A light cuts through the darkness, stirring a flicker of hope within the chest. The seemingly inevitable end looming right before them starts to feel like something that can be pushed away, repelled, or escaped if they try hard enough, causing their heart to brim with anticipation.

But no, it's not true. You are not that strong.
They thought they knew. That you weren't strong. —They really only thought so.
Without truly knowing anything, just like a baby bird that begs for food, they pecked at each second you gave them, not knowing what was sacrificed for that moment.

"Emilia...?"

They felt as if cold water was poured over their stirred heart, and their heartbeat thumped strongly. From beyond the black veil, as dark as darkness itself, the face they shouldn't see peeked through.

Long eyelashes, beautiful violet-blue eyes, well-formed features, pale cherry-colored lips, the one they cherished. Beyond the veil, the face that should be the most detestable was the same as the one most dear.

"——"

In a moment of hesitation, freedom is snatched away, and even the soul is caged by eternal obsession. A means to refuse that lies in their hands as a white cloth wrapped in light.

They shouted "Stop," stronger than ever before.
They pleaded "Make it stop," stronger than ever before.
They wished "Stop it for them," stronger than ever before.

None of it was in time, none of it was strong enough, none of it—

"I will definitely—"

—I will save you.

With determination and oath in his heart—Subaru Natsuki, I killed 'myself.'

△▼△▼△▼△

—With a shock, Aldebaran’s entire body in midair gets crushed.

Tied to a steel wire wrapped around a large tree, what struck the body relying on it was a gigantic fist roughly the size of even the head here. The massive rock-like fist is connected to an arm as thick as a log, which extends from a torso clad in a dense and heavy armor of muscle. That torso is dressed in a black suit unsuited for a battlefield, worn by a man with the face of a huge boar—

"Won't you scream like a pig?"

In a low, growling voice, the pig-faced man made a boring joke, snorting through his pig nose. With a height nearing two meters and a weight not below two hundred kilograms, the pig-faced man used a cannonball-like leap to approach Aldebaran in midair and delivered a blow. It was a perfect surprise attack, and the fact that it wasn’t an instant kill was just a miracle—no, it wasn’t a miracle.

"...In that case, is the arm going to tonight's dinner table?"

Next to Aldebaran, who received the tremendous blow, Yae with an emotionless expression muttered. Her narrowed eyes looked straight at the pig-faced man’s arm, stretched out—the fist that had struck Aldebaran was scattering into dice-like pieces from the fingertips.

The steel threads woven through the air by Yae had taken the pig-faced man’s punch head-on, and the enormous arm power of his own body had sliced his arm with the strong steel threads. As a result, Aldebaran was spared from an instant death, and the pig-faced man lost an arm. However—,

“That’s right. I’ll let my subordinates eat it as a reward. Though it’s fatty due to an unbalanced diet.”

“Kyaa~, I just love the tribal jokes of demi-humans! By the way, it’s recommended to boil meat that’s high in fat.”

“In that case, I will boil it in the blood extracted from you people.”

The pig-faced man who lost an arm and Yae, whose trump card was broken through by brute force, exchanged these words elegantly, maintaining a calm exterior while holding extreme murderous intent in their eyes. It was fine to continue their high-level conversation apart from ordinary people, but the lower-level Aldebaran had already reached his limit.

His body, which had managed not to fall by being pressed against a large tree, tilted sideways, and without the strength to support himself, he got caught in freefall. Although he escaped instant death, unfortunately, his head was cracked open, and probably, something that shouldn’t be spilling was sloshing inside the helmet. Naturally, continuing from here in such a state is impossible—,

“Yae.”

He called out to Yae with lips that couldn’t articulate well. In the next moment, the steel thread that wrapped around Aldebaran's neck as he fell to the ground pulled taut—his vision flipped significantly, and Aldebaran’s head and torso parted ways in a tearful farewell. It was a mechanism that functioned as a safety valve to allow Yae to activate her powers, ensuring no oversight even if Aldebaran failed to self-decide.

“――――”

While verifying its efficacy and witnessing the rotating world spinning around, Aldebaran braces himself, thinking, "This is where it starts."
And then—

"Tsida"

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　×　　×　　×

"—Al Gore!!"

A roar-like incantation is followed by a second sun, red and swollen. However, it is merely a fake fireball, as fragile as a goldfish scooping net. On closer inspection, its control is poor, so much so that it seems it would fall apart after just three seconds. Despite its poor construction, when mixed into the rapidly changing battlefields of the makeshift war zone, it serves as an effective tactic.

"Father! That’s a fake—"

"Uooaaaahhh!!"

As a result, perhaps because it was just after returning, Aldebaran's voice to stop them didn't make it in time. In a panic, Heinkel hastily pulls the steel wires, causing the prepared log cannons to fire one after another, diving into the fake Al Gore.
Since it couldn't be stopped, the outcome is the same. He clicks his tongue inwardly, not at Heinkel for not listening, nor at Rachins for covering a lack of skill with sheer nerve, but at himself for failing.

The weak explosion, contrary to its appearance, reveals the enemy's disguise to the two other than Aldebaran, who had already known. Realizing it's too late even if regretted, Aldebaran utilizes Yae's power to block the opponent's charge with a cage of the same steel wires as before.
However, this time, instead of escaping to the trees as before, he deliberately falls back, standing beside Heinkel to alter the situation.
Now, this time—

"—what, you're sluggish like a pig."

The impact he mentally prepared for shockingly came from right above, paired with ruthless black humor. Struck by a powerful blow, Aldebaran is driven headfirst into the forest floor.
He changed his position and was on guard. Even so, it was an attack that engulfed him from above.

"Wh-what!? From... guh!"

"Don't squeal like a pig. I'll have you lined up at the butcher's."

With the force of a missile, he flew in and, covered in blood and cuts from steel wires, the pig-faced figure swung his arm and slammed the helpless Heinkel into a large tree behind him. Aldebaran, buried in the ground, seemed to have lost his spine; the fighting spirit no longer reached his limbs. Although Yae seemed to have started clashing with the pig-faced figure after leaping off, he couldn't even raise his head to watch.

However, a doubt that needed investigation emerged. — Whether in the air or on the ground, the pig-faced figure somehow managed to strike Aldebaran first. With only that information—

"—Next."

Before Yae, who was in the air, could grasp the situation, Aldebaran decided to poison himself. An overwhelming lethal heat consumed Aldebaran from his throat to his insides—

× × ×

"—Al Gore!!"

"Uooooaahhh!!"

Fearful of the false sun, Aldebaran watched as futile resistance, shaped like a large tree, flew past. He quickly searched for the next refuge, neither in the sky nor on the ground.

Verification was necessary. —To not let go of the utmost best he could manage.

△▼△▼△▼△

—Seventy-three times.

From the point where the fake Al Gore rises to the sky, the matrix resumes, examining from various angles revealed that no matter where Aldebaran tried to run or hide, the pig-faced figure’s mighty arm would invariably crush him. In other words—

"They've got my location completely figured out."

It didn't matter if he was near Yae or Heinkel, in the sky or on the ground, in the shade of a tree or away from the battlefield, Aldebaran couldn't escape the pig-faced figure’s fist. Even the punch with the determination to sacrifice an arm was difficult to fend off with Yae’s steel wire technique. —Of course, if it was just about withstanding the first strike, combining Yae’s steel wire and Aldebaran’s magic could achieve it.

However, even if they managed to withstand one hit, he still had another arm, and what's more, two legs. And the pig-faced figure had the determination to eliminate his opponent no matter how many limbs he lost.

Pain and loss do not serve as reasons to halt that pig-faced figure.

However, even if one tries to make them speak to gain any information—

"—Don't squeal like a piglet,"

With that single remark, it crushes everything, refusing to listen at all. From Aldebaran's experience, opponents who decide what they're going to do and steadfastly commit to it are troublesome. With people like this, Aldebaran's trial and error become meaningless. Those who have decided to kill you in exchange for anything will do so, no matter the cost. Therefore, to drastically change the situation, a trigger for significant change is needed.

"First, how are they pinpointing my whereabouts?"

Some measures are being persistently made to stalk and certainly kill Aldebaran. It's unnatural that despite using even the 'Divine Dragon' as a diversion, Aldebaran and the others are still being driven into the forest like this. If he doesn't uncover the method by which this encirclement was completed, even if he evades the pig-faced figure and drives away Felt and the others, a second and third arrow will be loosed, wasting seven days. To avoid that—

"—What’s this, dull like a pig?"

A familiar pig-faced dull joke arrives with a punch, and Aldebaran, who tried to use Rachins as a meat shield this time, had his cervical vertebrae broken. Incidentally, Rachins, who got caught in the collateral damage, also ended up in a miserable state, a glimpse of which brushed the edge of his vision just before consciousness faded—

× × ×

"—Al Gore!!"

"Uwoaaaah!!"

A fake great spell rises into the sky, and Heinkel, in a panic, rushes forward. While keeping the accustomed explosion light of the fireball in the corner of his eyes, Aldebaran called out to Yae, exasperated at Heinkel's frenzy, and set up different threads from the cage intended to lure in Rachins and the others. The launch pad for new steel threads, what it sends flying next, after all the fallen trees it's sent so far—

"Fire!!"

Heinkel's eyes went wide, entering a state of mental shutdown, as he pulled the thread as instructed. Fueled by his extraordinary physical strength and gaining momentum, Aldebaran and Yae soared through the air in a parabolic arc.

Fiercely experiencing the sensation of breaking free from the wind and gravity, Aldebaran, holding Yae with one hand, leaped over the treetops of the forest and escaped from the battlefield where Rachins were arriving.

Heinkel, left alone at the site, would likely be overwhelmed by the swarming Rachins, but this was a throwaway scenario intended to verify what needed confirming. During this experiment, they turned a blind eye to Heinkel's noble sacrifice.

"Don't bite your tongue, okay~!"

Yae, abandoned along with any sense of guilt towards Heinkel left behind, swung her arms in Aldebaran's embrace. On her slender hands, an undecorated ring was fitted at the base of her even more slender fingers, and from there extended an almost invisible super-thin steel thread.

Known as a master of skill, even among the Shinobi, only she had managed to properly master the art of steel thread—this she wielded to its fullest, casting threads onto trees ahead as they soared in parabolas, continuously gaining distance with the momentum akin to a Tarzan rope.

However—,

Aldebaran and Yae swung their bodies completely, breaking through a smoke-guided escape route—namely, an area still densely clouded with white smoke.

Using the forcible breakthrough with the steel thread, Aldebaran and the others reversed through the smoke-blanketed escape route, flying for the purpose of final confirmation after repeated verifications. However, despite achieving incomparably higher speeds and distances than running on the ground, there were opportunities to breathe only at the apex of their swings when they could break out of the smoke at the treetops.

With each advance, escaping became increasingly difficult, and as the smoke grew denser and higher, it began relentlessly attacking their lungs, eyeballs, and mucous membranes with unmitigated suffering.

If they continued carelessly flying around at this rate, Yae, being a superhuman, might manage, but Aldebaran, who only had average capabilities, would soon succumb to the smoke. Therefore, they needed to carefully determine their path ahead—but—

"—Northwest."

By extending the steel wire, he moved close to Yae's ear and gave instructions.

The target is northwest, without a doubt. He had already confirmed all other directions.

To not hit the mark until the very end shows just how much he's abandoned by luck. He's never once thought that he was blessed with good fortune since birth.

"...No, there was only one time."

Meeting her was undoubtedly Aldebaran's stroke of luck. Even now, having ultimately lost her, he doesn't think meeting her was a mistake.

"――!"

Suppressing the surge of intense emotions in his heart, he bit down hard as the situation changed.

As they broke through the white smoke with a swing and emerged above the forest, a fierce stone projectile came flying from outside the smoke, aiming at Aldebaran and Yae in mid-air.

Unable to dismiss it as mere rubble, the threatening force rained down, and Aldebaran hastily created a wall of earth, forcefully breaking through the first wave.

However, the stones would likely continue. Therefore, he needed to detach before that.

"――Lord Al!!"

Yae's high-pitched voice echoed inside the helmet, sending a tingling sensation through Aldebaran's eardrums. He lost his connection with her in mid-air and was flung high into the sky.

At the swing’s highest point, he was thrown even further by Yae.

"Ooooooh――!"

While shouting, he covered the front of his flying body with a wall of earth, diving headfirst into the welcoming volley of stones.

The unstable, thin earthen wall was fragile, offering about as much protection against the stones as draping a blanket would.

Yet, even so, Aldebaran pierced through the white smoke and emerged again outside the forest.

Back to the plains, where the first declaration of war was made and where he was neatly caught in Grasis’s strike and had his sister avenged.

And there, just as Aldebaran expected――,

"So you came out alone to hold the flagship down. That’s a strategy worse than counting from the bottom up."

Looking up at Aldebaran as he emerged from the white smoke below, the bald-headed old giant spoke. The person fitted with gauntlets studded with multiple 'dialogue mirrors' on the long, thick arms of the giant.

Seeing that, he realized instantly. ――All the traps were devised by that old giant.

"So you're the brains behind this...!"

The gap between the appearance and position image was too great to even imagine.

With such a thuggish appearance, Rachins seemed a more convincing choice when heard that he was the strategist. Normally, the giant race would be expected to utilize their physical attributes on the front lines. That he was in charge of intellectual work—just like Ezzo, with the dwarf and giant races each fitting those roles so perfectly was too convenient.

Filling his mind with such pointless grumbling, Aldebaran realized.

“Felt is—”

She was nowhere to be seen on the plains. —This was also a blow to Aldebaran.

Naturally, ending the battle by annihilating all five hundred enemies wasn’t a realistic goal. Therefore, securing Felt was an achievable objective that was always in Aldebaran’s mind. And yet, they had been thwarted by the opponent.

Unsurprisingly, the easiest victory condition for them was also the most straightforward defeat condition for the opposition. As frustrating as it was, removing Felt from the scene was a rational move.

“Damn it.”

Aldebaran’s victory was unwavering. It was certain.

So now, all that was left was to figure out how to win.

“You, don't you dare look away!!”

“—!”

In the instant he was updating the victory conditions in his head, a shock pierced through from above.

The voice that reached him was deep, but the words were not the usual pig-faced jokes he was used to. Looking up, it was a large thug—Gaston—who had jumped up beside Aldebaran, who was higher than the white smoke, and slammed down an iron hammer with both hands.

“Seriously…”

Undoubtedly, Aldebaran groaned in pain at the attack from an opponent who had mastered the 'flow technique'.

The 'flow technique' was not something one could acquire with ordinary training; it was a gateway to becoming a first-class warrior. With the addition of such a threat, Aldebaran adjusted his underestimation of the opponent’s strength.

As he adjusted, he was slammed to the ground with that one blow.

“Gah, guaahhh…”

Failing to take a defensive posture quickly, his right arm twisted awkwardly, breaking at the elbow. Agonizing from the unnecessary damage as the broken bone pierced through flesh and skin, Aldebaran ground his helmet into the ground.

Pain, pain, pain, pain, pain, pain, pain, painful, but he saw what he needed to see.

"From here on, it's a battle of wits between you and me..."

Grinding his clenched teeth nearly to the point of breaking, his lungs were being invaded by the engulfing smoke, increasing his sense of suffering. Before that, he used a familiar motion to open a poison capsule with his tongue. The smoke was so thick that he was in danger of coughing and nearly spitting out the poison. He didn't believe that this was the old giant's aim, but there were too many bad rolls of the dice. He must break this chain of bad luck. After that, he had to search and search for the winning strategy that must be somewhere—search, search, search, search, search—ah.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　△▼△▼△▼△

"No more adding Pyro trees. Any more might give them an opening to exploit. Having our strategy be a little insufficient is just right."

Valga Cromwell—no, now known as Old Man Rom of the 'Demi-Human Union,' gave the order to end the smoke-driving strategy, spinning his old head with all his might.

The encirclement of the deceased Priscilla Barielle and her knight, known as the 'Helmet Guy,' was complete, and they just needed to lure the opponent out thoroughly. However, overconfidence must be avoided. The opponent had used 'Divine Dragon' Volcanica and the 'Witch of Envy,' devising a way to seal 'Sword Saint' Reinhard van Astrea. Their brilliant strategizing was impressive.

But the presence of such dangerous and cunning 'enemies' was exactly what Old Man Rom had wished for. Not because he's a fool seeking a blood-boiling and body-thrilling battle like many of the aggressive, wild-natured giants. What he wanted was the threat that could shake the kingdom and the honor of eliminating it.

—For Felt to win the royal selection, they need renown, excluding the existence of the 'Sword Saint.'

The event at the Watergate City of Priestella, where the royal candidates repelled the great disaster by the Witch Cult, was still fresh in memory, but that was a victory where all five candidates equally gained recognition. The relative evaluation in the royal selection did not change. Therefore, Felt needed her own achievements. The deeds of the 'Helmet Guy,' which could potentially shake the world, were sufficient for that recognition.

"Of course, Felt herself probably isn't thinking about such things."

Felt stood against the helmeted foe not because of any long-term strategy, but because she possessed the power to resist the imminent danger, and because she bore the duty to act first in such a situation for the Knight of One.

Therefore, only the cowardly like herself, contrary to her large stature, and the dirty adults ruling the black market should exploit this situation for future gains. Using the infamous three major organizations of the Dragon City of Flanders—'Scales,' 'Flower Prison Garden,' and the 'Black Silver Coin' gangsters—she plans to achieve a war trophy to crown Felt.

Initially, Old Man Rom was firmly opposed to Felt participating in the royal selection and getting involved with the core matters of the Kingdom of Lugunica.

For Old Man Rom, who knows of Felt's birth and the curse in her bloodline, this was only natural. Yet, on the other hand, he remained in the royal capital with Felt. If he wished, he could have chosen to take Felt, before she even became aware of things, to live in some remote countryside far from the royal capital.

Despite that, Old Man Rom did not do so. It was probably due to a premonition somewhere in his heart—a sense that an unavoidable great wave would eventually catch up to them.

If at that time, he could be by Felt's side, he would use his excessively large body to the fullest to serve as a shield, armor, or any role required. However, there was also a very real possibility that he might not be able to do so. He had grown old. While he did not yet feel an imminent decline, even for a giant race, it wouldn't be strange for death to come for him at any time.

That's precisely why it was necessary. To have the assurance that Felt—the beloved granddaughter—would be protected eternally.

If that promissory note is the Kingdom's pinnacle, then he'd place the crown on Felt's head. To that end, he wouldn't hesitate to wield the command he once vowed never to use again.

"The opportunities have considerably decreased compared to the past, but... nightmares still won't release me."

Nearly half a century has passed, and the "Demi-human War" is but a distant memory.

Yet, during those long years, there has been a simmering ember of regret inside Old Rom. When the opportunity arises, the lid of that pot opens. At that time, the foolish Valga Cromwell was insufficient. By supplementing that foolishness with time, and without changing his dullness, Old Rom comes up with a plan.

In other words,—

"From here on, it's a battle of wits between me and the helmeted fellow."

△▼△▼△▼△

"—String, you say?"

The moment he jumped into the grove, Rachins was entangled and restrained by ultra-fine steel strings, muttering resentfully as Aldebaran listened from nearby. He deliberately exposed himself to the enemy, steering them to swarm towards him, springing the trap's form.

Due to Yae's steel string technique, the number of captured enemies was fifty-two. The enemies had already been encountered for so long that they could be counted, but of course, Yae did not restrain them with physical strength.

"As you can see, it's frail-armed Yae-chan here~! She's using the surrounding trees, obstacles, and even their own bodies as fulcrums to suspend them with their feet on the ground."

Though Yae's methods were revealed, the core of it remained incomprehensible even when explained. In any case, understanding that it was almost impossible to escape from the layers of entwined steel strings without Yae's will was sufficient.

With that knowledge, Aldebaran, glaring into the four white eyes of the immobilized Rachins, without giving him a chance to protest, reached for his clothes and rummaged through his belongings.

"Wha-what are you doing, you!? I don't have such tastes...!"

"Wow, Al-sama, you're so bold! No wonder Yae-chan's advances couldn't sway you. As I understand, at the same time, my woman's pride is rapidly recovering..."

"Don't joke around! The mirror! Find the mirror! Someone has it... so does my old man!"

Holding down the struggling Rachins trying to escape, Aldebaran yelled at Yae and Heinkel to find the "Dialogue Mirror" while searching through the immobile opponent's possessions.

The speed and accuracy of information transmission has changed the nature of war. Though this is a concept that has been overused in fiction across the ages and around the world, Aldebaran, who had only vaguely grasped this notion in writing, finally realizes it.

The old giant, serving as the brain, had prepared gauntlets fitted with multiple "communication mirrors." Using them, the old giant became the control tower of the camp, communicating in real-time and maneuvering five hundred people at will. If Aldebaran’s location and the number of allies continued to be shared like that, there would never be a chance for them to catch their breath. Therefore, the "communication mirrors" owned by each unit must be broken for sure. For that purpose—

"There it is!"

Aldebaran found the sought-after sensation at his fingertips, pulled it out, and held it up with a shout of triumph—but that joy was overshadowed by two voices that rose almost simultaneously. When Aldebaran turned around, saying "Huh?", he saw Yae and Heinkel, who were searching another roughneck apart from him, also wide-eyed. Both of them held a small mirror in their hands.

"The 'communication mirror' is a 'Meteor' that can be replicated, but even so, the cost is ridiculously high."

It's understandable that Rachins, who is probably the commander of this unit, would have one. It's also understandable that an assistant, responsible for communication, would carry one so as not to burden the commander with it. But there is no understanding why even more people would be given them. Surely, it's impossible to equip such a large part of the forces with 'communication mirrors'. Therefore, this is—

"A dummy, you say?"

"Fool."

In response to Aldebaran’s dumbfounded murmur, Rachins stuck out his tongue and retorted. Witnessing the colorful rings swaying at the tip of that long tongue, Aldebaran reflexively unlocked the poison capsule planted on the back of his molars with his tongue—at that moment.

"Oh, how dull, like a pig."

The often-heard joke reached his ears along with the punch, and Aldebaran couldn’t tell if it was the shock or the fatal poison that ultimately cut his lifeline. But what he thought internally wasn’t a retort to the pig-face, but—

"Old bastard!"

It was a curse that ended up being nothing more than a praise for an enemy who wasn’t just formidable but played against all odds.

"Threads, is it?"

Gore, disguised as Al Gore, successfully executed his ploy, allowing Rachins to charge into enemy lines while minimizing the damage from the fallen tree cannon. When he realized that the thing restraining his movement was a thread so fine it was almost invisible, he couldn't hide his astonishment.

It might have been acceptable if it were just himself that got caught.
However, it wasn't just Rachins; the fifty roughnecks who had dived into the forest along with him were also restrained.
Imagining what kind of geometric cage of threads would be necessary within the forest to achieve this was overwhelming, an extraordinary event beyond comprehension.
Yet, what shocked Rachins even further was not the woman who tied them with the threads, but—

"Sorry, but I'm breaking this."

Saying this, one of the roughnecks—the man chosen as the mirror operator—searched his pockets, pulled out the “conversation mirror,” dropped it at his feet, and promptly smashed it underfoot.

"You gotta be kidding me,"

Rachins muttered in anger, the threads binding him cutting in deeper. It felt less like a struggle than a clear warning from the red-haired woman controlling the threads in response to his cursing.
However, at this moment, his anger outweighed the shallow cuts of the threads.

"What the hell is going on! How the hell did you get it in one try—"

"It wasn't one shot. Not even ten or twenty. Just my bad luck."

"Huh?"

Rachins gritted his teeth in frustration at the helmeted man's obvious disinterest in offering a proper answer.
Somehow, the helmeted man had figured out that they were using the "conversation mirror" to collaborate with Cromwell—Old Rom—and, with notable precision, ignored the decoy mirrors meant to stall them and directly hit the principal target.

Just now, he reminded himself, yet once again, inferiority unfailingly surfaced within him.
A persistent inferiority complex towards those beyond his reach, never ceasing to arise.

"Hey, what are we going to do with these guys? ...Are we going to kill them all?"

The one who interjected into Rachins' inner thoughts was the red-haired middle-aged man, Heinkel. He's said to be Reinhard's father. Indeed, with his red hair, blue eyes, an overly impressive knight's sword, he has many elements that remind one of the Astrea family.

From the point of supporting Priscilla, the opposing candidate instead of his son Felt, he was thought to be an idiot who couldn’t choose his own standing, but it was more than expected.

"― Stupid fool."

Rachins dislikes Reinhard. Reinhard probably doesn't think anything of Rachins, but they are similar in being born into families of a certain status and having conflicts with their fathers. Of course, there's a difference in the weight of the responsibilities they were born with, and Rachins understands that while he selfishly abandoned his, Reinhard never even thought of discarding his.

He was born into a noble family, and due to disagreements with his family, he left home, and somehow, he now works with Felt. He is half-hearted. But even if Rachins and Reinhard's worries were the same, they are fundamentally different. Rachins' father is respectable. He dislikes him but can respect him.

"But you, there's no way."

Reinhard, troubled and clashing with a father who is not worthy of respect, is foolish. So he might as well remove the reason Reinhard becomes miserable.

"...Gore."

Even when restrained, he can chant. Though his body was ensnared by threads and creaked, he pulsed the gate within his body, and Rachins floated a fireball right in front of his face, calling the helmeted guys to attention. However, the fire that floated up was a small chunk no bigger than the tip of a thumb.

"Ah, you startled me! I won't fall for such a trick a second time!"

Enraged by being fooled by a fake Al Gore set up before him, Heinkel's face flushed with anger, and he slashed at the fireball with his knight's sword. For a moment, his casual sword slash seemed unusually refined to the point it stuck in the eye, but no matter. Right now, more than such impressions—

"Idiot."

Sticking out his tongue, hurling the most derisive insult possible took precedence.

He stretched out the "Gore" thinly, making it appear to be Al Gore. So, in the same way, he could make Al Gore look like nothing more than a little fireball.

"Rachins-kun, you may not have exceptional talent, but you are solid. Steady progress will surely give you the strength to reach the place you want to get to."

Rachins remembered Ezzo, who had taught him the basics of magic, pontificating grandly despite his short stature, and for a change, inwardly apologized, feeling bad for him.

It was a reckless use of magic that ignored solidity, skipping steps—something Ezzo would be the angriest about.

But since the chance won't come again, it was like a farewell retort—

"——"

The fireball, struck by the tip of the sword, unraveled in mid-air, and the enormous heat stored within it exploded into a hellish fire that quickly consumed the space.

Just before being engulfed by the flame, Rachins found it inexplicable that he couldn't summon the lament, "Where did my life go wrong?" that he'd had right moments before.

Just like that, with even a smile on his face, Rachins' body was swallowed by the flames—

"That's as far as you go."

The life-threatening flames that should have been unleashed were nonchalantly crushed in the hand of the helmeted man who intervened as if expecting it, never demonstrating their intended power.

△▼△▼△▼△

—Two hundred sixty-four times.

"——"

Allowing his body, drooping and bound by steel threads, to go slack, Rachins appeared to have given up.

But that was absolutely not the case. Far from giving up, Rachins was determined not to abandon his intent to take down his opponent, even in this situation.

Therefore—

"That's as far as you go."

After uttering it, he remembered that cursed tone and inwardly clicked his tongue.

While harboring such bitter feelings, ignoring them, Aldebaran shoved Heinkel aside, preventing the activation of what was mistakenly cut by him as Gore—no, this time, a grand spell.

Disassembling the structure of the overwhelming firepower that rose into the sky, which threatened to consume the entire area, and dispersing it as mana that lost its direction while still in its dormant state.

If this cannot be stopped, the entire area will be consumed by a powerful flame, causing immense damage to Aldebaran and his allies, making it impossible for them to continue the fight.

Although it's unfortunate for Rachins, who was prepared to carry out a desperate, life-risking suicide attack, achieving something by sacrificing one's life is the most meaningless act in front of Aldebaran.

No matter if it is something where a life is risked, Aldebaran will nullify it entirely.

Therefore, it's futile. Risking one's life holds no meaning at all.
Futile. Futile. Futile, futile, futile, futile, futile, futile, futile, futile.
Even though it's futile――,

"Gore..."

"Stop it!!"

Barking at Rachins, who continued chanting even after the first spark was extinguished, Aldebaran struck the body of the immobilized man with his raised fist.
He punched Rachins' cheek, kicked him in the stomach, and punched his head once more. Unable to muster the strength to endure, Rachins could only take the hits like a sandbag.
Even if Aldebaran were a second-rate or third-rate warrior, he could defeat even Garfiel if he hit the right spots. Yet――,

"Guh, ah..."

――Rachins did not stop his chanting.

"Why is that!"

He crushed the spark that was about to ignite once more and hit Rachins with his fist.
But even as Rachins was repeatedly struck by the punches, signs of new magic attempting to interfere with the world continued to emerge around him.
This meant that Rachins, having had his final scheme uncovered, still refused to give up.

"――Master Al, it is endless."

A soft voice was directed at Aldebaran, who was breathing heavily.
Next, Rachins' head, suspended in front of him, was lifted, and steel threads coiled around his neck, tightening, or rather, attempting to sever his thin neck.

"The eyes of that person convey it. If you don't kill him, he will attempt the same trick repeatedly. It's truly admirable. Isn't it the true desire of a man? If that's the case..."

"Shut up!"

"――――"

Moving the fingers of her raised right hand, Yae caused a red line of blood to appear on Rachins’ neck. Silencing her, Aldebaran glared straight at Rachins.

With his chin lifted, Rachins looked down at Aldebaran from a condescending angle.
And then—

“Idiot…”

Covering his right hand with a rocky protector, Aldebaran struck Rachins with a blow. This strike was heavier than anything before, splitting Rachins’ forehead and causing blood to spatter. It was a blow that showed he wouldn’t hesitate to kill if necessary—

“Impressive~”

Clapping her hands, Yae praised him while looking at the now limp Rachins. Yae, who was more sensitive to the life and death of others than Aldebaran, it seemed that from her perspective, Rachins had only fainted and not lost his life.

“——”

Neither the praise nor the fact that Rachins had fainted brought any comfort to Aldebaran. He realized he should not underestimate this number five hundred; it was not just a number but five hundred opponents ready to give their all.

“Hey, Aldebaran…”

“Sorry, but be quiet for a moment.”

Just after defeating Rachins, Heinkel called out to Aldebaran. But due to greater mental exhaustion from deploying his domain than expected, he couldn’t respond well. They had managed to crush the 'Communication Mirror' and fend off the first wave of threats. Now—

“What is it, as slow as a pig?”

“——”

The familiar onslaught of tribal slurs arrived, but this time it was different, not accompanied by fists. Whether they could consider this obstacle overcome was uncertain. Because—

“Stopping your feet indiscriminately, do you lot have pig feed stuffed in your heads?”

The boar-faced warrior spoke with a heavy voice, and he wasn't alone. Like Rachins, he led a squad, not charging ahead but standing before Aldebaran and the others as the second wave.

“Domain Expansion, Matrix Redefinition”

△▼△▼△▼△

“Stopping your feet indiscriminately, do you lot have pig feed stuffed in your heads?”

Through the 'Communications Mirror' embedded in his gauntlet, Rom receives the voice of the 'Pig King' Doltero Amule, confirming the contact with the helmeted ones and the second line. The first contact had been with Rachins and his group, and it was fortunate that Doltero, one of the most formidable warriors among the assembled, was positioned closest to them.

However, Rom does not know the safety of Rachins, who clashed with the helmeted ones before Doltero arrived, nor that of the group he led. Naturally, this includes Rachins himself as the commander. Considering the opponent's cunning, it would be more apt to assume Rachins is dead.

Since a battle has broken out, it is impossible for the situation to resolve without any injuries. It stands to reason that there would be casualties not only among the rough men of the underworld but also within their own camp.―Relying on the sliver of hope in the report Grassis received from Flam would be foolish.

Therefore, Rom blinks away his emotions to focus on the situation at hand. If it were Doltero, he could take down the helmeted ones in one fell swoop. Yet, it would be optimistic to think so. The reason for this goes beyond the fact that the helmeted ones once managed to outmaneuver the 'Sword Saint,' the 'Divine Dragon,' and the 'Witch of Envy' simultaneously.

"...He shattered the 'Communications Mirror' the mirror agent was holding without hesitation."

As a result, since he can no longer grasp the movements of Rachins and the others, there is no doubt that the enemies executed the best move to cut off their information. However, the manner in which the best move was made seemed unnaturally suspicious.

Even if the helmeted ones could predict the use of the 'Communications Mirror' from our preparations and coordination, their subsequent actions—

"Unless they could see inside our heads or something else, it would be impossible."

Such thoughts belong to the realm of nonsense, absurd and worthy of ridicule. Yet, having lived over a century, Rom knows that there exists in this world forces beyond his understanding and imagination, and those who wield them enter the same battlefield. The fate of those who dismiss the impossible and halt their thinking is always the same.

He must not let his loved ones meet such a tragic end.

"There are things I need to confirm. All units, change of orders."

While simultaneously speaking to the open 'Dialogue Mirror', Grandpa Rom narrowed his eyes and devised strategies.
Helmet Guy must understand as well.

――That this battle is a race against time, both for them and for the Helmet Guys.