“—Gorgeous Tiger?”

The moment the voice reached Garfiel, his consciousness was violently shaken.

He coughed hard, gulping down water and spitting it out of his body in mass. Shaking off the water, Garfiel forced visual information into his mind, which was reeling from oxygen deprivation.

A dimly lit, cold underground space.

The hard stone floor was soaked with a torrent of water pouring in. Through the hole in the wall behind him, muddy water fell into the room, reverberating against the clear air.

He felt numerous gazes upon him. Anxiety, wariness, fear, defiance—various emotions mixed in the myriad of stares.

From the number of people and the colors of their gazes, Garfiel concluded that he was in one of the city’s shelters.

The collapsed waterway was adjacent to this shelter, and due to the wall being broken down, it was connected to this place. As a result, water had flowed in along with the torrent.

“—”

Reaching that understanding, Garfiel slapped his hazy consciousness awake.

He quickly raised his head, and the realization of how this water had flowed in sent shivers down his spine. He hurriedly turned his neck, immediately searching for the massive body that had fallen into the waterway nearby—

“…”

His gaze locked with that of a young boy with golden hair, his emerald eyes filled with tears.

A face he recognized. It was a face associated with memories that tightened his chest and ached his heart.

The boy connected to Garfiel’s mother—his younger brother, who should have been in the place he longed to be, receiving their mother’s love—

“—!?”

The consciousness he had just awakened was once again ensnared by unnecessary sentiment.

Right after that, a violent splash erupted right next to him, and a deformed giant rose from the shallow water surface. The giant swung its raised arm, mercilessly slamming it down onto the frozen Garfiel.

The blow came down, and Garfiel reacted a beat too late.

Late, and it would be lethal.

A moment of inattention granted his opponent the perfect opportunity.

And this time, Garfiel was up against a demigod, and their clash wouldn’t hold back.

Eight strikes rained down upon Garfiel.

One or two he could defend against. The remaining six strikes landed squarely on Garfiel.

A slap resonated against his face, and two strikes lifted his torso off the ground. His body became airborne, crashing down onto the water surface, and a punch fell squarely on his head from above.

His submerged face was crushed against the hard floor beneath, causing significant damage to his nose and teeth. Blood gushed out, staining the water crimson, and the moment he leaped up, blood from both his nose and mouth trailed behind him.

“Guh, cough… RAAAH!!”

Letting out a roar through gaps in his broken teeth, he shook off the reverberation from the impact to his head. He expelled breath into the underground atmosphere, and the demigod before him moved in as if welcoming it.

Their fists clashed. Garfiel tilted his neck, allowing a punch to slip past the side of his face, as he clawed deeply from his wrist to elbow. At the same time, his right arm reached for the giant’s neck, raking down to its stomach.

Bright red blood splashed from the sharp cuts, and the demigod’s body was dealt shallow damage.

However, the demigod’s counterattack continued with seven more strikes. Garfiel had to desperately evade every last one using his full body.

In this clash of a single strike, he faced eight in return.

Overwhelming disadvantages, overwhelming quantity, overwhelming strength—the fire ignited.

“W-OOOOH!!”

Close, closer, closer, closer, closer, closer, closer, closer!

Receive, deflect, dodge, redirect, crouch, parry, counterattack—!

Fists collided with each other, the shockwave scorching their fine hairs with killing intent.

The collision of their powerful blows let out a sound that seemed beyond mere flesh meeting flesh, and both their bodies were sent flying backward, unable to withstand the force.

As water splashed everywhere, the ferocious tiger clashed with the giant, rolling and tumbling in chaos.

Kurgan slammed into a back wall, while Garfiel found himself face to face with the water surface again. He immediately looked up, meeting Kurgan’s glare.

Silent words exchanged, yet their intentions connected in an instant.

Garfiel stood up, stomping the stone floor, still submerged in water up to his ankles.

The power of the “Spirit of the Earth” surged through his soles, causing a square piece of the floor beneath him to rise up. Kicking it aside, he let the water that was about to fill the underground space flood in all at once. The water level dropped drastically.

As Garfiel worked to drain the water, Kurgan headed keenly towards the hole from which water flowed in.

The hole that sent them downstairs was quite large, and the volume of water entering was considerable. If left unattended, the underground space would be completely submerged in just a few minutes.

In such a location, Kurgan drew out one of his demon knives. Fewer were left after Garfiel had chewed them up, leaving just three. Raising one above his head, Kurgan aimed directly at the top of the hole in the wall—the ceiling was smashed by an unyielding iron mass.

The soldiers’ keen eyes assessed the degree of the collapse, with the debris crashing down and blocking the hole. Of course, while some water still infiltrated, it was not enough to completely fill the underground.

The hole became sealed, the drain was completed, and the water that had been up to Garfiel’s ankles dissipated.

Without saying a word, the two warriors secured their positions and returned to face each other, poised for battle. A shield in one hand and three drawn demon knives in the other.

The hero “Eight-armed” Kurgan faced the challenger “Golden Tiger” Garfiel.

To crush the opponent in perfect condition—it was no longer just a matter of combat ethics among soldiers.

“—”

Garfiel was aware that this wasn’t the time for such things.

What was being asked of him was to return to the city hall, likely attacked, and rescue the non-combatants.

However, he had already faced the core of that problem long ago.

—Garfiel felt an odd sense of joy, though misplaced.

He had brutally lost to Reinhardt, the faith he had in the reunion with his mother had been sealed away with his memories, and he hadn’t even been able to avenge the kind-hearted girl who shielded him. He had put his allies in danger driving them toward the enemy’s designs.

Feeling impotent and burdened by loss, Garfiel had sensed losing a multitude of things slipping from his control.

Having left the “Sanctuary,” knowing the world and realizing his own weakness—Garfiel now understood.

When he was within the “Sanctuary,” he must have been much stronger. That much was evident. Back then, he had no points of comparison, and he held no doubts about the weapons he had honed.

Having left the “Sanctuary,” learning about the world, Garfiel had come to know various strengths.

Compared to his time in the “Sanctuary,” he did not believe he had weakened. However, by no longer having a reflected version of himself to compare against, he had become relatively weak.

The shift in his consciousness and realization of that result had been glaring over these last two days.

Impotence and feelings of loss stripped Garfiel’s heart bare, revealing him as just another brash kid. Confusion, regret, and doubt pierced at his chest, causing his heart to waver, wear down, and weaken.

—It was Kurgan who infused warmth back into that frayed, shrunken soul.

The hero “Eight-armed” Kurgan. A hero of the Volakia Empire. The strongest man of the multi-armed tribe.

He acknowledged Garfiel, the single warrior, as he readied his demon knife, and that meant so much to a Garfiel who had lost sight of his value.

Tumbling into the waterway like tangled bodies and having his consciousness go hazy from fighting in the unfamiliar water, Kurgan, who returned from death through sorcery, required no breath and could afford to wait for Garfiel to drown if he merely craved a decisive end.

However, the demigod smashed through the wall of the waterway and connected the way to the shelter, keeping Garfiel alive.

For what purpose?

“Initially… I thought perhaps you were being kind,” Kurgan admitted.

“—”

At first, he had not acknowledged Garfiel as a warrior, not with that uncertainty.

Dismissing the child attempting to throw a punch and trampling on his sobbing figure was not the act of a warrior. Thus, Kurgan simply distanced himself from Garfiel, who surrendered to his rage.

But that was different now.

Garfiel stood up, shield raised, and Kurgan recognized him as a warrior.

As he beheld the legendary demon knife poised against him, readiness to face the warrior unfolded right before him.

After witnessing that, it was impossible to think Kurgan’s actions towards Garfiel were driven by pity or kindness.

Kurgan sought it. A worthy conclusion to the fight with Garfiel.

—The clash of warriors only ends when one’s strike overcomes the other.

“Yo, you lot… how long do you plan on just standing there?”

Checking the sensation of the shields strapped to both arms, Garfiel inquired not of Kurgan but of the spectators scattered around him.

Since the two had washed ashore together, the people keeping silence remained distant from this clash of warriors—the evacuees.

A collection of mismatched appearances, ages, and races. Their commonality was a lack of fighting ability, a gathering of powerless non-combatants flitting away easily.

If Garfiel were to fall, there would be no one left to engage Kurgan, a brute faced with that degree of prowess. It was hard to imagine Kurgan would stoop to a monstrous act of exterminating non-combatants, but only Garfiel knew that as he confronted him.

So,

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? You lot standing there, watching as if you can do anything. Now’s the time to escape outside while you still can—”

“—Gorgeous Tiger!”

“Ah…?”

The shrill voice interrupted Garfiel’s urging to evacuate.

One that called him by that name in this place—only one individual in the crowd.

The boy’s eyes were moist, his face flushed as he tightly gripped the hem of his clothing.

He gazed back at Garfiel with such intensity, the strong will shimmering in his tear-filled eyes made Garfiel catch his breath.

“Hey, kid… what are you…”

“Gorgeous Tiger!”

“—”

“G-Gorgeous Tiger!”

The boy, shaking with his voice, continued to call.

Expressing emotions only thus, only in that name.

It was the name of the Golden Tiger. The name of the strongest tiger whom Garfiel Tinsel idolized.

Why invoke that name now? What was he trying to say?

Tears trailed down the flushed cheeks of the boy.

The shouting from the boy resonated in the ears of everyone underground. Thus, all felt the unarticulated passion contained in that voice.

“Just get out of here, I’m telling you!”

“Gorgeous Tiger!”

Garfiel’s breath was swallowed by the boy’s call for the Golden Tiger.

From behind him, a girl with the same golden hair embraced the boy. His older sister. She wrapped her arms around her brother protectively, her trembling gaze fixed on Garfiel.

Her lips quivered. A voice that could not form the words silently called for the Golden Tiger.

“Win for us!”

Neither the boy, nor the girl—nor even Garfiel himself.

One man in the underground gripped his fist, raising his voice.

“No, seriously, just escape already…”

“Fight, win!”

“Don’t lose!”

“I-I can only stand and watch…but!”

Stunned.

Each urging for Garfiel to evacuate was drowned out by a cacophony of voices.

Before Garfiel realized, that wave of heat instigated by the boy spread to everyone present in the underground. Nobody moved, all drawn to observe the duel between Garfiel and Kurgan.

Who would consider, from a rational standpoint, that remaining here was the right course of action? Everyone was swept away in fervor. They had surrendered to a conclusion that could lead them to sacrifice themselves for nothing more than a stubborn belief or a point of principle.

“—”

What the hell is this, Garfiel thought.

What purpose does it serve to stay here? What can he gain by voicing support?

It would be far better if they fled. Worries over collateral damage would evaporate, and the chances of casualties occurring after his downfall would lessen. It was far more rational.

So why did no one make a break for it?

“Commander… perhaps that speech had too much of an effect…”

The words of Natsuki Subaru came to mind, echoing through the city.

His words had touched the hearts of people throughout the city. Subaru’s strength, born from fragility, boldly lifted those paralyzed by anxiety and fear, igniting a fearful flicker of hope.

The moment that very location became all that mattered to them was now.

The moment that same instant meant everything to Garfiel was right here.

“Gorgeous Tiger!”

The support would not cease.

At the forefront, calling out for the Golden Tiger was Garfiel’s own younger brother, a sibling he’d only gradually accepted. Protecting that younger sibling was his own sister, who had emerged unbeknownst to them until now.

Both the brother and sister looked up to Garfiel.

The city that had welcomed their mother, who had lost her memories; its residents now looked towards Garfiel.

“A warrior’s duel… It’s too noisy for a simple clash.”

“—”

“Really, my apologies. I’ve put you through trouble. Especially the loudest ones; that ruckus is coming from my brother and sister. I’ll be sure to set them straight later.”

“—”

“So—”

The silent demigod’s stance brimming with combat intent.

Though he offered no words, the display spoke volumes.

He brought his clenched fists together, striking the shields that were affixed to his arms.

The sound of steel clashing sparked an inspiration as Garfiel bared his fangs and inhaled deeply.

“The ‘Sanctuary’s Shield’… Oh, no.”

“—”

“The ‘Gorgeous Tiger,’ Garfiel Tinsel.”

The call announcing the commencement of the duel between warriors.

In response to Garfiel’s declaration, Kurgan made no sound. The demigod simply slid his demon knife against each other, signaling maximum intention for battle against his opponent.

That alone was more than enough.

“GAAAHHH!!”

The stone floor erupted as Garfiel propelled himself forward.

Kurgan stepped in for a counterattack too, and in that instant, they obliterated the distance between them.

Sharp blows issued forth, dull slashes were delivered, and rapid-fire strikes unleashed.

The air compressed by the demon knife neither burst nor cut but was obliterated, and Garfiel’s warrior instincts sensed the fatality of that approaching blade.

One blow faced with eight, and eight against one.

The difference in the volumes of their attacks was like vying for a distant peak.

But unless one lay hands upon it, there was no reaching it. Thus, with all his might, Garfiel faced it.

“—”

The thrust aimed at his torso—if it landed, even without its edge, it would cleave through his body. Garfiel raised his foot without hesitation, crushing the incoming demon knife straight down.

His heel bit into the demon knife’s belly, its thick blade stabbing into the stone floor, and the sound of it grinding against the rock shook the city as if the world itself trembled.

The first strike was deflected, but there was no time for relief.

As Garfiel smashed down the demon knife into the ground, the second attack came at him like a sweeping arc from his left shoulder. As his right ear caught the cutting sound of the demon knife, Garfiel raised both of his shields to protect his head. The moment his arms rose with perfect timing, the attack hit home, blurring his consciousness.

The impact snapped his right arm at the elbow, crushing his upper arm and wrist. Gritting his teeth, he clenched tightly, feeling cracks form in his molars as he endured. That was the second strike.

The third and fourth strikes came in the form of unarmed fists, flying at him simultaneously.

If Kurgan’s fists were clenched tightly, they were the same size as a toddler’s head. The force they unleashed was akin to a cannonball, the results could be described as nothing less than terrifying.

Kurgan’s fists bore down on Garfiel, causing his mind to go blank from the impact aimed at his head. With the onslaught targeting both his body and head, if they landed, they would obliterate him.

A fist gouged into Garfiel’s abdomen, incinerating the surface of his muscles.

The punch felt as if it ignited his brain on some primal level, as it burned with brutal heat and tremendous power.

He twisted his body to avoid a direct hit, but it merely shredded the surface of his abdominal muscles. That was the third attack.

As sensations burned through him, he paired his right arm with the fourth punch aimed for his face, but was met with disastrous results; his right arm erupted.

From his fingertips to the wrist upwards, the compression crumbled the distinct shape of his arm. The shield fixed to his wrist flew away, yet the power behind Kurgan’s deflected fist lacked enough vitality to be fatal. Leaning back, Garfiel smashed his forehead against Kurgan’s fist.

The headbutt crushed the fourth blow, and he barely avoided that.

Remaining—five, six, seven, eight. Distant. Too distant. A smile appeared. His fangs trembled.

“—O-OOOH!!”

The fifth and sixth strikes were also unarmed. One demon knife remained, the finishing blow held back.

The two arms extending from below his shoulder began to fly at him simultaneously. He could not rely on his dead right arm for defense. His left could not catch up. Without hesitation, he thrust out with his right leg.

The soles of his shoes kicked up a slight splash, the earth relaying his intent at that moment.

He pulled strength from the ground again, and now he once more drew on its power—

The footing beneath distorted, Kurgan’s heel lifted.

Yet the warrior crushed that distortion without skipping a beat. He moved without hesitation. Not a trace of wavering. Still, all his focus was on Garfiel.

In that instant his focus shifted to his footing, Garfiel seized the opening to dart in.

His foot lifted and twisted, moving his head safely between the fast-flung strikes aimed at his body. He slipped through to rob away the two strikes.

The moment his foot landed, Garfiel was seized with dread over his judgment.

What led him to believe he could maneuver with such certainty? His thoughts and decisions weren’t even a fraction of a second apart. His mind was blazing. His heart was ablaze. His life was exploding in the moment.

Fifth and sixth strikes were sealed! And then, the seventh and eighth were inbound—

“—”

A chill ran through Garfiel as every single hair on his body stood on end.

The sixth strike had been dodged, and now Kurgan aimed for Garfiel with the last two to put him down—prepared for the kill.

—Seventh strike, the ultimate eighth strike slammed down.

Unguarded, the final blow plummeted.

Garfiel caught the demon knife’s hilt with his right arm, gripped tight. Power erupted in the ground as the tremendous cut aimed for Garfiel’s defense.

Sensing that, Garfiel’s vision faded to nothing; he realized he could be crushed anywhere in that complete encirclement.

There was no vision of escape.

No matter whether he stepped back, swerved, or pressed forward—death closed in.

It was clear as day: in one strike, he would be reduced to meat scraps.

Retreat was impossible. Retaliation would only be reckless—there was only one choice left; he had to take the blow!

Waving his unbroken left arm over his head, Garfiel crouched.

At that instant, the world echoed, the voices of his brother and sister and many others rang in his ears.

Judgment was in an instant, actions took mere moments, and consequences would follow right after.

“—”

The moment the demon knife was unleashed, Garfiel completely disconnected from the world.

Sound vanished, color faded, and all unnecessary sights disintegrated. The only presence remaining in his awareness was Kurgan’s existence.

The demon knife descended with an extraordinarily slow motion towards Garfiel.

Looking up, he staggered in an attempt to catch it as his own movements felt equally sluggish. In this maddeningly stagnant world, Garfiel could only grit his teeth.

No, he had time to reminisce.

Subaru appeared in his view. Ram could be seen. Mimi, Frederica, Ryuzu, Emilia, Otto, Roswaal, Beatrice, Petra, and all from the “Sanctuary”—and then there were his mother, Leicia, and his siblings.

In the fight within the “Sanctuary,” Garfiel recognized his weaknesses.

Understanding the expanse of the world, he first believed he had grown weaker upon his defeat to Reinhardt, which left him in that mindset of vulnerability, thinking he was lesser than before leaving the “Sanctuary.”

—That was unfounded.

If the number of burdens made him weaker, then what was the point of living?

He should merely strive to remain strong enough to protect what he carried.

“Ah—what a relief.”

A weight lifted off Garfiel’s chest.

In that instant, the blow of the demon knife struck his raised left arm shield, an explosion of thunder coursing through his body.

“—!!”

The left arm’s defense shattered instantly against the blow of the demon knife.

Much like the destruction of his right arm, his wrist, elbow, and bicep twisted painfully.

The familiar sight of both his arms turned into nightmares as excruciating pain turned his vision a deep crimson, and his thoughts faded to pure white. His mouth opened wide, a shriek rang out.

As his clenched jaw loosened, all his prior damage began to echo a chorus of despair.

The momentum of the demon knife did not halt.

It crushed his left arm, and the remaining energy drew ever closer to Garfiel’s throat. With sufficient power to crush his petite body to pieces.

What thoughts filled the warrior’s heart as the young warrior’s scream reached near death?

Did he harbor compassion or pity—neither held true.

Until the very last moment that life was snuffed out, surely no warrior would show such sentiment toward another.

“—AAAHHH!”

Garfiel cried out in agony, his head bowed low. The mournful tone trailed off and—

“—Ah, ah…”

The cry of despair was cut short, and his jaw closed shut. As it clenched again, a silvery gleam sparkled within his sights.

The silver shield that had fallen from his destroyed right arm was clamped against Garfiel’s chin.

“G-GAAAHHH!!”

He threw his head back, the shield-and-death struggle inserting itself in the path of the demon knife.

The second defense via the shield smashed his face down as blood exploded from Garfiel’s nose. His fangs shattered. Yet, his knees would not buckle.

The power of his robust neck and jaw prevented the demon knife’s strike from landing fully.

Steel clashed against steel, emitting sparks—flames erupted, and Garfiel’s consciousness launched far away.

“—”

Halfway through white-eyed, he still slightly tilted his head. What determination lay behind that?

Was it the instinct to fight? Or perhaps the very essence of a beast’s struggle and survival?

Suddenly, blood gushed forth. A torrent of crimson sprayed, painting the underground red with bursting flowers.

The source came from Kurgan’s right arm—the last segment still grasping the demon knife.

The recent collision left a wound inflicted by Garfiel, and from that point, the bone showed right up to the elbow. That cut fully tore open.

Kurgan’s expression bore no surprise. There was no groan of pain.

Naturally not. He was a corpse. Pain sensations were meant only for the living, a lifeline to confirm the flame of life—no function shared by the dead.

Thus, Kurgan missed the impact of his imperfect right arm.

To truly guarantee everything, he should have unleashed his final strike with his sound left arm.

That fact cannot be declared as the dividing line between victory and defeat—

But,

“—Ah.”

With the eighth strike barely dodged, Garfiel exhaled through his bloodied face.

The shield he had clutched fell away. Before him stood Kurgan, stripped of his arms, entirely exposed.

Garfiel’s right and left arms crumbled completely, and both legs could no longer take the repeated impacts, suffering ruptured muscles. Yet, he could still take one more leap.

What would he do upon leaping? He could not use his arms or claws. What remained was—

“U-UAAAAGHHHH!!”

He yelled, opening wide as he lunged at Kurgan’s neck.

Garfiel’s fangs sank into the base of the demigod’s throat where he stood frozen. His jaws pierced through the tough skin with ease, tearing inclusion from vital organs essential for life.

With ferocious tenacity, he twisted, catching the tendons, coiling, digging into the divine form until half of Kurgan’s neck was crushed, devoured at last by Garfiel’s beastly jaw.

“G-GAAAHHH!”

Dropping mercilessly to the ground, Garfiel spat out the flesh he had torn. Gagging, he turned around to observe Kurgan, who was bleeding profusely from his neck.

He was a mess, shoulders drooping, his fangs shattered, all covered in blood.

Yet, Garfiel stood before Kurgan, riddled with fatal wounds, proudly upright, unwavering bravery displayed at his core. This sight alone hinted strongly at the essence of a hero.

“—”

Slowly, Kurgan turned towards Garfiel.

Draped on the ground, gazing up, the demigod clasped his arms calmly.

Then,

“—Magnificent.”

A single, gravely low voice commended the victor.

“A…”

Garfiel was afforded no time to respond.

Amidst his wide-open eyes, Kurgan’s figure crumbled to dust in a heartbeat.

The towering giant collapsed like sand, its monstrous visage turned to ashes.

An all too sudden end, returning the dead back to the realm of death—that was the result.

“…It’s not a story of being honorable.”

Garfiel spitefully murmured at the vanishing, ash-like exit of Kurgan.

He didn’t yearn for a pathetic clinging to life. In a battle for survival, the abruptness of endings was only natural.

Thus, this sentiment was no different than Garfiel’s bitter musings.

“Ah, damn… I’m really gonna die…”

He had lost far too much blood.

Lying on the ground, he drew power from the “Spirit of the Earth,” gathering mana and casting healing magic to mend his frayed body. Notably, his arms and face were in dire states.

The damage from above hadn’t fully subsided, and he had endured numerous hits. It was only natural for extensive injuries to remain.

“Gorgeous Tiger!”

Calls rang out as he focused on healing.

Stepping through the puddles were his brother and sister. Others were hurrying over too, but to Garfiel, it was only the two of them in his eyes.

Both wore faces loaded with near tears—no, they were indeed crying.

No wonder. Even for a layman’s view, Garfiel’s current state was anything but ordinary. Even an experienced healer would turn pale and immediately leap to action.

He had surpassed the boundary between life and death; this was proof he had crossed a dangerous line.

Naturally, pride swelled within him—

“Sure, I’m alive… but I can’t afford to stop!”

He had overcome the “Eight-armed” Kurgan and achieved victory, but he couldn’t cease his efforts.

This was Garfiel’s battle, but it was one he did not shoulder alone. While they were stalling here, there could be comrades in peril elsewhere.

He had to return to the city hall, so Garfiel rose.

Upon hearing that, his siblings approached, their faces changing. Particularly his younger sister, her expression twisted in fury.

“W-What are you, stupid!? Just lie still! I-I’ll call for a doctor right away…!”

“There’s definitely someone else who’ll need a doctor more than I do. I’ve got other things to do, you little brat.”

With flushed cheeks, Garfiel nodded toward his sister. His bloodied face looked terrible. Tears streamed down her eyes.

Just then, the mangled bones of both arms began to mend. While the flesh remained unrepaired, it wouldn’t be anything serious to endure with a blow that might knock him unconscious. He judged that and then stood up.

“W-Wait… Are you really going?!”

“…Did you hear the announcement?”

“Uh… y-yeah.”

Dripping blood from his fingertips, Garfiel muttered, receiving the nod from his sibling.

That voice had given courage to his brother and sister, granting Garfiel the final push he needed. Therefore, he needed to respond to that voice.

If Subaru said it was alright, then he had to believe it would indeed be alright.

“So I’m telling you—”

“Wait a second!”

As Garfiel’s blood-starved body swayed, his knees buckled beneath him. Just as he felt himself about to fall, his anxious younger sister caught him, prompting Garfiel to click his tongue.

Then, directly in front of him stood his brother.

“Gorgeous Tiger.”

“…What is it? If you’re here to tell me to stop, I’m not taking that.”

“No, it’s not that. Gorgeous Tiger, your clothes are glowing!”

At his brother’s remark, Garfiel lowered his gaze to notice.

At the waist of his tattered garb, a faint light glimmered from the fabric.

Tucked within was a communication mirror. He had put it away, deeming it useless since he couldn’t contact the city hall. That it was shining softly meant—

“I thought it had broken…”

“I-I’ll get it out for you!”

Garfiel let out a breath, and before he could say more, his sister swiftly dug into his pocket and pulled out the communication mirror. The light spilling across its surface indicated the other half was attempting to connect.

In other words, someone from the city hall or another organization was reaching out.

“W-What should I do?!”

“Bring it over here. —Who is it?”

Cautiously, his sister edged the glowing communication mirror toward Garfiel. Peering into its surface, he initiated the call.

The mirror slowly began to flicker.