Lamia, then take responsibility…! Fulfill the duties of an Emperor!”

A sheep disguised as a wolf or goat, or maybe neither, or both, the old man croaked out those words.

That was the truth hidden behind the eyes, narrow like threads.

The old man—Chancellor Belstet Fondalfon bit his lip in shame and gasped.

△▼△▼△▼△

—The Crystal Palace, once said to be one of the world’s most beautiful castles, had undergone drastic changes.

Within the castle, the undead roamed freely, and the scars from the uprisings centered on the recent Imperial Capital had not healed even a little; only death and destruction remained, with no life or rebirth to offset it.

Thus, the Crystal Palace lost its original beauty, morphing into a cursed realm where horrors proliferated.

However—

“—”

Quietly, those eyelids housing crimson eyes opened, a presence that didn’t lose beauty even in that cursed realm.

Her lengthy orange hair had unraveled, and the luxurious parts of her blood-red dress were ripped apart, dirt covering her snow-white skin; yet, they could not taint her at all.

Truly beautiful things do not require any wrapping to be recognized.

Most importantly—

“Ripped hair and torn clothing would seem splendid compared to how you are now.”

“…You really know how to say it, Priscilla.”

When her old name was called with that sweet-sounding tone, Priscilla Barielle narrowed her eyes.

Her raised arms were bound by special chains, forced to stand in the way a captive would. Still, there was not a trace of weakness in Priscilla’s eyes or her demeanor.

No matter where she was made to stand or bound, it gave her no reason to bend.

In the underground dungeon of the Crystal Palace in the Imperial Capital Rupugana, Priscilla observed the figure of Lamia Godwin, now turned undead, who had come to visit her.

Nine years old, she looked the same age as when she died, possessing the typical undead skin and eyes; yet the magnetic presence that had earned her the title of “Poison Princess” remained intact.

That, in her tattered dress and cracked half-body, was no longer recognizable.

Being undead meant that broken parts could be repaired. If not, she could simply replace herself with a new vessel made of earth. Observing the undead, Priscilla came to understand.

The reason Lamia, who extremely disliked unsightliness, stood before her in such a state.

“What’s this? Are you going to die again, Lamia?”

“Well, how do I address my elder sister? But yes, it seems the connection to my hollow box has been severed… oh, no, it feels more like it was eaten away.”

“——”

“By the way, listen, Priscilla. I was killed by Brother Vincent. You would never have been treated so dearly.”

The still intact hand, which seemed ready to crumble at any moment, was placed near her mouth as Lamia grinned.

Whether that was something to be proud of depended on individual values, but Priscilla simply snorted quietly. In response, Lamia narrowed her golden eyes and smiled sweetly.

“Honestly, it was so boring. You and Brother Vincent are about the only ones I can have a proper chat with.”

“There have been countable instances where you and I have conversed properly.”

“It’s not a matter of frequency, you silly sister.”

Murmuring, Lamia’s hand pressed against her mouth crumbled away.

Slowly, she lost that form. The more she stood before Priscilla, the impossible sight was thrust into her vision.

However, Priscilla did not close her eyes. Instead, she gazed at Lamia with her crimson dual eyes.

Gazing intently, she spoke.

“If your role is completed, depart swiftly, Lamia. —I will watch over you again.”

At those words from Priscilla, Lamia slightly lifted her brows.

Afterward, she sweetly laughed like poison, saying,

“What a cold-hearted sister you are.”

As far as Priscilla could recall, those were precisely the last words and smile of her sister while she was alive.

△▼△▼△▼△

“Was that really okay for the last conversation between sisters?”

A light-hearted male voice inquired toward Priscilla, who had witnessed Lamia’s end.

Turning her face in the direction of the faint footsteps, she made eye contact with a handsome undead who had descended the dungeon stairs. A roguish face, with eyes bearing a resemblance to those of other undead.

Yet his demeanor distinctly drew a line from the inferior undead, much like Lamia.

“It was you. The one who brought Lamia back to the castle.”

“You’re quite the resilient one, aren’t you? You managed to descend alone to the depths in that state. Truly, as befits the noble lady of Volakia… as a citizen of the Empire, I am proud.”

“A traitor who dared to challenge the Emperor speaks with such disingenuousness.”

“Those words leave me with no standing… but if we’re speaking of transgressors against the Empire, I guess my wife and I aren’t much different either.”

His manner and the way he stepped out from the shadows.

Clearly seeing the figure before her, Priscilla confirmed what she had only speculated about from his voice. This undead’s name is Balroi Temegurif, a former “Nine Divine Generals” of the Empire.

And Priscilla had known him from her time in the Empire. When Priscilla was the wife of the man who was a mid-ranking noble in the Empire, her first husband.

Even so, there was no way to rekindle old ties between life and death.

“What do you want? Surely, it’s not merely about that foolish question from earlier?”

“Of course, while witnessing Lady Lamia’s end is part of my duty… I’ve brought a meal for you, my lady.”

Saying that, Balroi revealed a silver tray hidden behind his back.

It was similarly covered with silver, a formal dish like one might find in a restaurant, but Priscilla narrowed her crimson eyes.

“I do not want it.”

“Come now, let’s not be like that. We’re all dead, aren’t we? With no need for food, I have no concept of what a living person like you would require for a meal. If I don’t bring it, such a beauty might be wasted.”

He smiled with a lifeless, colorless face, opening the lid on that meal.

As warm steam and fragrance began to waft, Priscilla shut one eye in expectation of what she would see.

For a dish made by the undead, it looked surprisingly standard.

“Regrettably, I can’t taste it to see if it’s bad, but I don’t think it’d be bad since I’m accustomed to making it. Oh, pardon me for serving you a commoner’s meal.”

“——”

In response to the silent Priscilla, Balroi took a fork from the tray, piercing the dish and bringing it to her mouth.

Priscilla’s arms were tied to the ceiling. She understood there wasn’t much to be done about it.

“Your head I shall chop with my own hands.”

Calmly expressing that, Priscilla placed the offered dish in her mouth.

It wasn’t terrible. But it was cheap. Even using ingredients found within the castle, if the cook’s skill and ideas are subpar, the finished product wouldn’t be top-notch.

Feeling the pressure of Priscilla’s silence, Balroi forced a smile on his undead face. In that smile, he glimpsed feelings that weren’t directed at Priscilla.

“Well, come to think of it, there was a time I was unfair punishment feeding a girl locked up for bad behavior like this.”

Sensing the change in the air, Balroi hastily revealed the true intent of his smile.

That response made Priscilla feel unpleasant, so she commanded him to wipe her mouth.

“Why are you all trying to destroy the Empire? What do you seek in your resurrection?”

“—The former is not something I can answer. But the latter is straightforward.”

With that unwavering smile evaporating, Balroi replied directly.

In response to the change in Balroi’s demeanor, Priscilla too instinctively became aware. Within him—nay, a similar anger existed that had also been in Lamia.

Without betraying that impression of Priscilla—

“The wish of the undead is always to settle grievances.”

So, revealing the ultimate desire of the undead, Balroi Temegurif broke into a lifeless laughter.

△▼△▼△▼△

“I… can’t take it anymore, you bastard!”

Kicking at the wet ground, he turned sharply around the corner. Just then, he slammed into a wooden box and exclaimed, “Whoa!” as he tumbled dramatically.

Pain shot through his forehead inside the helmet he wore as he hit the wet cobblestones, and sparks flickered in his vision. This was not a situation where he could afford to spin around and get destroyed.

He had to get up quickly.

If he didn’t, he would be in trouble. —At his heels was the observer called “Vivha,” known for “Dissection.”

“If I don’t, my insides will be spilled again…”

“It’s already here.”

“—”

Chilled to the bone, he quickly drew the blue dragon blade from his waist. Without bothering to take a stance, he swung it wildly, aiming to hit his opponent regardless of where they might be.

However, the blue dragon blade that should have struck everywhere missed, and in return, a searing pain shot through his armpit, disarming him of the weapon.

“Gah—!”

“Struggling is useless. You are unique compared to others. If you bleed needlessly and become worthless, you will have no value.”

Tightening his sides where blood gushed, he desperately tried to stop the flow. Ideally, he wanted to use his remaining hand to apply pressure to the wound, but it would be too long before his hope could be fulfilled once he let go of his arm.

Gasping in pain, behind him, a blue-haired undead brandished a curved knife in both hands and turned to him with a sinister grin.

Those golden eyes glared unblinkingly as they stared at the bleeding intruder.

He did not seem to harbor a sadistic hobby. Judging by the dozens of previous encounters, his true goal appeared to be experimentation.

It seemed he wanted to confirm something using the living body. Most likely, he had engaged in that very act since he was alive, earning the title “Dissector.”

“Struggling or running away is futile, huh? Why not make it one glorious end, then?”

“An end is not on the table. I merely want to confirm something.”

“Right, so…”

Realizing that conversing was pointless, he glanced downward at the distant blue dragon blade. Luckily, it hadn’t rolled too far away, so it looked as if he could reach it by simply diving.

The concern was whether he could properly line it up with his neck. If he failed, he’d only prolong his agony. —He couldn’t afford to hesitate now.

“—!”

One second for judgment, one second to resolve, and not even a full second to act. Before the Dissector made his next move, he dived for the blue dragon blade without warning.

The gory miscalculation in Vivha’s movement allowed him that one misstep, and during that moment, he pulled the blade towards his own neck—

“No, no, no! You’re far too hasty for your afterlife!”

“Eh!?”

As he attempted to slide the blue dragon blade, it was halted by something pressing down from above. Looking up, it was small feet; followed by a slender waist and an incredibly cheerful smile.

With one foot placed right on the dragon blade, a child-like intruder was causing chaos.

“Child or not, this certainly isn’t the condition I was hoping for.”

Vivha did not hesitate and, without a moment’s pause, rotated the knives held in both hands to stab at the child’s vital point.

To disable his hands and feet, and then move on to check the insides—what a terrible routine.

As that blade approached him, the child raised their eyebrows.

“Well, well! The poise of the sudden charming intruder is truly impressive! However—”

“—!?”

In the next instant, Vivha’s shocked head flew off, detached from its body.

Vivha’s hand, wielding the knife, was kicked by the child, breaking the arm while forcing the undead’s own blade to decapitate him.

Moreover, the child nimbly switched their foot on the blue dragon blade, using the next kick to impale Vivha’s remaining torso, smashing the unnecessary undead body into pieces.

“Regrettably, I don’t appreciate vile scoundrels like you appearing together!”

The child cheerfully proclaimed that contrary to the deadly dance they had just performed.

Meanwhile, the head of the disembodied Vivha, wearing an expression of disbelief, turned to dust, swept away by the winds of the Imperial Capital.

Watching that unfold, the boy, who was still lying on the ground in shock, could do nothing but stay there, his one foot raised as the child spun around.

“Excuse me coming over your sword. You see, the ground is wet, right? My footwear is Zori, and it becomes extremely unpleasant when wet! Therefore, I’m doing it this way!”

“Ah, that’s not an issue for me…”

Looking up at the foolishly posed child while sitting on the ground and crossing his legs, Ar glanced down at where he was sitting. Indeed, his rear was soaked and uncomfortable, but it was too late for anything at this point.

“More importantly, I could use assistance for my current situation. Could you lend a hand?”

“Ah, indeed, with one arm, it would be quite inconvenient. That unique appearance of yours is extremely high on my likability scale, so it would be a shame to part ways here! Very well!”

That child said in a carefree voice, adding energetically, “However!” while pointing toward a nearby building’s roof.

“As I stated, I do not wish to wet my Zori! So let’s move to higher ground first. In the meantime, be careful not to bleed out, noble helmeted sir!”

“…I’m called Al, you mischievous boy.”

“Hahaha! Mischievous boy! You speak like the boss, don’t you!”

As the child laughed heartily, the man—Al let out a long breath.

This was no ordinary child, but he couldn’t shake how the words spilled out felt reminiscent of someone he knew.

Whether this encounter turned out well or ill, in any case—

“Just you wait, Priscilla…I’ll save you for sure.”

△▼△▼△▼△

Three heads lost power, finally collapsing their massive forms to the ground.

Their wings torn, countless hidden weapons stabbed into their bodies, and despite all effort to identify what might be critical, it was impossible to discern.

The only thing that could be said was—

“I’m not exactly compatible with these ‘Zombies!’”

Waving her sleeves, Halibel muttered as she watched the gradually disintegrating “Three-Headed” dragon.

Expending the clones she split off, she sighed heavily. Facing off against a dragon was quite the taxing challenge.

Ideally, she wished to avoid monster hunting any further.

“Still, Ana said something about how the same thing turns into a Zombie…”

If that were, in fact, the truth, then it was entirely plausible that the recently defeated “Three-Headed” would reappear.

Undoubtedly, Halibel would be able to win again, but the conditions under which she could fight without involving anyone else were dubious. Moreover, it was troubling as a contracted servant if her hands were tied during that time. Though Julius, who stayed by Anastasia’s side, was capable—

“I doubt he will handle it as well as I would.”

Cracking her neck, she drew in a smokepipe she’d been unable to enjoy during combat.

Then, having witnessed the “Three-Headed” body disappear, Halibel turned and leaped far beyond, searching for the Dragon Carriage that had finally left her behind.

And,—

“Man, I’d prefer having the candy for doing my hard work. …Oh, I guess I can’t have any candy without dying, huh?”

She grumbled while running after the tracks of the carriage that would lead far away.