Chapter 12: Groan

—The day was clear from the morning on, as if blessing the bright future waiting ahead.

"Or is thinking like that getting a little carried away?"

"Betty doesn't think so, in fact. If Filore's Sacrament really works as well as everyone hopes, then your good mood is just an early celebration, I suppose."

"Celebrating early all on my own... Yeah, now I'm starting to feel like I'm getting carried away after all."

At the reassurance from Beatrice, who walked beside him holding his hand, Subaru scratched his cheek with his free one. Given the circumstances, he wanted to defend himself and say a little giddiness was only natural, but when he considered how little he'd contributed to any of it, he couldn't deny he was getting overexcited. The truth was, his next order of business was the trip to Priestella, where the victims of the Witch Cult would be saved by the Sacrament of the Church of the Divine Dragon, and there was nothing he could do there to be of any use. He simply wanted to be present, as the knight of Emilia, who would be one of those deserving credit, and above all as someone who knew the fierce battle that city had seen, at the moment the hideous scars it had left behind were finally healed.

"So I asked Reinhard, who's been stuck doing nonstop hard work lately, to squeeze me into the group he's taking to Priestella."

"Naturally, Betty is coming along too, in fact. So are Emilia, who'll be thawing out the residents she froze, and Garfiel and Otto, who both have unfinished business in that city, I suppose."

"Garfiel's because the dad of a family he's close with was a victim of 'Lust,' and Otto's... picking up that book he left with a restorer, huh."

"So it seems, in fact. ...Honestly, the man never misses a trick, I suppose."

Puffing out her cheeks in a huff, Beatrice muttered the words, and Subaru was mindful of the complicated feelings behind them. The book Otto had left with the restorer in Priestella was the Book of Wisdom said to have been left behind by Echidna, the Witch of Greed: specifically, the copy that Roswaal had inherited. Otto's tenacity, hauling it home from what was practically a pile of ash out of sheer desperation to know its contents, was remarkable enough, but the skill of the restorer who had supposedly boasted they could fix it was just as hard to believe. Still, for Beatrice, who had let the Book of Wisdom entrusted to her burn away, it must have stirred up feelings that were hard to put into words.

"There's no need to worry, Subaru."

"Beatrice..."

"If Betty needs a signpost for her future, she has Subaru now, I suppose. Otto's penny-pinching, trying to reuse even a pile of ash, makes Betty cringe, in fact. But if it means taking Roswaal down a peg, it's not such a bad feeling, I suppose."

"...Right."

Brushing his worry aside, Beatrice puffed out her chest so mightily that a wave of affection came over him, and Subaru ruffled his adorable contracted spirit's head to his heart's content.

As mentioned, the members riding the Reinhard Express to Priestella happened to be the very same ones who had gone to Priestella the last time. Subaru would have preferred to move with the whole camp if he could, but he couldn't push Ram, who was laid up from overwork. Joining them from other camps were Reinhard, charged with hauling the dragon carriage, and Felt, who was apparently there to supervise him. —And then there were Filore, the star and key figure of this expedition, and Sakura, the one keeping an eye on her.

"Honestly, with everything piling up right now, suddenly sticking Felt and Filore together in one dragon carriage feels a little too 'Danger: Do Not Mix' for comfort."

"But from what Betty heard, the two of them already met a while ago, in fact."

"Yeah, on the day Filore first showed up at the castle and treated Crusch. They ran into each other that same day... and supposedly Felt was the one who had Filore hold an Insignia to check whether she qualified as a Royal Selection candidate."

"That girl is fearless to a fault, I suppose. Normally a person would think twice, worried their own position might be put at risk, in fact."

"She probably never put any stock in her birth to begin with. That clean-cut side of hers, it gets me thinking she's pretty cool."

There was a charisma to the clear-cut way Felt lived her life, one that drew many people to her. Those who wanted to see Felt on the throne had been captivated by her words, her actions, her very way of being, and they followed her because they saw their ideals in that small back. If that was the pure, unadulterated fruit of the brilliance of Felt's soul, then the present situation amounted to an unwanted stain on it.

"Felt and Filore. One's the real princess, and one's a fake, huh."

"It's a strange story to begin with, I suppose. Whichever of them is real, if anyone meant to make use of the possibility, they'd have to push it much harder, or it's a treasure left to rot, in fact. Make lots of people believe it, make lots of people doubt it. That ought to be the best use for it, I suppose."

The more he thought about it, the more forced the use of the surviving-princess theory seemed. As Beatrice said, far from making the most of what should have been a powerful advantage, it had arguably saddled Felt and Filore with a stigma: if one of them was the real thing, the other was without question a fake. Which brought him back, as ever, to the first thing that nagged at him—

"—what the Church was actually thinking, keeping Filore's existence hidden."

According to Filore, fifteen years ago she had been found abandoned in front of a church, taken in, and raised as an orphan in the Church of the Divine Dragon's orphanage. There she had been brought up about as sheltered as a girl could be, and the result was a monster of ignorant initiative who knew next to nothing of the outside world. Setting aside the fact that this initiative had produced the chaos they were in today, the Church of the Divine Dragon must have known her features, her age, even her name. There was absolutely, positively no way they had failed to connect all that to the Lugunica royal family.

What's more, if the Sacrament Filore wielded had the power to stand against the Authorities of Sin Archbishops like Lust and Gluttony, wouldn't it have worked on the illness that struck down the royal family as well? In which case, why had the Church of the Divine Dragon left the Lugunica royals to die?

"Until that mystery gets cleared up at the very least, nobody's going to be satisfied."

As it happened, now that word of the Royal Selection had spread across the whole kingdom, people everywhere were watching to see who would sit on the throne of the coming era. For better or worse, they would not miss a candidate's conspicuous moves, and they would not forget them. So he needed to know, whatever it took, what the Church of the Divine Dragon was thinking. And to that end—

"—Mr. Miklotov's invitation came at just the right time."

"That it did, in fact."

Beside Beatrice, who nodded without wasting words, Subaru recalled the business from the other day: going along with Filore as she accepted the request to join the Royal Selection, and the time he and Emilia had spent talking with Miklotov in a meeting room at the castle.

Filore's bombshell about choosing her knight had thrown the room into an uproar, and the whole scene had wrapped up in a scramble, but Subaru had come away with something. That something was a promise from Miklotov, a key figure on the "Council of Sages" and probably one of the most learned men in the Kingdom of Lugunica, to make time to talk with him. While the Filore Theater carried on squawking in the background, Subaru had asked for a word, not expecting much, and Miklotov had nodded without hesitation.

"Hmm. In that case, I shall clear my schedule for you, Lord Natsuki. As it happens, there are matters I myself had hoped to discuss with you in private."

"That'd be amazing, seriously, but... you want to talk to me?"

"Yes. There are things I wish to confirm, things I wish to tell you, things I wish to consult you on... Forgive me, but I would be most grateful if you would indulge an old man's long-winded talk."

With that, Miklotov let a grandfatherly smile show, told Subaru where he lived, and set aside time for their private appointment.

That day was today, the day they were due to set out for Priestella after the Hour of Fire. Before that big event, as promised, Subaru was heading for the address alone—no, with only Beatrice, his other half, whom he had cleared in advance.

"What Mr. Miklotov wants to talk about... the confirming and the telling are fine, but the consulting part's kind of scary. Still, I've got a mountain of questions of my own. Ideally, he'd let me see the actual Dragon Stone somewhere."

"I hear the Dragon Stone is kept under strict guard, same as the Dragon's Blood and such, I suppose. But if Betty gets a look at it, she should be able to work out a hypothesis about what its workings resemble, in fact."

"It's not like I think the Dragon Stone itself is shady. It's just, it lets the whole royal family get wiped out without a word, and then the follow-up, the Royal Selection, is the only part that gets all the detail. You know?"

It made him suspect, perhaps unfairly, that some malice or design lay behind it. Not that he wanted to believe even the royal family's deaths had been arranged by something.

"—"

In the Mausoleum, he had seen with his own eyes the stone coffins of the Lugunica royals who had actually lost their lives. —Considering what the deaths of those beloved royals, the Fourth Prince's above all, had done to Crusch and Ferris, people he knew, if someone's will had been at work in it, Subaru would never forgive that someone. The thought made him tighten the hand that wasn't holding Beatrice's, and that was when—

"—Now that's some pretty dangerous thinking, My Friend."

The light, easy voice came from the side without warning, and Subaru spun around. At the top of the T-junction where the streets met, a dapper young man was waving at him. At the familiar greeting, Subaru's face broke into a grin, and he said,

"My Friend? Bit forward of you, isn't it..."

"Hey, hey, hey, you're the one who started calling me that! Don't leave me hanging!"

"Kidding. Good to see you again, Tiga."

The young man, Tiga, had gone wide-eyed. Now he narrowed his eyes at Subaru, who was holding out a hand without a hint of shame, then shrugged and shook it. The handshake went off without a hitch, and their friendship was duly reconfirmed, but then,

"And Lady Beatrice, I trust you're in good spirits. An honour to see you again."

"Betty bids you be at ease, I suppose. ...But what are you doing here, in fact?"

"I could throw that exact question right back at you. Not that I was sneaking around or anything, but this was supposed to be a confidential summons."

"Confidential... Wait, don't tell me Mr. Miklotov called you too?"

"—So you're here for him too?"

Subaru and Tiga stared at each other, eyes round, each pointing at the other, until Beatrice stepped between them, rose up on her tiptoes and pushed both their arms down. Perhaps that adorable gesture helped, because Tiga let out a soft "Ha" and relaxed.

"Phew. For a second I thought I'd been tailed. Then again, I figured nobody would tail someone with a kid in tow... No, never mind."

"What? Don't stop halfway. I won't get mad, just say it."

"Yeah? Then I'll say it. I figured for Natsuki Subaru, famous 'Little Girl Tamer', tailing someone with a kid in tow might be a piece of cake..."

"You bastard, who're you calling a 'Little Girl Tamer'!?"

"I only said it because you promised not to get mad!"

Hearing that disgraceful nickname for the first time in ages, Subaru lunged at him in outrage. Tiga dodged every grab with ease, though, and darted behind Beatrice. At this shameless last-ditch manoeuvre, Beatrice shrugged at Subaru.

"We'll never get anywhere like this, so let's call it even here, I suppose. Subaru will be the adult about it, in fact."

"Tch, fine. I'm an adult, so I won't grumble at you for acting like a kid. Because I'm an adult."

"Adults don't go around announcing they're adults that much, honestly."

Tiga popped up from his crouch, straightened his hat and nodded toward the branch of the junction that led to their shared destination.

"We're headed to the same place. Probably for the same time, too. Let's walk together."

"Fine by me, but in that case he didn't need to make that weird request about me coming alone. Emilia-tan and Rem could've come too."

"Rem, maybe, but Lady Emilia's your Master, isn't she? You'd drag her along on your own errands?"

"It's not dragging her along. I just don't want to leave her side for a second if I can help it."

"That's—"

Banter met with banter. Subaru had fired that off expecting a comeback, but Tiga shut his mouth as though the words had caught in his throat, and his eyes wandered for a while. Subaru exchanged a look with Beatrice and tilted his head.

"What's wrong? My Big Love for Emilia-tan and the others too much for you?"

"It's not your Big Love that scares me. It's just that your heavy devotion plucked at some string in my heart, one I can't quite make sense of myself... Something like that."

"—I'm flattered, but I've already given my heart to a whole bunch of people..."

"You act all devoted and then come out with something that scummy!?"

It felt like their rhythm was back, and Subaru laughed at Tiga's sharp retort. He'd thought from the start that they were on the same wavelength, and he hadn't called him My Friend for nothing. Tiga, for his part, caught Subaru's laughter and smiled too, forgetting the odd moment before.

"That's enough fooling around, you two, I suppose. We're almost there, in fact."

At some point Beatrice had gotten a little ahead of them, and now she stood at the corner of the street, beckoning. With long strides and quick steps, hurrying just short of a run, Subaru and Tiga reached her side at almost the same moment. There, on the edge of the Noble Quarter, they spotted a large mansion that matched the address they'd been given and the roof colour they'd been told about, and guessed it must be Miklotov's residence.

"So what did you need to talk to Mr. Miklotov about, Tiga?"

"Advice on something I'm searching for, I guess. And you two?"

"Beako and I are chasing the romance of history. There's a bunch of stuff about the kingdom's dark side I want to ask about, and I was hoping he'd let me see the Dragon Stone, even just once."

"I see. So that's what all that dangerous talk was about. Call me a worrier, but I'd advise you not to go around saying things about doing this or that with the Dragon Stone out on the street—"

"...is a good idea," he had probably meant to finish, but Tiga's words broke off there. When Subaru and Beatrice turned to see what was wrong, they found that Tiga had stopped on the way to the gate of Miklotov's mansion and was glaring at the stone wall that ran around the grounds.

Then, unmistakable wariness on his fine, handsome profile, he murmured. It was—

"—This is bad. I smell blood."

△▼△▼△▼△

Beatrice in his left hand, the Guilty Whip in his right. Gripping both of the things he relied on, Subaru held his breath and made his way through the mansion and its smell of blood.

"—Subaru, stay close. We cover each other's blind spots."

The hushed voice belonged to Tiga, who was watching the way ahead of them. Moving low, his footsteps silent, Tiga held a blade he had slid free without a sound: a silver crescent with a deep, keen curve, a Shamshir. The way he carried himself made it plain that he had the skill to handle that curved sword however he liked, and Subaru caught himself thinking, at a thoroughly wrong moment, that Filore had no eye for knights.

"—"

Beatrice's tension passed to Subaru through their joined hands, and Subaru's passed to Beatrice. Luckily, because Beatrice was far calmer than he was, they had avoided the vicious spiral of each one's nerves feeding the other's, a self-inflicted version of Wrath's Authority.

—Miklotov's mansion had become a scene of carnage that made you want to look away.

They had come in through the back, and they had already found more than ten people of the household, every one of them slaughtered and long past saving, every one of them cut down with a single stroke. Should a blow that spared its victims pain be called mercy, or should a force so overwhelming that they never got to show what they could do be called ruthless? He couldn't find the last words to lay over the dead. All he could do was stand close to the raw, fresh breath of death while his heart pounded hard enough to burst.

"—"

This was already more than Subaru could handle. He knew it, and he was sure the better choice was to leave the mansion right away and go for help and reinforcements. But at the same time, there was a real chance that by pressing on now, they might save a life. Because—

"They've all only just been killed."

"...I agree, in fact. If even one of them were still breathing, I suppose..."

They found another one: a slash carved into the corridor wall and a body lying directly beneath it. The heavy stroke had cut through the person on a diagonal, as if it meant to split the wall behind them too. The blood of the corpse, cut down from shoulder to hip, still hadn't dried, and its warm, raw stench carried the peculiar note of something that had been alive moments earlier, a death smell with life and death still mixed together.

"Pisses me off that what I went through in the Empire comes in handy at a time like this..."

The most gruesome, most hellish sight in Natsuki Subaru's life had been, painfully, the horror of Gladiator Island, where so many faces he knew had been heaped into a mountain of corpses. The disaster brought down by the hateful Todd Fang had burned Subaru's world to ash with countless deaths.

He had seen a great deal of death there. So he could tell. How long ago the living had become a corpse, and how much they had suffered before they breathed their last.

"They weren't made to suffer."

That made thirteen bodies found inside the mansion, and none of them had been made to suffer. But whether that came from mercy or simply from a sharp, skilled hand, he couldn't say. The fact that they hadn't died in pain was probably a comfort only to the hearts of the people who had checked. Arrogance. Even now, Ferris's jab flitted through his mind.

Why was that? Maybe because he thought that Ferris, who had said he hated death more than anything in the world, would understand the Subaru standing here now, feeling helpless in the face of this tragedy.

"Damn it."

He had seen more deaths than he could count, and he still carried the nausea and the loss that he never got used to. Holding onto both, Subaru closed the eyes of the dead and kept going.

He didn't turn back because, somewhere in this tragedy that had only just begun, there was still a chance someone had survived. Because he didn't want to be the one who snuffed out that chance at life by turning back.

Besides—

"—Mr. Miklotov is someone this country still needs."

Subaru had by no means exchanged many words with Miklotov. He didn't have any fond memories of the "Council of Sages," the people at the top of the kingdom's wise, either. Still, among those few encounters, in memories smeared with dark feelings he would rather not dig up, there was one thing Subaru clearly remembered.

"At the very least, he has shown that you are not the sort of half-elf the world fears. —You have a fine retainer, I see."

Those words had been spoken to him after Subaru's selfish rampage, when he had disgraced himself before a crowd, when not a single ally was left to him and he was driven from the Throne Room.

He had not remembered them until now, until this very moment. —But on that day, in that place, someone had looked at what Subaru did with different eyes from everyone else. He hadn't noticed. But so what? Whatever the case, Subaru was grateful.

He would repay Miklotov with gold worth even more than this feeling of having been saved.

"—Subaru, Lady Beatrice."

Subaru had steeled himself with fierce resolve and made it the engine of his refusal to run. The one who called to him, and to Beatrice at his side, was Tiga, who had reached a pair of large doors. They couldn't claim to have searched every corner of the mansion, but they had checked all the large rooms. Given the layout, the room meant to serve as a refuge in an emergency was the very one in front of them. So the master of the house was most likely to be here—

"—!"

No call, only a nod, and the doors were flung open and they charged in, Tiga in the lead. The first thing to leap into Subaru's eyes was, in that plain room, an enormous flag of the Kingdom of Lugunica stretched across the white wall: two dragons facing each other around a single sword. It too had been slashed diagonally, and one half had fallen to the floor.

—And wrapped in the part of the flag that drooped to the floor, a figure who must have taken the same slash sat slumped with his back to the wall in a pool of blood.

"—Ah."

A groan slipped from deep in his throat before he could stop it.

The figure leaning against the wall had his head bowed, and his face couldn't be clearly seen. But who it was could be seen all too clearly. Even that distinctive long white beard, impossible to mistake for anyone else's, was soaked in the flood of spilled blood and dyed a vivid red.

"—"

This was Miklotov McMahon, who would never move again: the Great Sage who had supported the Kingdom of Lugunica for so long, meeting an end far too abrupt and merciless.

And yet not even that death, not even that end, was the reason Subaru groaned. The reason for his groan was not Miklotov, the victim. —It was the killer.

In the center of the room, facing the diagonally slashed flag and Miklotov's corpse wrapped in it, stood the killer, back turned toward them.

Long green hair, lustrous and beautiful, swayed against a slender back. The generous feminine curves of her body could not be fully hidden by her dark navy attire, and they painted the carnage with a decadent, forbidden beauty. And the long, sharp straight sword in her hand bore not a single drop of blood. —Naturally. Her blade cut her foes down not with steel, but with wind.

"—"

As Subaru and the others stood frozen in shock, she slowly turned around. One eye was covered by an eyepatch, and the amber eye that remained reflected them: a beauty in men's clothing—

"—Ah, Natsuki Subaru, is it. —Tell me, sir. Are you truly the 'Real One' I know?"

—Amid carnage steeped in blood and death, faced with Crusch Karsten's question, nothing escaped Natsuki Subaru's throat but a pitiful groan.