In the Crystal Palace of the Imperial Capital Rupugana, once the audience chamber, Roswaal Dunkelken, the sneaky Shinobi, waved his right arm, missing from the elbow down, and frowned.

　“Finally stopped moving, huh? Seriously, that old man should be less of a downer.”

　Shrugging with exaggerated slowness, Roswaal sighed in front of him lay the hideous remains of a grotesque Shinobi who also disgusted him—these remnants, altered beyond recognition, hardly even worthy of the title Undead.

　Roswaal considered the treatment of such a grotesque thing as merely a quick mercy.

　The dead Undead come back with their memories intact. Furthermore, reviving an Undead consumes the mana from the ‘Stone Block’ supporting the Empire’s land. Thus, killing Undead requires the bare minimum of instructions.

　“Even so, it’d probably be better to just kill it. It’s downright alarming that it makes me think that way.”

　Respect for life and mercy for the weak—those things are luxuries only those with an abundance of time can afford, and the aged Roswaal had long since discarded such notions.

　For Roswaal, the audience chamber—or rather, the “soul” laboratory—had far exceeded acceptable bounds.

　“The way this is set up reminds me of the folks who created Arakia. They do such things even when it’s neither a game nor revenge, it’s truly unbearable. Though, I’ve disposed of them already.”

　As Roswaal muttered, the memory of an especially vile group he had eliminated in the past floated before his mind.

　To create the perfected form known as “Spirit Eater Arakia,” they sacrificed countless victims, justifying their actions with a sense of mission or claims of bettering the Empire’s future.

　The scene of devastation in this audience chamber—where the souls of the Undead, revived in crude clay vessels, mingled and transformed. This barbarism wasn’t for winning this war; rather, it pursued goals that disregarded the immediate victory or defeat. One could feel in it a similar sense of detached pursuit of results as those perverse individuals.

　And Roswaal understood that he was touched by that pursuit as well.

　“—They’re trying to mess with souls, aren’t they?”

　With Shinobi techniques, Roswaal could round and compress the souls—known as Odo—of others. Though it had been stolen from Chisha, it merely brushed against the surface.

　However, this seeker was after something beyond that.

　What specifically that was, Roswaal had no way of knowing—

　“I’m feeling a bad premonition, Your Excellency. —As I thought, there’s no room for me to betray them, is there?”

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　△▼△▼△▼△

　—The defeat of the subhuman alliance in the “Subhuman War” and the personal defeat of Sphinx.

　Regarding that defeat, Sphinx found herself lacking many words.

　Though she had lived for over three hundred and fifty years, most of that time hidden away and focused on survival, she found herself unable to overcome the one who had set their sights on defeating her.

　If one were to express what had transpired, that would be the only need to say.

　To honestly speak, being defeated by a disciple of the “Witch of Greed” held no significant sentiment for Sphinx as she stood upon the brink of death.

　Originally, her attachment to life was virtually nonexistent. Prioritizing her survival for so long stemmed from a rational belief that it served her purpose of creation.

　And even as she faced her imminent disappearance without fulfilling that purpose, all that remained was a primal aversion to relinquishing her goal of creation.

　Thus, her instinct led her to flee into the underground of the Royal Castle of Lugnica, where she once again mustered the will to shake off the disciple of the “Witch of Greed.”

　However, this escape, devoid of attachment to life, altered Sphinx’s fate.

　“—You have your uses. You will be of service to fulfill my desires.”

　In that man’s murky eyes flickered the fiery blaze of overwhelming ambition.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　△▼△▼△▼△

　—The “Sun Blade” Volakia’s flames burn away whatever it has decided to eradicate.

　Vincent Volakia and Natsuki Subaru conspired to convince Sphinx that the Emperor, for some reason, had let go of the crimson sword.

　Thus, amid a fierce gamble for lives, the flames scorched the Sphinx, who lost in the deception.

　The blade of the “Witch” Sphinx caught in the fire of the “Sun Blade” reached the soul of the carrier of the “Great Calamity,” reborn as an Undead, igniting not only the multiple Sphinxes confronting Vincent and the others but also the Sphinx waiting in the Crystal Palace and the Sphinx observing the various battlefields across the Imperial Capital, simultaneously igniting countless Sphinxes set to launch an assault across the entire Empire.

　“—Needs countermeasures.”

　As she was burned by the bright flames, the slashed Sphinx muttered this. Yet, even with the advantage of being an Undead with diminished pain perception, she could not prolong her burning existence.

　Shall she abandon the multiple bodies already scorched and execute the plan through a new Sphinx learned from this “death”?—No, that’s impossible.

　The flames of the “Sun Blade” are consuming Sphinx’s soul.

　As the core of her existence burns and she seeks to create a new Undead Sphinx, the clay body cannot avoid burning while trying to be formed.

　“――”

　There are no countermeasures. With that sensation of being backed into a corner, the body of this Sphinx collapses.

　Burning to death, even if she learned from this “death” and moved on, her rebuilt body would again be ablaze, leaving only the conclusion that no countermeasures exist.

　It’s the end, the end. The journey of the failed creation known as the “Witch of Greed,” Sphinx, who took long to traverse the world, concludes here.

　Despite her best efforts and laying ample traps, it was not enough.

　This felt identical to the defeat she experienced during the “Subhuman War.” Back then too, Sphinx did everything in her power and ultimately faced death.

　What kept her from the same fate this time was not her own actions; it was external interference.

　And this time, she could not expect the same.

　Because, that one who saved her back then, that ambitious person no longer exists.

　Lipe Bariel is dead. So now—

　“—Needs reconsideration.”

　Suddenly, as she was poised to meet her demise engulfed by flames, Sphinx made a move.

　With the flames of the “Sun Blade” alight across her entire being, Sphinx placed a finger beneath her chin and blew away the core insect residing within her head, invoking “death.”

　And this act would trigger a chain reaction among the Sphinxes throughout the battlefield, in the capital, and across the entire Empire.

　““—Needs reconsideration.””

　She did not act out of despair. She was not dominated by a deathwish.

　Simply put, Sphinx could integrate her memories into her soul through death. By having countless Sphinxes die simultaneously, she could accumulate myriad memories, forming a collective knowledge of herself.

　Of course, the accumulated memories would burn and be reduced to ashes in due time.

　However, as long as she continued to create herself, burning since birth, Sphinx would perpetually pile on considerations and discussions regarding the circumstances and countermeasures.

　Once, she had no sentiment towards “death.” But now, it was different.

　“““—Needs resistance.””

　Resisting, resisting, resisting, Sphinx collected and examined every possibility.

　The resolutions of various peaks, the soul experiments in the Crystal Palace, the history of the Volakia royal family, “Spirit Eater,” foreign elements from the kingdom, “Star Reader,” destiny, the “Great Calamity,” every possibility, every fragment of phenomena.

　—And then,

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　△▼△▼△▼△

　—Priscilla, chained in her cell, witnessed all the events that transpired before the Sphinx right in front of her with her crimson eyes.

　In an instant, that “Witch,” engulfed in blazing red flames, was unmistakably brought about by the “Sun Blade” passed down in the Volakia Empire, this Priscilla knew at a glance.

　She also knew that it was Vincent Volakia who delivered that crimson flame to the “Witch.”

　“Finally decided to flip the trump card. Truly, you’re utterly unpredictable, elder brother.”

　It was self-evident to Priscilla, also a member of the Volakia royal family, that Vincent had kept the “Sun Blade” unsheathed as a trump card. Naturally, considering the troublesome nature of the “Sun Blade,” it was also no surprise that Vincent could not afford to rely on it recklessly.

　Regardless, having lost in a battle of deception, the “Witch” was destined to be obliterated by the flames—

　“What have you done?”

　“—Needs reconsideration.”

　The flames of the “Sun Blade” burn what it wishes to burn, and the blade cuts what it intends to cut.

　This principle cannot be bent. Yet, right before Priscilla, the “Witch,” who should have been consumed by the bright flames, slowly emerged from its fiery grasp.

　The flames ceased to burn the “Witch.”

　The flames of the “Sun Blade” burn what it wishes to burn, and the blade cuts what it intends to cut.

　Therefore, the fate of the “Witch” Sphinx, struck by Vincent’s “Sun Blade,” could not be changed.

　However—

　“What are you?”

　If what was meant to be burned, what was meant to be cut, becomes something different, then it’s a different story.

　Vincent must have killed the “Witch,” the Sphinx, with the “Sun Blade.”

　Yet, the form that emerged from the flames was not the “Witch” Priscilla knew.

　The cracked, pale-blue skin, the eyes that sank gold into the black, the youthful appearance like a young girl—all were discarded, and that existence stood before Priscilla.

　With long, white hair extending down to her back, and black eyes filled with transparent, intellectual curiosity. —White and black, one could express that existence in those two colors alone.

　“What are you?”

　“—I am the ‘Witch of Greed.’”

　In response to Priscilla’s repeated question, a calm, confident answer came forth.

　It was the being that, at the end of a long time, fulfilled its purpose of creation, transforming the nature of its soul—the embodiment of the “Witch of Greed” stepped forth, freed from the fate of being burned.

　“The purpose of creation has been fulfilled. —I shall go fulfill my purpose of living.”

 

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