Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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3rd Person POV

In the very heart of the Kingdom of Lugunica, deep within the Royal Castle located in the Capital, a heavy silence hung over the grand council chamber.

Seated around the long, polished table were the Council of Wise Men, their expressions grim and filled with unease.

Tension rippled through the air like a physical force as they grappled with the gravity of the situation at hand—a catastrophe that had shaken the entire Kingdom to its core.

"This is madness... What the hell are we supposed to do now?" one of the wise men growled, his frustration barely contained as he slammed his fist on the table.

"Where the fuck is the Sword Saint?!" another shouted, rising to his feet in sheer exasperation, his voice echoing through the chamber.

"The entire force has been annihilated! How in the world are we expected to fight such monstrosities?!" Bordeaux burst out, unable to hold his tongue any longer. His clenched fists trembled with rage as he glared at the others.

Among them sat Miklotov—the oldest, wisest, and arguably the most intelligent man in the Kingdom.

He was known as the strategist who had steered Lugunica through several close brushes with ruin.

If there was anyone who could think clearly and devise a solution in the midst of this chaos, it was him.

But this time, even Miklotov wore a distant, troubled expression. He hadn't spoken a word during the outburst. For once, even he seemed to be at a loss.

Then, finally, his calm, deliberate voice cut through the rising tide of panic like a blade through silk.

"Please, everyone. Be silent. Let us first hear the full report before making any assumptions or hasty decisions," Miklotov said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried such weight and command that the room immediately fell quiet.

All eyes turned toward the Royal Knight who had delivered the dreadful news. He stood near the edge of the table, a hardened warrior by profession, but today he looked like he had seen the gates of hell themselves.

His face was pale, sweat trickled down his temples, and his hands trembled slightly.

"Proceed with the report," Miklotov instructed, his gaze unwavering.

The knight took a deep breath, trying to collect himself before speaking. "The combined military forces of Lugunica and Gusteko, along with a substantial number of hired mercenaries from Kararagi—including their elite Shinobi—launched a full-scale offensive on the target city. In total, our numbers were just over 20,000 strong."

A few among the council raised their brows at the number. It was a significant deployment, not something decided lightly.

The knight continued, "This wasn't a hastily assembled force. Every man present on the battlefield was an experienced, battle-hardened soldier. We didn't send in fresh recruits or untrained volunteers. These were the best of the best—elite units from both nations, reinforced by Kararagi's famed mercenary companies and deadly Shinobi assassins."

It was no exaggeration. The force they had assembled was capable of conquering any fortified city on the continent if not facing supernatural interference.

Every soldier had state-of-the-art armor, well-forged weapons, and extensive combat experience. By any logical assessment, this should have been a decisive strike.

However, the knight's expression only darkened as he continued.

"No matter how fiercely we fought... no matter what spells were cast, what advanced magical weaponry was used—none of it made a difference. He was unstoppable. A one-man army. Hundreds were slaughtered in an instant with a single swing of his hand, he wasn't even holding a weapon"

As the knight recounted the battle, his voice wavered. He was shaking, not from fear of reprimand, but from the sheer horror of what he had witnessed. He looked up, locking eyes with Miklotov for a brief second before continuing.

"We threw everything at him. Magic cannons struck him directly. Blades striked against his body. He was hit from all sides by coordinated magical attacks and physical assaults. But... nothing worked. Not a single wound. It was as if he stood outside the laws of this world—as if he were some kind of god immune to pain, injury, or death."

The room went deathly silent again. Not a single cough or shuffle broke the atmosphere. Everyone sat frozen, the full weight of the knight's words settling in their minds like a boulder crushing the chest.

"Ultimately... we lost ninety percent of our forces. Those few of us who survived managed to escape, but barely," the knight finished, lowering his head in shame.

No one could speak.

"What do we do now?" one of the wise men finally whispered, almost too quietly to hear.

That was the question—one that hung over them like a dark cloud.

How could they possibly fight against an opponent like that? Against someone who defied every known law of warfare, magic, and human endurance? They had sent their finest, and even that hadn't been enough. What chance did they have now?

"A huge portion of Our army has already been crippled," another council member added, his voice hoarse. "If we try to muster what little remains and attempt another assault, we run the risk of leaving our borders vulnerable. The Vollachian Empire has been quiet lately... too quiet. If they catch wind of our weakened state, they could strike at any moment."

"So what are you suggesting?!" Bordeaux barked, his eyes wide with fury. He slammed his palm on the table hard enough to make the inkpots shake. "That we just abandon the people who are trapped?! That we let them die while we sit here twiddling our thumbs?!"

Silence followed his outburst once again.

Everyone was thinking the same thing. They were caught between a rock and a hard place. Doing nothing was unthinkable—but taking further action could doom the Kingdom.

Miklotov, however, was still composed. He hadn't raised his voice once, hadn't reacted emotionally. He simply turned his gaze back to the knight and asked what was possibly the most important question at this moment.

"...Is there any word on Reinhardt?" he asked quietly, his tone grave.

The Sword Saint—Reinhardt van Astrea. Their last hope.

Everyone in the room held their breath.

The knight slowly shook his head, his expression grim, before responding.

"All the information we were able to gather indicates that Reinhardt engaged that man in combat… but shortly after that, he vanished without a trace. It is now estimated—though we hope it's untrue—that the Sword Saint is dead."

His words dropped like a hammer onto the chamber.

The room fell into complete silence.

The Sword Saint… was dead.

No one dared to speak. The weight of that revelation was too much for anyone to immediately process.

Reinhardt wasn't just a warrior.

He wasn't just a figure of strength or a protector of the Kingdom. He was more than that—he was a living symbol of Lugunica's supremacy, a deterrent to any nation that even considered raising its sword against them.

His mere presence had kept enemies at bay. He had been their greatest weapon, their divine shield.

And now… he was gone.

The thought echoed in everyone's mind like a death knell.

Reinhardt van Astrea had always been a complicated subject. Despite being their strongest asset, the Council of Wise Men had placed strict limitations and protocols on his deployment. Not out of mistrust—but out of fear.

They understood too well: the one who commanded the Sword Saint essentially commanded the Kingdom itself.

That was the extent of his power.

He had always loyally obeyed the directives of the Council, and formerly the King himself.

That obedience alone was what kept their fragile balance intact.

They all knew—if Reinhardt had ever turned against them, if he had ever chosen to follow someone else, the entire Kingdom could have fallen in days.

He wasn't just a Sword Saint.

He was the Sword Saint—the most powerful bearer of the title since the original, the First Sword Saint, who had once stood with the shoulder to shoulder of the Divine Dragon and Great Sage himself.

And now, that same Sword Saint had fallen.

Killed.

Could they really hope to triumph now? Could they possibly win against that golden-eyed monster?

"By Volcanica… what in the hell are we supposed to do now?!" one of the wise men wailed, his voice cracking under the weight of despair.

Every single face around the council table reflected the same fear, the same helplessness. Eyes were wide, brows furrowed, lips trembling. These were supposed to be the wisest, most composed men in the kingdom—but they looked anything but strong right now.

Miklotov, watching the breakdown of his fellow council members, chose not to say anything immediately. He remained quiet, composed as ever, though his mind raced with calculations and concerns.

Normally, leaders—especially those leading a nation—were expected to maintain a level head under all circumstances.

Making emotional decisions in moments of panic could cost not just lives, but land, cities, and the very survival of their nation. One wrong decision could lead to irreversible damage.

But Miklotov understood the emotions now overwhelming the others. How could he not?

A significant portion of the Kingdom's elite military had been completely wiped out. The best warriors—Reinhardt, Wilhelm, Julius—all either confirmed dead or missing in action. Even their greatest healer, Blue, whether was still alive or dead was still unknown.

Lugunica had gambled heavily on this mission. Miklotov himself had negotiated an enormous trade deal with Gusteko, promising vast quantities of grain in exchange for their military aid.

On top of that, they had paid an exorbitant price to hire mercenaries from Kararagi, including the infamous Shinobi clans known for their ruthless efficiency.

Now that the operation had failed—utterly and completely—they still owed those payments.

There was no getting out of that.

Worse yet, their allies might now view Lugunica as a nation that led them into a trap.

The Council could soon face accusations of incompetence or, even worse, treachery. Gusteko and Kararagi would almost certainly demand greater compensation for the loss of their troops.

And lurking in the background was the ever-looming threat of Vollachia.

That brutal and opportunistic empire was always searching for weaknesses in neighboring nations.

If they caught wind of the current vulnerability plaguing Lugunica, they wouldn't hesitate to strike. War could come knocking at their gates at any moment.

"Is there any update from the Dragon Tablet? Why hasn't the Divine Dragon intervened yet?!" another of the Council members asked abruptly, turning to one of the palace maids who had been standing silently near the chamber's edge.

The maid bowed respectfully before responding in a quiet, formal tone. "Apologies, my lords. I checked the Dragon Tablet not long ago. No prophecy has been revealed. The tablet remains unchanged."

More murmurs of frustration and concern rippled across the room.

After several more minutes of debate, argument, and aimless theorizing, Miklotov finally spoke again—this time with resolution in his voice.

"We will abandon the mission to retake the Water City of Priestella. Our priority now must shift to preserving the forces we have left. We will regroup and fortify key defensive positions to prepare for any further assaults from the Witch Cult," he stated firmly, leaving no room for argument.

"The situation has not yet deteriorated to the point of total collapse. As long as we remain strong, as long as we preserve the core of our military, I believe the Divine Dragon will answer our call. He must. He will intervene."

But in the depths of Miklotov's mind, a different truth was gnawing at him.

'Because if the Dragon doesn't intervene… I genuinely don't know what will become of our Kingdom.'

It had only been two weeks since the disaster began—two short weeks that had plunged the entire world into fear and chaos.

The event that had triggered all this devastation wasn't a war between nations or a rebellion.

It was something far more terrifying.

For the first time in recorded history, the Sin Archbishops of the Witch Cult had gathered and launched a full-scale invasion of a major city. Their destination: Priestella, the famed Water City.

They attacked. They conquered. And they held it.

Their infamy, already enormous, had now multiplied tenfold. The entire world trembled at the mention of their names.

But among all the horror that emerged during that siege, one name now stood above the rest. One man had single-handedly devastated the alliance of nations. One being had crushed Reinhardt—the strongest of them all—and emerged without a scratch.

A man with golden eyes.

A monster who now inspired more fear than any creature in existence.

The Witch Cult's Cardinal.

The Sin Archbishop Representing Greed.

Regulus Corneas.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

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3rd Pov

Have you ever stopped to consider this question?

What would become of the world of Od Lagna if Natsuki Subaru had never been transported here?

Because that was exactly the current state of this world.

In this version of reality, Satella never summoned Subaru. And the result?

For Emilia, surprisingly, it didn't make a major difference—at least not immediately. According to Roswaal's Book of Wisdom, there was never any mention of someone like Natsuki Subaru. As a result, the fateful day in the Capital didn't end with Emilia being stabbed to death in a dark alley. She didn't meet her tragic end at the hands of Elsa.

Most of the problems surrounding Emilia's camp, as it turned out, were deeply tied to one particular clown—Roswaal. Without the unpredictable variable that was Subaru, Roswaal operated with full contingencies and without crazy plans, knowing there would be no second chances, no guarantee to always make him the winner. Because of this, he never hired Elsa to steal Emilia's insignia.

So, after reuniting with Ram later that evening, Emilia safely returned to the Roswaal mansion without incident.

However, Roswaal still went ahead with hiring Meili to attack the nearby village. His reason remained the same—Emilia was a half-elf, a figure surrounded by distrust and fear. In order to improve her public image, he needed to create problems that she could resolve, thus earning the trust and gratitude of the villagers.

His plan was straightforward: stage controllable crises and let Emilia be the one to solve them.

When the Mabeast incident occurred, Emilia, alongside Rem—and secretly assisted by Roswaal from behind the scenes—managed to save the village children. The mission was a success. The villagers, now grateful and impressed, slowly began to accept Emilia.

Puck, of course, was aware that all of this was part of Roswaal's scheme. Although furious that Roswaal had put his daughter in danger, he was swayed after Roswaal promised him that every move he made would ultimately benefit Emilia. And when Puck saw how genuinely happy Emilia was—how touched she felt by the acceptance and smiles of the villagers—he reluctantly agreed to continue cooperating, on the strict condition that the plans were airtight.

This was the point where events started to truly diverge from the original timeline.

Because Felt was never involved in stealing Emilia's insignia, she didn't end up crossing paths with Elsa and thus avoided her untimely death. Nearly a week after Emilia's visit to the Capital, Reinhard discovered Felt's hidden identity as the fifth Royal Candidate. As expected, he didn't waste time—he simply abducted her, with his usual sense of nobility and grace.

Ahem.

Everything, up until this point, seemed relatively fine. It actually appeared as though Natsuki Subaru's absence didn't make much of a difference in the grand scheme of things.

But everything changed when the Royal Selection officially began, about a month later.

All five Royal Candidates were summoned to the Capital, where the details of the Royal Selection were announced. The selection process was set to continue for three years, and its purpose—to choose the next ruler of the Kingdom—was made clear to all.

Each of the five Dragon Priestesses gave their initial speeches, all of which were quite similar to their counterparts from other timelines.

Anastasia spoke with her usual sharp tone, openly declaring her desire to lead the kingdom because she was greedy and wanted to make money. She made no attempt to hide it.

Priscilla, in her usual haughty manner, declared herself the rightful queen and demanded that everyone acknowledge her superiority immediately, even instructing the nobles to bow down before the very ground her shoes touched.

Crusch delivered her characteristic speech about liberating the nation from the influence of the Divine Dragon. She emphasized strength, independence, and reform—just like always.

And then, it was Felt's turn. That's where things started to spiral out of control.

Because of her background in the slums, the nobles could not accept her status as a Dragon Priestess. Many of them openly rejected her presence, refusing to even consider her worthy of standing among them.

Felt, who was never really interested in the Royal Selection to begin with, was just about to walk away from it all—when Rom, her guardian, suddenly launched an attack on the Royal Castle in a desperate attempt to take her back.

He failed, of course, and was captured.

To save Rom from execution, Felt had no choice but to accept her position as one of the Dragon Priestesses.

Finally, it was Emilia's turn.

But before she could even open her mouth to speak, the room erupted in murmurs and contempt. The nobles hurled insults at her for being a half-elf, mocked her silver hair, and sneered at her uncanny resemblance to the Witch of Envy.

Roswaal, watching from the sidelines, did nothing.

He allowed the situation to unfold as it did. His plan was simple: he wanted Emilia to become dependent—either on him or on Puck—so that she would be easier to guide and manipulate in the future.

Emilia, overwhelmed by the venomous words, was on the verge of tears when Puck suddenly manifested.

The Great Spirit revealed his true identity as one of the four Great Spirits, and with icy fury, threatened to slaughter everyone present if they dared to disrespect his daughter any further. The threat was clear. And effective.

The room fell silent.

Emilia was finally allowed to speak. She gave her short speech—though most of the nobles simply ignored her words. Their prejudice had already clouded their judgment.

Afterward, Roswaal consoled her. He told her to ignore their insults, to not let it bother her. He assured her that eventually, they would come to see her worth.

But it was what happened next that truly showed the consequences of Natsuki Subaru never existing in this world.

Crusch, who had been preparing to engage the White Whale, joined forces with Anastasia to subjugate one of the Three Great Mabeasts that plagued the world.

The agreement between them was simple. Both would receive equal credit for slaying the Mabeast, and in return for her cooperation, Anastasia would not only assist Crusch with her private military forces but also take responsibility for handling the enormous corpse of the Whale after its defeat.

Unlike in the timeline where Pride took center stage, Anastasia agreed to the alliance for a straightforward reason—she had been manipulated.

The body-hopping clown Roswaal subtly influenced events from the shadows. He discreetly provided Anastasia with critical information regarding Crusch's battle plans, creating a scenario that made cooperation seem logical and mutually beneficial. As a result, a temporary alliance was formed between the two Royal Candidates—an arrangement neither had originally foreseen.

Neither Crusch nor Anastasia believed they would lose. Not with powerhouses like Wilhelm, Julius, Ricardo, and their other top warriors joining the battle.

In the Envy timeline, Crusch had managed to defeat the White Whale with only her own army and some limited assistance from Anastasia. It was a hard-fought battle, but ultimately a successful one.

Now, with their forces united and stronger than ever, the outcome should have been inevitable—an overwhelming victory.

But there was one key difference this time. A single absence, one that others might have considered inconsequential, changed everything.

The absence of one man.

Natsuki Subaru.

Without even building suspense, the result was already foretold—Roswaal had seen it clearly in the Book of Wisdom.

The alliance faced a catastrophic defeat.

They encountered the White Whale as expected and launched their assault with everything they had. For a time, it seemed they might triumph. They even managed to destroy two of the Whale's clones during the heat of battle.

But it wasn't enough.

The Whale regenerated its clones effortlessly, and with over half of the alliance's forces slaughtered and the remaining soldiers crushed in morale and spirit, the tide of battle turned against them. The battlefield became a graveyard.

Because the one man—fragile in body, weaker than anyone else, and yet unmatched in sheer willpower—wasn't there.

Natsuki Subaru wasn't among their ranks.

He wasn't there to attract the White Whale with the stench of the Witch on his body, drawing the Mabeast's attention and aggression.

He wasn't there to stand on the frontline, showing that even the weakest man present refused to give in, inspiring everyone else to keep fighting.

He wasn't there to figure out the method to truly defeat the White Whale.

And because of his absence, defeat was no longer avoidable.

It wasn't just a loss—it was a massacre. Over 70% of the combined forces were wiped out.

Ricardo, the leader of the Iron Fang mercenaries, lost his life in the chaos.

In the end, Crusch was forced to make the painful decision to retreat in order to prevent a complete annihilation. Thanks to the presence of Julius and the support from Anastasia's remaining forces, they were able to secure a narrow path of escape.

But to ensure that path remained open, Wilhelm chose to stay behind.

He sacrificed himself on the battlefield.

His death was a crushing blow to both camps.

When Crusch returned to the Capital with the tattered remnants of her once-proud army, her reputation took a nosedive. The failure cast a long, dark shadow over her name.

At the same time, the legend of the White Whale only grew more terrifying. While the details of its abilities were now known for the first time and widely documented, this knowledge only fueled public fear. The citizens of Lugnica now fully understood just how monstrous the creature truly was.

The Kingdom already knew that only one man—Reinhard van Astrea—possessed the strength required to slay the beast.

Yet, due to pressure from the Nobles—particularly those aligned with Crusch and Anastasia—Reinhard was not dispatched.

Their reasoning was political.

If Reinhard, who was affiliated with the Felt camp, were to kill the White Whale after the other two camps had already suffered such losses, the achievement would elevate Felt far above the rest. It would turn her into a national hero overnight, casting long shadows over the credibility of the other Royal Candidates.

And so, to preserve the perceived value of their sacrifices and to avoid handing the spotlight to a rival, they stalled.

They held back Reinhard, choosing to let the stain of defeat remain rather than give Felt's camp the upper hand.

The people who still supported Crusch and Anastasia clung tightly to the belief that their bloodshed and loss should not simply become the pedestal upon which another camp would rise.

Meanwhile, on Emilia's side of the board, things were moving differently.

Roswaal, who had already foreseen the Witch Cult's movements through his Tome of Wisdom, took precautionary measures well in advance.

He quietly evacuated the village ahead of time, ensuring the safety of its residents.

Then he simply let Emilia handle the rest—allowing Puck to unleash his true form from afar.

The result was absolute.

Puck, in his beastly glory, utterly obliterated the Witch Cult forces. There were no survivors. No escapees.

It was a clean, cold, and efficient massacre.

And yet again, the difference was clear.

Without Natsuki Subaru, the world continued to move—but the cracks were growing deeper.

It became clearer than ever—most of the problems within Emilia's camp originated from one source. That source being this world's version of Pennywise, Roswaal L. Mathers. And if he had just performed his duties properly—even if done for entirely selfish reasons—he could have still accomplished quite a lot.

The sudden news of Emilia defeating the Sin Archbishop of Sloth spread like wildfire throughout the Kingdom. The timing couldn't have been more perfect. Considering the recent, highly publicized failure of the White Whale subjugation, Emilia's success stood out even more. The impact of the achievement was amplified, and people couldn't stop talking about it.

Just as Roswaal had planned, Emilia's fame began to rise rapidly. People who had previously distrusted her—villagers, citizens, and even a few skeptical nobles—began reconsidering their opinions. Her image improved dramatically.

And so, a year passed without any major incidents. At least on the surface.

But just two weeks ago, something massive happened—so impactful that it shook the entire world.

The Sin Archbishops attacked the Water City of Priestella.

And it just so happened that, at that time, four Royal Candidates had coincidentally planned to hold a joint meeting there.

You might ask—who were those four?

None other than Felt, Anastasia, Emilia, and Crusch Karsten.

Over the course of the past year, both Felt's and Emilia's camps had overtaken Crusch's in terms of reputation and public support. Although Anastasia's camp still maintained a slight advantage due to her economic influence and political networking, the failed joint operation with Crusch against the White Whale had stained their image.

Additionally, the defeat of Julius, dubbed the "Knight of Knights," by the White Whale—followed by what the public viewed as a cowardly retreat—only worsened their standing. Especially in comparison to Wilhelm, who sacrificed himself nobly and was celebrated as a hero.

Once again, Roswaal, with the help of the Tome of Wisdom, had foreseen the attack on Priestella. And, once again, he used that knowledge to twist events behind the scenes.

First, he approached Felt under the pretense of cooperation. He suggested the idea of organizing a meeting between all four Royal Candidates in Priestella. Felt, weighing the pros and cons, eventually agreed. Her reasoning was straightforward: "Even if we don't end up with anything useful, there's no harm in trying to form an alliance between all the camps."

So, on behalf of the Emilia and Felt camps, Roswaal formally extended an invitation to Anastasia and Crusch.

Both were suspicious of Roswaal's motives. However, after considering their current situations, both strategically and politically, they concluded it was worth taking the risk. And thus, they agreed to attend the meeting. The chosen location: the Water City of Priestella.

But Roswaal wasn't finished. He deliberately leaked news of the meeting to the Priscilla camp, making sure that they were aware of what was going on. As he planned, all four Royal Candidates arrived in Priestella for the meeting—everyone except Emilia.

Roswaal, as always, had another scheme.

Using a convenient excuse, he delayed Emilia's departure from the mansion. Then, a few days later, just as Emilia's party was finally preparing to leave for Priestella, shocking news arrived—the city had come under sudden and violent attack by the Sin Archbishops.

Using the situation to his advantage, Roswaal insisted Emilia stay behind. He pretended to act in her best interest, citing safety concerns. He even pointed out that Reinhard van Astrea was already in Priestella and that everything would be handled without her.

But it was a lie.

The Sin Archbishops were running wild.

Chaos. Despair. Carnage.

Capella captured Crusch and used her horrifying Authority to reduce her body to something less than human—a grotesque fly-like creature. Felix, helpless to stop it, watched in complete despair.

Meanwhile, the Sin Archbishop of Gluttony devoured Anastasia's name.

Everyone—including her spirit, Echidna—forgot her completely. All that she had built over the years: her trading company, her political influence, her network of powerful contacts—it all vanished in a moment. Her very identity was erased, and no one believed her when she tried to assert her position as one of the five Royal Candidates.

As for Felt, she was kidnapped by Regulus Corneas.

This led to a direct confrontation between Regulus and Reinhard.

But Reinhard, despite being the Sword Saint and widely believed to be invincible, couldn't even scratch Regulus.

Regulus killed him five times over in frustration before finally getting bored and casually launching him into the sky like a toy.

At that point, Reinhard was likely orbiting the sun somewhere, perhaps forming a personal constellation.

Priscilla? She was arguably the most fortunate, though her fate was still far from favorable.

She faced off against the Sin Archbishop of Wrath, and the battle was a never-ending nightmare. Priscilla died countless times.

No matter how many loops Aldebaran initiated, he couldn't find a way to win. Without Liliana—who had become one of the earliest casualties in this timeline—they lacked the one person who could change the tides through inspiration.

Eventually, it took over 100,000 retries for Aldebaran to merely convince Priscilla to retreat. And even then, it required immense effort just to escape the city alive.

In the aftermath of the destruction, a week later, the Kingdom of Lugnica formed a coalition with Gusteko and Kararagi. A combined elite force of 20,000 soldiers was assembled, bolstered by diplomatic negotiations and promises of shared benefits, all aimed at retaking Priestella.

But their efforts were for nothing.

One Sin Archbishop alone—just one man with a grotesquely overpowered Authority, an inferiority complex, and a harem of kidnapped brides—completely annihilated them.

The result?

The Kingdom of Lugnica was now ready to abandon Priestella entirely.

And Roswaal?

His plan had gone off without a hitch.

Using the knowledge provided by the Tome of Wisdom, he had orchestrated the gathering of all the candidates in Priestella at precisely the moment of the Archbishop's attack.

The result was devastating.

Every single Royal Candidate had been neutralized or removed from the competition—except for one.

Emilia.

At this point, the path was clear. Emilia was practically guaranteed to win the Royal Selection, by default if not by merit.

Everything had gone exactly as Roswaal had hoped.

Of course, there was one thing—one crucial element—he had failed to anticipate.

'One man,' Subaru thought to himself, eyes narrowing.

A man who didn't belong to this world.

A man named Natsuki Subaru.

In A World without it's own Natsuki Subaru

To be continued...

Chapter Text

...

3rd Pov

Subaru, upon completing the teleportation to another world, immediately found himself lodged halfway inside the trunk of a massive tree.

His eyebrow twitched violently.

He had very clearly marked his destination's spatial coordinates in advance — an open area near the Capital, slightly above ground level.

But apparently, in this timeline, there just happened to be a thick, healthy tree growing right in that exact spot. Unfortunately for Subaru, he was now part of it.

His body was abnormally strong, so instead of being split in two like an unfortunate mortal might have been, the trunk itself warped and bulged around him, stretching unnaturally from the inside. Still, the sensation was deeply unpleasant.

If he had been an ordinary human, this little mishap would've ended with him sporting a stomach that was half wood and half flesh — and that was a horrifying thought in itself.

'Note to self,' Subaru grumbled inwardly, 'from now on, always pick an open area at least a hundred meters above the ground when teleporting.'

With that mental reminder locked in place, he casually tore the trunk apart from within, splintering the wood like it was paper, and stepped out into the open air.

"Umu? Are we already in a different timeline?" Agni's voice rang out from deep within Subaru's soul space, curious but not particularly concerned.

"It would seem so," Aqua replied immediately, her tone carrying a hint of amusement.

"Father somehow managed to get himself trapped inside a tree during the teleportation process. I suppose we should have that white-haired witch improve the targeting precision of your magic in the future."

"Father got stuck… Bad tree," Sylphy added flatly, her voice soft but dripping with childlike disapproval.

"Hmph! Mongrels, stop shouting inside this concubine's head!" Gloria's haughty voice cut through the soul space, accompanied by a wave of magical pressure.

"You're one to talk…" Gaea muttered before quickly hiding behind Sylphy the moment Gloria's magical aura intensified.

"Whatever! Betty needs to come out now, I suppose!" Beatrice's familiar voice chimed in as she exited the soul space.

"How dare you forget me, mongrel?" Gloria scoffed, materializing a moment later and placing her hands firmly on her hips.

"This concubine shall impose punishment for letting me come out after her."

Without waiting for a reply, she swiftly stepped closer and boldly grabbed Subaru's arm, pressing it snugly between her ample chest.

A sly smirk spread across her face. "Father, how about we enter the capital as a couple?"

Beatrice instantly narrowed her eyes at Gloria. "And what about me, I suppose?!"

"You," Gloria said smoothly, not missing a beat, "can be our child… or perhaps our servant."

The amusement in her tone was obvious, and her gaze flicked deliberately toward Beatrice's small stature.

Subaru let out a long, weary sigh.

"Enough squabbling, all of you. We need to focus. First, we find Reina. Then, we figure out a way to leave her some sort of message or aid in case she happens to arrive here in the future."

Turning to Beatrice, he placed a hand gently on her head.

"Sorry, Betty. You'll have to stay inside me for now. Considering there's a counterpart of you in this world, we can't risk anyone seeing two Beatrices at once. That could cause confusion… or worse, complete chaos."

Beatrice pouted, her eyes narrowing slightly, but she gave a reluctant nod.

She understood the logic.

The last thing they needed was some kingdom-wide misunderstanding because there were two Subarus or two Beatrices running around.

Gloria's smirk only grew wider, clearly entertained by Beatrice's predicament, as the Great Spirit of Yin was reluctantly pulled back into her contractor's spiritual space.

Subaru then turned toward Gloria.

"I'll have to change my face as well… But I don't like wearing other people's faces." His voice carried the tone of someone who didn't like changing his looks like a certain lizard..

'Betty says that no matter what her contractor looks like, she will still love her contractor, I suppose!' Beatrice's voice declared warmly from within his soul space.

'Father, why not turn your eyes orange and your hair red?' Agni suggested eagerly. 'You'd look dashing — just like flames, umu!'

'No, no! Father should change both his eyes and hair to blue,' Aqua argued excitedly. 'It would match the color of water, and you'd look way cooler!'

'Father… silver hair would suit you,' Sylphy said softly, her voice quiet but tinged with shyness.

"This concubine has a far better idea than these servants," Gloria interrupted proudly. "Why not match your hair to mine? That way, everyone will know you belong to me."

'W-Why can't Father just change into a woman?' Gaea suddenly blurted out. 'If you become a woman, no one will suspect you're Natsuki Subaru!'

"…," Subaru thought.

'…,' the others collectively paused.

'That's… actually not a bad suggestion,' Sylphy admitted reluctantly.

'Not you too, Sylphy! Where's my obedient wind spirit?!' Subaru mentally groaned.

He rubbed his temples, feeling an incoming headache. Damn it. Why does it feel like Gaea's been corrupted lately…?

'Are you stupid?! What if the version of Betty's contractor in this world is already a woman?!' Beatrice's voice cut through sharply. 'It'd be just like how, in the previous timeline, the Sword Saint turned out to be a stupid man instead of a woman, I suppose!'

Her argument was solid. Subaru found himself secretly impressed.

At least Beatrice still had the sense to think about potential disasters — and with her logic, he now had a good reason to shut down this absurd "let's make Subaru a girl" idea before it gained any more traction.

Although, if it really came down to crossdressing, even Reina and Reinhard would have no choice but to admit defeat before Subaru.

After all, Subaru's crossdressing wasn't just good — it was an EX-rank skill.

The kind of skill that could topple nations… or at least win beauty contests without breaking a sweat.

Of course, that was in addition to his other ridiculous title: Non-Human Woman Harem Protagonist EX.

Ahem.

"Your suggestion has been heard and noted," Subaru finally said, glancing around at his noisy group of spirits.

"But I think it's better if I just change my hair color to white."

That decision was met with collective groans of disappointment from the others.

His eye color, however, had already changed to gold during the events of the previous timeline. That was thanks to his aura becoming draconic after assimilating dragon blood from Capella, which made his overall presence ten times stronger. The transformation had been gradual, but now the golden hue was a permanent part of him.

Technically, Subaru could change his eyes back to their original black color at any time using the Authority of Lust — one of the abilities he had copied from Capella — but he had decided against it.

This was his natural look now, and besides, the golden eyes carried a certain… charm.

Ironically, when the Capital of Lugunica had been burning to the ground in the previous timeline, there had been a moment when the Sin Archbishop of Pride — that timeline's Natsuki Subaru — appeared to have golden eyes as well, the flames reflecting in them like molten metal.

How ironic it was, and Subaru couldn't deny that it had looked cool.

Not that he would ever claim the Pride version of himself had been "good" in any moral sense.

That guy had style, sure, but he'd also been completely broken — driven insane after dying more times than anyone should have to endure.

The "swag" was undeniable… but so was the madness.

Shaking off the memories, Subaru focused on the present.

Together with Gloria, he entered the Capital of Lugunica as it existed in this timeline.

They headed straight to an inn, booked a room, and once inside, Subaru sat on the bed and summoned all of his spirits.

His four True Spirits manifested as floating orbs of mana, while his two Great Spirits, who possessed full human forms, stood beside him.

"I'll be using my Authority of Greed — Memories of the World — to search for any traces of Reina," Subaru explained.

"Meanwhile, the rest of you, except Betty, will head out into the city. I want you to gather news about recent events. I'm not expecting you to uncover deep secrets; just focus on what's currently happening in this world so we can compare it to what we know."

Then he smiled faintly and turned toward the one exception. "Of course, you're staying here, my cute little imouto," he added, reaching out to pinch Beatrice's cheek.

"Betty's cheeks hurt! Stop playing with them, I suppose!" Beatrice protested, glaring at him.

Subaru laughed, pulling her into a warm hug. "Betty, can you stay with me and keep watch? It's unlikely anyone will attack, but I'd rather not take risks while I'm sifting through hundreds of years of this world's memories."

"Betty will protect her contractor! Just like how her contractor always protects her!" Beatrice declared proudly.

Subaru patted her head. 'So kawaii!' he thought to himself.

Then he looked over at the rest of his companions — the four glowing mana orbs, and Gloria, whose voluptuous figure and almost divine beauty stood out in stark contrast to the ethereal forms of the True Spirits.

Reaching into his belongings, Subaru pulled out a pouch heavy with the clink of gold, silver, and copper coins, and handed it to Gloria.

"Use this to get information. Buy whatever you need — or whatever catches your interest — if it'll help."

Gloria smiled knowingly. "Do not worry, Father. This concubine will not fail you."

With that, the others departed, leaving Subaru alone with Beatrice.

He soon allowed himself to sink into a semi-unconscious state, diving deep into the Memories of the World.

The mental link took hold, and he began to sift through layer upon layer of history.

Time passed — minutes, hours, maybe longer.

He moved steadily toward the most recent events, searching for any sign of Reina.

But then he stumbled upon a major revelation: in this timeline, Natsuki Subaru had never been teleported to this world by Satella.

He pressed on, watching the events unfold from this altered reality's perspective, and found himself both speechless and impressed by some of Roswaal's schemes.

Still, his focus remained on his goal — finding Reina.

After several hours, he finally opened his eyes. At some point during his search, Beatrice had fallen asleep on his chest, snuggled against him. He stayed still, not wanting to disturb her.

His other spirits had returned by now. Gloria entered quietly, offering him a small smile before settling into silence so as not to wake Betty.

Subaru reviewed the information he had gathered.

Reina wasn't here.

That alone filled him with a deep, sinking disappointment.

To make matters worse, the situation in this timeline was… chaotic.

All of the Royal Candidates were in constant danger, living under the shadow of death at any given moment due to the Sin Archbishops' rampage.

The city of Priestella had been completely overrun, and the news made his headache grow even stronger.

'But I have to admit, the Roswaal in this world cooked… and he cooked hard,' Subaru thought, genuinely impressed by this timeline's clown-faced schemer.

Compared to the Roswaal of Subaru's own world — who basically dumped all responsibility on his Book of Wisdom and let fate carry the load — this version of Roswaal had rolled up his sleeves and taken control personally.

Using the future knowledge from his Book of Wisdom, he had woven plan after plan, taking bold, decisive actions.

The results were dramatic: Emilia's popularity had increased greatly, other factions had suffered devastating losses, and the playing field had been tilted entirely in his favor.

Currently, Emilia was the only Royal Candidate whose life wasn't hanging by a thread.

If nothing went horribly wrong, she had a very high chance of being crowned queen simply because all of her competitors were in the process of being eliminated.

Subaru gently tugged at Betty's sleeve, waking her from her nap.

At the same time, Gloria began sharing the information she had gathered.

It matched most of what Subaru had already seen through the Memories of the World, but her perspective included the public's reaction and street-level rumors, which painted an even clearer picture.

The biggest shock for everyone was the confirmation that in this world, Natsuki Subaru had never been summoned by Satella.

Without him in the picture, events had spiraled out of control in ways none of them had quite anticipated.

The White Whale, unopposed by his strategies and leadership, had completely obliterated the combined forces of Anastasia and Crusch Karsten.

The Sin Archbishops had seized control of the city of Priestella, and even the united efforts of the four factions couldn't defeat them — or even push them back.

And as for this world's Reinhardt?

He was currently in orbit.

Courtesy of Regulus Corneas, who had quite literally hurled the Sword Saint toward the sun.

Thanks to the Authority of Greed — Lion's Heart — Reinhardt's momentum had never stopped, and the Sun's gravity had simply claimed him.

'Being a planetary-level being doesn't mean you have to become a damn planet!' Subaru complained inwardly, clutching his forehead.

Seriously… were all Sword Saints this useless in timelines where he wasn't around?

No wonder the Subaru of other worlds had to suffer through endless deaths and hardships just to keep everyone from sinking into ruin.

"As expected of mongrels — without the presence of my Father, they are utterly worthless," Gloria scoffed, tossing her hair.

"Indeed," Betty agreed, crossing her small arms. "Betty didn't expect them to fail so miserably. It only makes Betty appreciate even more how lucky she is to have Subaru as her contractor — and how much her contractor has improved Betty's world for the better, I suppose!"

"Umu, Father is really strong," Agni admitted without hesitation.

"Without him, they couldn't even kill that stupid Whale," Aqua added bluntly.

"In the previous timeline, when Crusch fought the White Whale alone, she lost badly," Gaea said, bubbling side by side.

"This time, she only survived because she had an alliance with that greedy merchant woman."

"Remembering those women trying to rope Father into their camp makes me feel disgusted…" Sylphy spoke up for once, her tone uncharacteristically long-winded.

"Their incompetent selves acted as if they were his superiors, when all they wanted was to leech off Father's glory."

"Now that you're all finished insulting their world's counterparts," Subaru interrupted, rubbing his temples, "we need to decide what to do next. Reina isn't here, so our goal now is to leave this world. But before we do, we need to leave behind some method for her to contact us — or at least a message — in case she arrives in this timeline in the future."

The room fell quiet for a moment.

Emilia in this world was still a puppet under Roswaal's thumb, just like in Subaru's own world, but otherwise she was fine.

The Kingdom wasn't on fire, there was no immediate apocalyptic threat, and if Subaru really wanted, he could simply walk up to Roswaal, hand him a few revolutionary ideas, and secure a safe place for Reina to stay should she ever show up here.

Given Roswaal's current schemes, Emilia's political chances were actually better than in Subaru's original timeline.

This time, he didn't have to fight some overpowered, world-ending monster just to keep everyone alive.

All it would take was making a deal — maybe with this world's Beatrice — and slipping out quietly.

'One man,' Subaru thought, considering how Roswaal in this world hadn't accounted for his arrival at all.

If Subaru wasn't in Roswaal's Book of Wisdom, and if this world's Echidna took an interest in him, things might not go so smoothly.

And yet… could he really just walk away, leaving the entire city of Priestella — and everyone trapped inside it — to the mercy of the Sin Archbishops?

The Archbishops were having the time of their lives, running wild without restraint.

Capella was transforming anyone she wanted into grotesque monsters and had already flooded part of the city, killing thousands.

Crusch had literally been turned into a fly and was enduring unthinkable psychological torment.

Anastasia's odds of survival weren't promising either.

Priscilla, while currently safe, wasn't the type to sit idle.

She'd almost certainly make another reckless attempt to strike at the Archbishops — and that would likely end in disaster.

So the question now was…

What should he do?

To be continued...

Chapter Text

...

{3rd Pov}

Crusch Karsten's life began within the distinguished House of Karsten, one of the highest-ranking noble families in the Kingdom of Lugunica, known for their unwavering loyalty to the Royal Family and the royal institution itself.

Born as the sole heir to the house, Crusch displayed an unusual level of maturity from a very early age—well beyond that of other children her age.

While many noble girls spent their days hosting tea parties, playing with dolls, and engaging in polite social gatherings, Crusch's interests lay elsewhere.

She was drawn instead to swordplay, military strategy, and battle tactics.

At the age of nine, Crusch encountered Felix Argyle, who at that time was suffering under the cruel abuse of his father due to Felix's demi-human heritage.

When word of the situation reached the public, Crusch's father saw an opportunity to strengthen the Karsten family's standing. Leveraging the scandal, he stripped House Argyle of nearly all its properties, leaving them with only a small portion of cultivated land and a single mansion.

To young Crusch, this act appeared to be pure justice—a necessary punishment for the mistreatment of Felix.

Even years later, she would remember it as such.

Her father took Felix into the Karsten household, and over time Felix became not just a ward but one of Crusch's closest and most trusted friends.

As Crusch grew older, her preferences for attire and demeanor began to deviate further from societal norms.

She preferred to wear masculine clothing and devoted herself wholeheartedly to martial training, something her parents found troubling.

They feared the consequences of their daughter openly rejecting the expectations of noble society.

To appease her father, Crusch reluctantly wore women's clothing in public, though her heart was never in it.

This changed when she met another close friend, Fourier, who encouraged her to embrace her true self without concern for convention.

With his support, she abandoned overly feminine clothing altogether and continued honing her skills, her confidence and abilities growing steadily over the years.

Felix and Fourier remained by her side, aiding her personal and political development.

On her seventeenth birthday, disaster struck within Karsten territory.

An incident involving the legendary Great Rabbit broke out, threatening the safety of the land.

Crusch took command of the response, playing a decisive role in forcing the Great Rabbit to retreat.

Her leadership during this crisis impressed her father to such a degree that he formally passed the title of Duke to her. Under her governance, the Karsten Duchy prospered.

Years later, another crisis emerged—this time connected to House Argyle.

Felix's father, driven mad by the death of his wife, turned to forbidden magic: the Sacrament of the Immortal King.

Using its power, he created an army of corpse soldiers to serve his will.

What followed was a sequence of dangerous events: Crusch herself was kidnapped; she was later rescued by the Karsten household's maid, who was secretly Felix's true mother; and eventually, she participated in putting an end to the madman's schemes.

Crusch returned to her duchy afterward, but her respite was short-lived.

During this time, Fourier, her dear friend, fell gravely ill—just as members of the Royal Family had begun dying one after another.

Despite her hopes, he passed away in her lap.

To Crusch's outrage, his death was treated as an insignificant matter, brushed aside without ceremony.

The kingdom's Wise Men and other officials were more concerned with re-establishing the ancient contract with the Divine Dragon than with mourning the death of a royal, however minor they considered his position.

Having grown up reading stories of the Lion King and the monarchs of Lugunica from before the Divine Dragon's pact, Crusch had already come to believe that the kingdom's reliance on the contract had made its rulers complacent and apathetic.

Fourier's death solidified her conviction: the current system was flawed, and the Divine Dragon's contract was a key part of the problem.

When the Divine Dragon's prophecy for the Royal Selection was announced and Crusch was revealed as the first Royal Candidate, she resolved to win the throne and end the contract once and for all.

It was during this period that she encountered Wilhelm van Astrea, who had been temporarily imprisoned after clashing with the Wise Men over their refusal to provide troops for his quest to slay the White Whale.

Crusch met with him, listened to his grievances, and earned his loyalty by promising to aid him in his revenge.

Everything seemed to be aligning in her favor—yet another opportunity to prove herself, to rise higher, and to secure her claim.

When the Royal Selection began in earnest, Crusch entered with overwhelming momentum.

She was widely regarded as the strongest candidate.

In her mind, there was no realistic threat: how could a nameless baroness cursed to kill her husbands, a common-born slum dweller—even with the aid of Reinhardt—and a half-elf with an uncanny resemblance to the Witch possibly compete with her?

Even Julius Juukulius, a knight of considerable prestige, had sworn his loyalty to her only months prior.

She secured alliances with Chuden Agri of Hoshin Company and Russell Fellow, bringing them together to assist in her upcoming campaign against the White Whale.

Her plans were thorough, her forces elite, and her partnership with the Hoshin Company of Commerce ensured supplies and resources.

She was confident in her tactics, bolstered by the presence of Wilhelm, Felix, Julius, and the Iron Fang mercenary group.

Yet when the time came, disaster struck in a way she could not have predicted.

The White Whale appeared suddenly, without warning, catching her forces unprepared.

She later struggled to understand how such a basic error had occurred—why she had failed to send scouts ahead and how she could have made such a rookie mistake.

Pushing aside her doubts, Crusch ordered a full-scale assault.

The battle was fierce and chaotic.

To her shock, the White Whale generated clones of itself, confusing her soldiers and thinning her ranks.

Even with every ounce of her skill and the combined might of her allies, the fight was brutal and costly.

Through a series of calculated maneuvers, heavy sacrifices, and unrelenting effort, they managed to slay two of the White Whales, leaving only one remaining.

Even though her forces had been reduced to nearly half their original strength, Crusch still saw victory within her grasp.

The chance to bring an end to one of the Four Great Mabeasts in the world was right before her eyes, a moment that could define her legacy. She believed she could seize it.

But then, in an instant, that belief shattered. The White Whale regenerated its clones, revealing the horrifying truth—it could create them infinitely.

There was no limit. There was no end. The battle was now unwinnable.

With the tide irreversibly turned against her, Crusch was forced to order a retreat. More of her soldiers fell, and Ricardo was among those who perished.

In the chaos, Wilhelm made his decision. Realizing that if he fled now, there would never be another opportunity to avenge his late wife, he chose to remain behind.

He would hold the White Whale at bay, even if it meant his own death.

For him, dying in battle was far preferable to living on as a coward who had abandoned his cause.

He fought with everything he had. And while he kept the beast occupied, Crusch, gritting her teeth in frustration and grief, focused on saving the lives of those who remained.

With Julius and the Iron Fang mercenaries covering their withdrawal, she managed to pull back what was left of her forces.

When she returned to the royal capital, her head hung low.

She had been defeated—utterly, unquestionably defeated—and the loss struck a devastating blow to her reputation.

Yet, despite the shame and humiliation, she refused to leave things as they were.

To honor Wilhelm's sacrifice and to avenge the soldiers who had fallen under her command, she petitioned the Wise Men to deploy Reinhardt himself and finish the White Whale once and for all.

She knew that such an act would inevitably raise the popularity of the Felt camp, Reinhardt's allies, but that didn't matter.

What mattered was ensuring that the monster that had claimed so many lives would never roam free again.

The Wise Men refused.

Their official explanation was that the latest information on the White Whale confirmed it to be an even greater threat than anticipated.

Deploying Reinhardt, they claimed, was no guarantee of victory, and if he were to fall, the kingdom would lose one of its most powerful defenders.

Absolute Bullshit!

To Crusch, it was nonsense.

She knew they were not motivated by concern for Reinhardt's safety. They had their own hidden agendas, and the lives already lost meant nothing to them.

The denial only deepened her resolve.

She became even more determined to ascend the throne and dismantle the ancient contract between the kingdom and the Divine Dragon.

Her heart burned with hatred, with guilt, and with grief.

The following year was spent rebuilding her political standing, repairing the damage done to her name after the White Whale defeat, and quietly planning for another attempt at slaying the beast.

It was during this time that a letter arrived—an unexpected one. It was from Roswaal L. Mathers, speaking on behalf of the Emilia camp.

Crusch was well aware that Emilia's popularity had risen sharply after defeating the Sin Archbishop of Sloth.

Under normal circumstances, the victory might not have been so significant, but coming so soon after Crusch's own disastrous failure, the contrast was glaring.

The letter contained Roswaal's proposal: an alliance between all the Royal Selection candidates.

At first, Crusch found the very idea absurd—how could rivals competing for the throne unite in any meaningful way? Such an arrangement seemed destined to collapse.

However, she also knew that if Emilia managed to unite with the other candidates while she refused, it could leave her politically isolated.

She decided it was better to attend the meeting, if only to keep her options open and prevent the other camps from forming an alliance without her.

The gathering place was set: the Water City of Priestella.

Crusch arrived several days ahead of the meeting, as did Felt and Priscilla, both of whom had grown their support significantly over the past year.

They waited for Emilia's arrival, but soon received another letter from her camp.

Due to unforeseen circumstances, her group would be delayed for several days, and they expressed their apologies for the inconvenience.

Crusch thought little of the delay and was content to wait.

But the very next day, before Emilia could arrive, the city of Priestella fell under sudden attack—by the Sin Archbishops themselves.

In the end, the Royal Candidate Felt was captured by none other than the Sin Archbishop of Greed. Her abduction made it clear that the Sin Archbishops' sudden attack on Priestella was not a mere display of chaos—it was a calculated strike.

Faced with such a threat, Crusch and Priscilla set aside their rivalry and formed a temporary alliance.

Both understood that survival, as well as the safety of the city, depended on coordinated action.

Together, they devised a plan to divide the enemy forces and tackle them separately.

Reinhardt would face the Sin Archbishop of Greed directly, his overwhelming strength making him the most suited for the task. Priscilla, driven by fury after learning that the city's beloved Songstress had been killed by the Sin Archbishop of Wrath, took it upon herself to deal with Wrath personally.

The Sin Archbishop of Gluttony, meanwhile, became the responsibility of the Iron Fang mercenaries, who happened to be in Priestella on a commercial mission for the Hoshin Company of Commerce.

As for Crusch, she chose her own target: the Sin Archbishop of Lust, who had seized control of the city's floodgates and was threatening to unleash devastation.

She would lead the assault alongside Julius and Felix.

Their progress was quickly interrupted by the sudden appearance of corpse soldiers—undead monstrosities animated to serve as shields and distractions.

Julius, recognizing the danger they posed to the mission, engaged them head-on to keep the path clear. His intervention allowed Crusch and Felix to press forward toward Lust's position.

Crusch's confidence remained high. In her mind, the Sin Archbishops, while dangerous, were not invincible.

Emilia had proven as much when she managed to kill one—even if the feat had been accomplished with the aid of a Great Spirit but most importantly it was without the backing of a trained army.

If Emilia could achieve such a victory, then Crusch, who considered herself a far more capable and disciplined leader, could certainly do the same.

Even her previous defeat against the White Whale had not shaken her conviction that she was superior to the other candidates, especially a silver-haired half-elf whose resemblance to the Witch was impossible to ignore.

But in the end?

Her belief became her downfall.

Felix was struck down and rendered unconscious, and Crusch herself suffered a crushing and humiliating defeat at the hands of Lust.

They lost. Completely.

She did not know what had become of Reinhardt, Priscilla, or Julius, but she knew one thing for certain—the Sin Archbishop of Lust had overpowered her and Felix.

Then came the humiliation.

That vile woman—Capella, the embodiment of Lust—decided to amuse herself further. With her twisted magic, she transformed Crusch into a grotesque monstrosity resembling an oversized fly, yet cruelly left her mind untouched.

Crusch remained fully conscious, trapped within a repulsive, alien body.

"Haha! Look at you!" Capella laughed, her voice dripping with mockery. "Now why don't we see if your loyal little knight still adores you… even when you're nothing but a beast?"

'Please! Stop this!' Crusch screamed in her mind, but the sound that emerged from her new mouth was nothing more than garbled, insect-like suction noises.

Capella, ignoring her silent pleas, moved to Felix's unconscious form.

With deliberate malice, she used her own blood to curse him, jolting him awake with the searing pain of her corruption.

"I-It hurts! L-Lady Crusch, where are you?!" Felix cried out, clutching his body in agony. His eyes burned with anger as he looked toward Capella.

"What have you done to Crusch-sama?!"

"Oh? Asking about your precious Lady?" Capella's lips curled into a cruel smile.

"Tell me where she is! If even a single strand of her hair has been harmed, I swear I'll kill you—even at the cost of my own life!" Felix roared, his voice raw with both rage and desperation.

Capella's grin widened, her amusement plain. "Oh, you want to see her? Then why don't we bring her to you? Say, Crusch, why don't you come greet your lovely knight?"

Felix's expression shifted to confusion as a massive, Witch Beast-like creature stepped forward.

His body trembled, but his voice rose again. "Where is Crusch-sama?"

Capella burst into hysterical laughter. "Do you see this ugly, revolting thing? This foul creature? I made it. I turned your beloved Lady Crusch into this. And now, here she is, standing right in front of you!"

Felix's face went pale, all the color draining from it as he stared at the enormous mosquito-like abomination.

'Please… don't look at me like that!' Crusch begged silently. But her monstrous body betrayed her, moving forward toward him against her will, her suction-cup mouth drawing closer and closer.

Felix stumbled backward, falling to the ground in horror.

When she came within reach, the grotesque appendage near his face, he gagged violently and vomited, bile and half-digested food splattering across her.

"No… no! Lady Crusch cannot be like this! This is not Lady Crusch! She cannot be this disgusting!" Felix broke down, his voice cracking as tears streamed down his face.

Crusch was devastated by Felix's words.

She had expected pain from Capella, humiliation from being transformed into a monstrous form—but not this.

Even if she knew she was no longer human, even if she understood she had lost any semblance of beauty, she had believed, deep down, that Felix would still recognize her for who she truly was.

She thought that, regardless of how far she had fallen physically, he would see through the degradation and find a way to help her.

But when she saw him recoil in disgust—pissing himself, vomiting on her, and screaming as though she were nothing but a nightmare—something inside her cracked.

Capella, of course, reveled in their mutual suffering. The more they broke, the more she seemed to enjoy herself.

And the days that followed were far worse than the moment of defeat. Each morning, Capella would transform Crusch into a different form—always hideous, often barely recognizable as a living creature.

Sometimes she was reduced to an amorphous, bobbing mass of misshapen flesh that could not even be described as an animal.

Through it all, Capella left Crusch's mind untouched.

She was forced to remain fully aware, trapped in a body she could not control, moving and speaking only at Capella's command.

Felix, meanwhile, deteriorated further with every passing day.

Crusch watched him lose more and more of his composure, his sanity fraying until he began to lash out at her monstrous forms.

He struck her, clawed at her, and sometimes outright beat her, all while shouting denials and refusing to believe she was his Lady Crusch.

She tried to tell herself that Capella was twisting his mind, forcing him to act this way.

But when Capella, with a mocking smile, revealed that she wasn't doing anything to influence him—that he was acting on his own—Crusch felt her heart shatter completely.

Her life became nothing but pain, degradation, and abuse.

She prayed for rescue. She prayed for her kingdom to send help. She even prayed for the Divine Dragon—the very being she had sworn to oppose—to come and save them.

But no one came. No army. No allies. No miracle.

As the days dragged on, she began to turn inward. She thought about every choice she had made, every battle she had fought, every word she had spoken. She began to feel guilty even for things she had never done.

'It's my fault,' she told herself.

'All of it is my fault. If only I hadn't been so foolish… If only I hadn't tried to defy the Divine Dragon… If only I had realized my failure long ago… If only I had given up on the throne from the start…'

A single tear rolled down the distorted eye of her current form.

This form, ironically, was perhaps the most "humane" she had been in weeks—an obese, bloated version of herself, weighing hundreds of kilograms, unable to move without assistance, and barely able to speak.

Every word was a struggle, every breath a labor.

Still, she thought maybe—just maybe—Felix would look at this form and remember her.

That seeing something closer to her old self, even in this grotesque state, might spark his loyalty again.

She was wrong.

"Die! Die! Die! Give me back my Lady Crusch! You are not Ferris' Lady Crusch!" Felix screamed, stabbing into her massive body with a dagger over and over. His face twisted into a mad, almost feral expression as he struck.

'Please stop,' Crusch begged silently, her vision blurred by the folds of bloated flesh that covered her eyes.

'Please, Felix, stop!' she cried again in her mind.

"I… it… hurts…" she managed to choke out, her words mangled by her deformed mouth.

Felix froze for a moment, his eyes widening. But then, instead of recognition, disgust overtook his face again. He turned pale, gagged, and vomited for the second time.

In his mind, this thing in front of him could not possibly be his Lady Crusch. She was supposed to be beautiful, proud, charismatic, intelligent, wise, and compassionate. Not weak. Not pathetic. Not a revolting mass of flesh.

Not this.

He resumed stabbing her, again and again, until the curse Capella had placed on him finally took its toll, rendering him unconscious.

Crusch no longer cried.

The pain from the countless stab wounds was unbearable, her body bleeding heavily—but she knew she would not die. Capella had made her body resilient enough to endure these injuries, just so she could keep suffering.

An hour passed in silence. This time, she did not even bother to hope.

Whatever will to fight or endure she had left seemed to fade away completely.

And then—

"Oh man, this is worse than I thought."

She heard a voice. A voice that was not Capella's, not Felix's, not one of the jeering Sin Archbishops.

She didn't know it yet, but her salvation had finally arrived.

To be continued...

(A/N: I am planning to make this version of Crusch an love interest, do you like the idea?)

Chapter Text

...

{3rd Pov}

Anastasia was an orphan. She never knew the warmth and care of a mother, nor did she ever experience the protection or guidance of a father.

From a very young age, she had to fend for herself, growing up in the filthy slums of Banan, where every day was a struggle just to survive.

Perhaps it was during those harsh years, watching from the sidelines as other people enjoyed comfortable lives—eating well, dressing well, and living without fear—that a deep, unshakable greed began to take root inside her.

She didn't want to keep eating stale, rock-hard bread that had to be soaked in water just to be chewable.

She didn't want to keep wearing tattered rags that barely covered her body. She didn't want to keep treating her injuries by simply rubbing dirt over them.

She was tired of being seen as something filthy and worthless whenever she walked down the street.

She wanted to eat freshly baked bread that was still warm and soft to the touch. She wanted to indulge in rice dishes served alongside the rich and varied delicacies of Kararagi cuisine.

She wanted to wear clean, well-made clothes instead of scavenged scraps.

She dreamed of lying down every night on a soft, clean mattress instead of curling up on the cold, hard ground.

She wished that if she ever got so much as a scratch, she could apply proper medicine—or even hire a healer—to take care of it.

But she knew that for someone like her, a so-called "slum rat," these were nothing but distant, unreachable dreams.

One day, when she was still young and far too naïve, she saw two demi-humans being dragged away to be sold as slaves.

The sight filled her with outrage and pity.

Acting on impulse and without thinking of the consequences, she threw herself into danger in an attempt to save them.

But her reckless actions nearly got her captured and sold as a slave herself. It was only thanks to Ricardo, who stepped in and saved her, that she avoided that fate.

After that incident, Anastasia and Ricardo got to know each other and gradually became friends.

When she eventually learned that Ricardo himself was a slave, she made a promise to him—that one day she would remove his slave collar.

Ricardo didn't take her words seriously back then. But impressed by her determination, as well as aware of her complete lack of income, he decided to introduce her to work at a local bar.

After working at the bar for several months, Anastasia caught the attention of Chuden Agri, who offered her a position at the company where he was employed.

Around the same time, Ricardo's slave collar was replaced with one that had no control crystal—meaning that while he still wore it, it was purely for appearances and he was no longer under actual control.

However, a few months later, Anastasia was kidnapped by a rival company that planned to sell her as a slave.

During her time locked in a cell, she met Mimi and Hetaro. Using their Divine Protection of Trisection, she managed to send a message to Tivey, who in turn contacted Ricardo.

Thanks to their efforts, Anastasia and the others were rescued.

Afterward, she went to the adoptive parents of Mimi, Hetaro, and Tivey, asking for the siblings to be entrusted to her care—and in the end, she succeeded in bringing them to her side.

Sometime later, through pure chance, Anastasia encountered Eridna—also known as Echidna. The two grew close, and Eridna became one of Anastasia's greatest secrets and her most powerful trump card.

Eridna soon discovered that Anastasia's gate was defective, meaning she was fated to die an early death. However, with Eridna's help, not only could Anastasia use magic despite her condition, but Eridna could also absorb her excess mana, greatly prolonging her life.

From that point on, nine years passed.

During those years, Anastasia fully unleashed her natural talent as a merchant. With her cunning, sharp instincts, and relentless ambition, she amassed an enormous fortune—enough for her to be counted among the extremely wealthy.

Eventually, she even acquired the parent company of Chuden's old employer and renamed it the Hoshin Company.

But on her path to success, she abandoned many of the morals she may have once had.

She began to see nearly everyone around her purely in terms of their usefulness.

If a person had something to offer that could advance her business, she would use them.

Once they were no longer useful, she would quietly discard them without hesitation.

She deliberately plotted against her competitors, systematically dismantling and destroying their businesses.

Her rise to wealth and influence was built on a foundation of blood and the sacrifices of others.

The only exceptions were the rare few individuals she deemed valuable enough to be considered true friends.

To them, she showed loyalty.

To everyone else, she was calculating and detached.

That said, she did have one gesture that could be considered charitable: she improved the lives of many orphans by offering them jobs in her company.

While this might seem like an act of kindness, it was also practical—by working for her, these children would gain skills they could use anywhere in the world, even if they were later fired for incompetence.

However, Anastasia forgot—or perhaps deliberately ignored—the fact that many of the slaves she passed by with lifeless eyes had once been just like her: poor, desperate, and powerless.

She had been lucky enough to survive and climb her way to the top, but they hadn't. And as her wealth and influence grew, so did her arrogance.

Eventually, Anastasia made the decision to expand her business operations into Lugunica.

It was during this period that she met Julius Juukulius, and through a series of events, she discovered something extraordinary—she was actually a Dragon Candidate.

This revelation presented her with an opportunity that she had never even imagined before.

If she could become queen, not only would she gain supreme authority over the nation, but she might also, through the Divine Dragon's blessing, find a way to heal her defective gate in the future.

For someone like her—ambitious, driven, and always chasing more—it was the perfect chance.

She did not hesitate for long before deciding to participate in the Royal Selection.

She was greedy. She wasn't satisfied with riches, influence, or a powerful company. She wanted more—she wanted an entire nation under her control.

She had already envisioned her plans in detail: once she was crowned queen, she would gradually and methodically eliminate every single one of her commercial rivals in Lugunica, using the legal and political powers of the throne itself to crush them.

In her vision, there would come a time when hers would be the only major commercial company operating in the country. That would make her the richest, most influential person in all of Lugunica without question.

Julius, upon hearing her story of rising from an orphan in the slums to becoming one of the wealthiest individuals in Kararagi, was deeply impressed.

He was drawn to her determination and resourcefulness, and without hesitation, he pledged his loyalty to her cause.

Time passed, and the day finally came when the Royal Selection began.

There were five candidates in total. However, Anastasia only saw one of them as a real threat—Crusch Karsten.

The others, in her view, were far from serious competition.

There was Emilia, a silver-haired half-elf whose appearance alone—so similar to the feared Witch of Envy—made her an easy target for prejudice.

In Anastasia's opinion, Emilia's chances of winning were close to zero simply because of how the people of Lugunica would view her.

Then there was Priscilla Barielle.

While Priscilla was haughty, arrogant, and self-assured, she lacked the vast resources and strategic planning that Anastasia possessed, making her an overconfident but ultimately beatable opponent.

Then there was Felt.

Anastasia's feelings toward her were somewhat complicated.

Like herself, Felt came from the slums.

But when Anastasia learned that Felt had resorted to becoming a thief in order to survive, she felt nothing but disappointment.

In her eyes, that was a sign of weakness and lack of vision.

Felt's only advantage came from her association with Reinhardt van Astrea; without him, Anastasia thought, a mere "slum rat" like her wouldn't stand a chance in the competition.

Crusch, however, was different.

Crusch Karsten was a duchess with enormous political influence, a well-trained and powerful military force at her disposal, and a strong reputation for intelligence, competent governance, and strategic brilliance.

Her greatest achievement—repelling the Great Rabbit while keeping casualties to a minimum—had only strengthened her already impressive reputation.

Anastasia knew that among all the candidates, Crusch was the one she needed to keep the closest eye on.

Using her extensive information network, Anastasia monitored Crusch's activities.

When she noticed unusual military mobilizations and an increase in weapon purchases from Crusch's duchy, she grew suspicious.

She intensified her information gathering, probing deeper into what Crusch was planning.

Eventually, Anastasia received word—through an undisclosed source—that Crusch was preparing to hunt the White Whale.

This intelligence was reinforced by news that Wilhelm van Astrea had joined Crusch's camp after being detained for requesting a military operation against the beast.

Putting the pieces together, Anastasia concluded that this was indeed Crusch's objective.

The problem was, if Crusch succeeded in killing the White Whale, she would gain an enormous boost in prestige, one that could put her far ahead of all the other candidates in the Royal Selection.

Anastasia weighed her options.

Should she try to sabotage Crusch's plans? In the end, she decided against it. It would be too ruthless, even by her standards, and she knew her own people would strongly object to such an act.

Instead, she chose what she believed was the next best course of action—forming an alliance. Working together with Russell Fellow, a merchant to whom she had previously offered a highly favorable deal, Anastasia approached Crusch with a proposal.

She emphasized the White Whale's formidable power and explained how valuable her own resources could be in the subjugation effort, including the skills of her knight Julius and the combat capabilities of the Iron Fang mercenary group.

After negotiations, they reached an agreement, and Anastasia provided both monetary aid and logistical support to the expedition.

The key issue was determining the White Whale's location. Without that, all their preparations would be meaningless.

Fortunately, there was a lead: the White Whale was known to roam within areas shrouded by Dragon Mist, a thick fog that appeared in various parts of the world. Its movements were generally limited to these mist-covered regions.

One such Dragon Mist had recently manifested near Flugel's Tree.

Whether the White Whale would appear there, however, was uncertain—months had already passed without a single confirmed sighting.

This long absence was part of the reason Wilhelm had grown increasingly restless.

When he first learned about the new Dragon Mist, he had seen it as a rare opportunity to confront the creature that had haunted him for years, which led to his heated argument with the Wise Men over mobilizing forces.

Then, one night, a merchant arrived in a panic, clearly shaken and out of breath. He brought urgent news: the White Whale had been spotted.

Without wasting a moment, the alliance forces mobilized under Crusch Karsten's leadership and set out toward the location.

Anastasia, being a non-combatant, remained behind. She waited in the capital, silently anticipating the outcome.

She had full confidence in the combined might of the assembled force—elite soldiers, skilled magicians, magic cannons, the Sword Demon whose skill rivaled that of the former Sword Saint, the greatest healer known as Blue, her own Iron Fang mercenaries, and of course, Julius.

Above all, she trusted in Crusch's leadership, which had already been proven in her past victory against the Great Rabbit.

That night, Anastasia could not sleep.

She stayed awake, holding her metia close, waiting for word of their success.

Hours passed, but no news came.

Finally, at dawn, her metia lit up.

The mirror-like surface shimmered, and the image of Julius appeared.

But the moment she saw his face, she knew something was wrong.

His expression was grim, and an uneasy feeling began to rise in her chest as she prepared to hear what he had to say.

With a nervous smile that she tried to force onto her face, Anastasia asked, "Julius, what happened? Was the White Whale slain?" Her tone carried a mixture of hope and unease.

But Julius did not answer right away. Instead, he bit his lip, his head lowering until his chin nearly touched his chest.

His eyes refused to meet hers, and when he finally spoke, his voice was trembling.

"No."

The single word hung in the air, almost unreal. Anastasia stared at him, unable to believe what she had just heard.

For a moment, she even wondered if she had misheard him entirely, that perhaps her mind had played a cruel trick on her.

But the truth sank in almost immediately. It was as if all the strength and life drained out of her body in an instant.

She collapsed back onto the sofa, her shoulders sagging and her expression blank.

For the first time in years, one of her investments had failed—but this time, it wasn't a financial investment in goods or companies.

This time, her investment had been in people—people she trusted, people she valued, people she considered her own.

The following hours brought more devastating news.

She learned of Ricardo's death, as well as Wilhelm's sacrifice.

Anastasia tried to hold herself together.

She tried to remain composed, the way she always had in business.

She told herself to be strong.

But in the end, the tears came anyway.

She cried because Ricardo was gone—a man she had considered a friend, one of the few she regarded as part of her family.

Mimi, Tivey, and Hetaro wept as well. Julius stood nearby, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white.

He bowed his head and begged her for forgiveness, his voice heavy with guilt.

"Stand up… It wasn't your fault, Julius," she told him, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

But in her mind, her thoughts told a different story. 'The fault was mine. I was too greedy, too ambitious, and too arrogant to even consider the possibility of defeat.'

She knew full well that in this kind of battle, anyone could die—even Mimi, Tivey, Hetaro, and Ricardo. Even if they had won, there was no guarantee all of them would have returned alive.

'Then why did I agree so easily?' she asked herself silently.

'Just because I couldn't imagine anyone surpassing me? Did I gamble the lives of my family for fame, for connections, for money, for glory?'

Her thoughts stirred Eridna, who spoke gently in her mind.

'Anastasia, it wasn't your fault.'

'No, Eridna,' she replied. 'Tell me—when did I become like this? When did I become a heartless monster who only sees people for the benefit they bring?'

To that, the spirit said nothing.

The aftermath of the failed operation hit hard.

Anastasia's reputation took a sharp blow.

The only small relief was that Crusch had suffered an even greater setback than she had, which ironically placed Anastasia in the position of being the leading candidate in the Royal Selection.

But that left her with another decision to make—should she try to stop Reinhardt from taking action and avenging Ricardo, or should she let him go after the White Whale?

In the end, she gave in to her usual reasoning—her greed.

She convinced herself that if the White Whale was going to die by Reinhardt's hand, it didn't matter if that happened now or later.

For the moment, her priority was clear: she would focus entirely on becoming the Queen of Lugunica.

Once she had an entire nation's military resources at her command, the White Whale would have nowhere to hide.

Eridna, her closest companion, found nothing wrong with this logic.

In fact, she encouraged it, assuring Anastasia that this was exactly the kind of decision Ricardo would have wanted.

Anastasia did not stop to consider that Eridna was an artificial spirit created by Echidna, and expecting her to have a humane perspective was foolish.

Eridna operated entirely on her own form of cold, calculated reasoning.

A year passed.

During that time, Anastasia quietly rebuilt her connections, expanded her business influence, and solidified her trading operations in Lugunica.

Her life settled into a predictable routine—until a letter arrived from Roswaal, the eccentric sponsor of candidate Emilia.

The letter invited not only her, but all of the Royal Selection candidates, to the Water City of Priestella for the purpose of forming an alliance.

At first, Anastasia considered the idea absurd.

But as she analyzed the possible outcomes, she realized she couldn't risk the other candidates forming alliances without her—especially not Crusch, who had once requested the Wise Men to mobilize Reinhardt in the past.

That alone made Anastasia wary.

After weighing the pros and cons, she decided to attend.

If she could form beneficial alliances herself, she would.

If not, she would at least be present to prevent any dangerous partnerships from forming—particularly between the camps of Crusch and Felt, or any other combination that could threaten her position.

She booked a hotel in Priestella with a Kararagi-inspired theme, ensuring that the accommodations would be both comfortable and serve as a subtle reminder of her origins.

One by one, the other candidates arrived.

Crusch came first, followed by Felt.

Even Priscilla showed up—despite not having been invited to the meeting at all.

For a moment, Anastasia suspected that Roswaal had lied about only inviting three Royal Candidates.

But when Priscilla revealed she had arrived purely because she had heard rumors of the gathering, Anastasia's concerns eased.

Soon after, they received a message stating that the Emilia camp would be delayed due to unforeseen problems and would arrive in a few days.

Anastasia thought little of it at first.

But when the Sin Archbishops attacked Priestella not long after, she began to feel a creeping suspicion that something far more complicated was happening.

However, Anastasia forced herself to put her suspicions aside and focus entirely on the immediate crisis at hand.

There was no point in getting lost in speculation when the situation in Priestella was already spiraling out of control.

After some tense discussions, she managed to form a temporary alliance with the other two Royal Candidates who were present, and together they drew up a plan of action.

Reinhardt would personally take on the task of rescuing Felt, who had been kidnapped by the Sin Archbishop of Greed.

This was no minor threat—Greed had a reputation for leveling entire cities and had even killed the infamous Vollachian warrior, Kurgan, a man known for his unparalleled combat ability.

Priscilla was assigned to deal with the Sin Archbishop of Wrath.

Crusch, alongside the healer Blue and her knight Julius, would confront the Sin Archbishop of Lust.

Finally, Anastasia's own Iron Fang mercenaries were tasked with engaging the Sin Archbishop of Gluttony.

Once the plan was set into motion, Anastasia took her position at the mansion they were using as a base of operations.

From there, she commanded the Iron Fang through her metia, keeping constant contact and issuing orders as the battle unfolded.

When the Sin Archbishop of Gluttony arrived on the battlefield, the Iron Fang met him head-on. At first, they were able to push him back, overwhelming him with coordinated strikes.

For a brief and hopeful moment, it seemed like they might actually overpower him—until the impossible happened.

A second Sin Archbishop of Gluttony appeared.

The sight froze Anastasia in place.

Up until this point, everyone had believed that there was only one Sin Archbishop assigned to each deadly "Sin." But this new arrival shattered that assumption completely.

'Multiple Archbishops for the same Sin?' The thought made her stomach twist.

Her expression turned pale as she realized the horrifying implications.

Before she could fully process the situation, one of the Gluttonies acted.

The Archbishop did… something.

Anastasia wasn't even sure what had happened.

It was as though a piece of her mind had suddenly gone blank.

She had the unsettling sensation that she had forgotten someone important, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't recall who it was.

Even thinking about it left her grasping at nothing, as if her memories had been quietly stolen away.

While the first Gluttony kept the Iron Fang occupied, the second one somehow managed to locate her position.

Anastasia's eyes widened in shock—she had taken great care to remain hidden and secure, so how had they managed to track her down?

Before she could react further, Eridna suddenly took control of her body, moving with a speed and precision that Anastasia herself could never match.

The artificial spirit directly engaged the approaching Sin Archbishop in combat.

The clash was fast, fierce, and unlike anything Anastasia had ever experienced firsthand through Eridna's senses.

Then, just as abruptly as it had begun, the Sin Archbishop let out a grotesque burp, as though savoring some twisted victory.

He wore a satisfied grin, his expression radiating an unsettling sense of triumph.

Without another word, he retreated, leaving Anastasia momentarily stunned.

She exhaled sharply, relief flooding her for a brief moment—until Eridna's voice echoed inside her mind, her tone cold and deliberate.

"Who are you?"

The question sent a shiver down Anastasia's spine.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

...

{3rd Pov}

"Who are you?"

The question sent a shiver down Anastasia's spine.

"W-What do you mean? I am Anastasia—your contractor. This isn't the time to make jokes, Eridna," Anastasia said, her voice carrying a mix of confusion and panic. She had no idea what had truly happened.

Her name had been eaten by the Sin Archbishop of Gluttony. That meant something far worse than simply being forgotten in conversation—her very existence had been erased from the memories of everyone in the world.

To them, Anastasia Hoshin no longer existed.

Eridna's response was not one of reassurance. The spirit's tone was laced with distrust, her presence radiating suspicion.

Without offering any explanation, Eridna acted—knocking Anastasia unconscious with calculated precision before leaving.

Where she went, Anastasia had no way of knowing.

When Anastasia woke up, she immediately realized something was wrong.

The familiar weight of the scarf around her neck was gone—Eridna was missing. A surge of panic shot through her.

She rushed out of her room, heading straight for the nearest guards in the mansion.

Instead of helping her, the guards reacted with hostility.

They drew their swords, their expressions tense.

"Who are you?! And why have you intruded in the mansion?!" one of them demanded sharply.

"What do you mean?! I am Anastasia Hoshin! I am one of the Five Royal Candidates! Tell me what happened in the battle against the Sin Archbishops?!" she snapped back, her voice rising with both anger and desperation.

The guards exchanged puzzled glances, their suspicion deepening with each passing second.

"Arrest her," a knight finally ordered.

Before she could protest further, rough hands seized her arms.

She struggled, shouting at them, but her words only seemed to make them more convinced she was some intruder or lunatic.

They dragged her down into a cold, dimly lit cellar and locked her inside.

She kept yelling through the bars, demanding answers, but no one listened.

A full day passed before she was released.

The moment she was free, she pressed for information—and what she heard made her blood run cold.

The guard delivering the news spoke with a hollow voice, his face etched with despair. He told her that the allied forces had been completely annihilated.

The Sin Archbishops had not just won—they had taken full control of Priestella.

She could barely process it.

'How… how could they lose?'

Emilia was a half-elf, yes—and even if she was accompanied by a Great Spirit, and not just any Great Spirit, but one of the Four Great Spirits it didn't mean she was capable of going against the current allied forces.

Anastasia knew for a fact that Emilia had been capable of wiping out entire groups of Witch Cultists, even defeating a Sin Archbishop in the past.

Even if Julius was weaker than Emilia, Anastasia had faith in the combined might of him, Felix the Blue healer, and Crusch Karsten's leadership.

Together, they should have been a force to be reckoned with.

Not only that—Priscilla wielded the Yang Sword, a weapon whose existence alone spoke of unmatched power.

That revelation had raised serious questions about her true identity and her ties to Vollachia, but regardless of politics, it had proven her combat prowess beyond any doubt.

She wasn't alone, either. Her knight Al, the mysterious man who never removed his helmet, was with her. Even Heinkel, the Vice-Commander of Royal Knights with formidable strength recruited under her camp, had been present in the battle.

'Even if I could accept that all of them—including my own Iron Fang—were defeated… what about Reinhardt?'

Reinhardt van Astrea, the man hailed as the strongest living warrior in the kingdom.

He possessed so many Divine Protections that the Lugunican Royalty had been forced to impose restrictions on him just to prevent him from being too overwhelming in combat.

He was considered the most powerful successor of the First Sword Saint, and in terms of sheer ability, he should have been capable of surpassing even the Four Great Spirits—including Emilia's own Spirit of Fire, the Beast of the End.

'So how did he lose? How is that even possible?'

When she pressed for more details, the guard's expression darkened further. His shoulders slumped, his eyes filled with hopelessness.

Then, with a voice that carried the weight of utter defeat, he revealed the answer.

"The Sin Archbishop of Greed, Regulus Corneas, fought yesterday against the Sword Saint. Their battle was so fierce that it destroyed an entire section of the city—buildings, streets, everything in its path was wiped out. However… in the end, the Sin Archbishop emerged victorious. No one knows the exact details of how it happened. Some are whispering that the Sword Saint fled like a coward, but… most believe he's dead."

"R-Reinhardt… lost?" Anastasia's voice cracked, her legs suddenly feeling weak. It was as if the very foundation of her world had crumbled away in an instant.

She stumbled, nearly collapsing onto the floor, her mind refusing to accept the reality she had just heard.

'Reinhardt… lost? The strongest man alive… defeated? That's… impossible.'

The words swirled in her head, but no matter how many times she repeated them to herself, they refused to make sense.

After several deep breaths to steady herself, she forced her composure back and requested information about Julius and the Iron Fang.

The guards exchanged uncertain looks, clearly still suspicious about her identity, but eventually one of them began explaining.

Given the current state of the city—hostages in every district, lives dangling on the whims of the Sin Archbishops—the guard didn't see much harm in telling her.

After all, Capella had already publicly boasted to the entire city about how the Sin Archbishops had annihilated the combined forces of all three camps.

As the guard spoke, Anastasia's stomach twisted.

She began piecing together something even more horrifying: people weren't just forgetting her name—they were forgetting her existence entirely.

The Royal Selection was now spoken of as if it had always consisted of only four camps, with no trace of her own involvement.

'Gluttony… that bastard. He erased me completely… not just from memories, but from history itself.'

Determined not to give in to despair, she made her way to the infirmary.

There, she found Julius sitting on one of the beds, his right arm missing, his posture slumped.

Near him was Mimi, barely breathing and heavily bandaged, her small frame trembling in unconscious pain.

Without Blue or any other great healer available, Mimi's life was hanging by the thinnest thread imaginable.

The sight made Anastasia's heart tighten.

When she stepped toward them, she saw grief etched deeply into Julius' face—grief mixed with shame and the unmistakable emptiness of a man who had been broken.

"W-Who might you be, Miss?" Julius asked, his voice low and strained. His eyes looked hollow, and there was no recognition in them at all.

Anastasia froze in place. Her blood ran cold.

Her worst nightmare… had just been confirmed. Julius, her own knight, had no memory of her.

"I-I am Anastasia Hoshin! The President of the Hoshin Company, one of the five Royal Candidates! And the person to whom you have pledged your loyalty!" she said, her voice trembling as she desperately tried to reach him.

But instead of recognition, anger surfaced in Julius' eyes. He straightened, his expression hardening.

"Miss, I don't know what you're trying to achieve or what twisted game you're playing, but attempting to manipulate me is unacceptable. I have pledged my loyalty to Duchess Crusch Karsten. Even if she is dead, my loyalty will remain with her until my last breath."

Anastasia's lips parted, but no words came out. Her whole body shook.

'He's… forgotten me too…'

She quickly turned to Hetaro and Tivey, forcing a smile that was more desperation than warmth. "Hetaro, you remember me, right?"

The demi-human didn't even look at her.

She moved toward Tivey and grabbed him by the arm. "Tivey, at least you remember me?! Please! Please tell me you remember me!"

Suddenly, Hetaro lashed out, striking her hand so hard she let go of Tivey with a pained gasp.

"Don't touch my brother," Hetaro hissed, his voice dripping with hostility.

Anastasia's gaze darted toward Mimi's bed. The girl was still unconscious, breathing weakly.

"Mimi… Mimi will remember me! She has to! She definitely will!" Anastasia insisted, trying to move toward her, but the reaction was immediate and furious.

"Stay away from her!" Hetaro shouted, kicking her hard in the side. The blow knocked her to the floor.

"Guards! Get her out of here! Od Lagna knows where this crazy woman came from!" Hetaro roared.

Before Anastasia could even rise, a knight grabbed her roughly by the arm.

She kicked, screamed, pleaded—telling them over and over again that the Sin Archbishop of Gluttony had erased her from everyone's memories—but her words fell on deaf ears.

She was dragged to the exit and, with no ceremony at all, thrown out of the building like unwanted garbage.

Her head struck the pavement with a sickening thud, pain flashing through her skull as the knight turned his back and walked away without a single glance.

Due to the already solemn atmosphere in the city—brought on by crushing defeat, constant fear, and the suffocating weight of recent events—everyone's spirits were at their lowest.

In such a climate, anger was easy to provoke.

It was as if the whole city was a powder keg, and all it would take was the smallest spark to make it explode.

So, when the guard—already on edge and trembling with unease—was suddenly faced with what he saw as an unnecessary and troublesome disturbance, he lost what little patience he had left.

Without hesitation, he grabbed Anastasia roughly by the arm and tossed her away like she was nothing more than a rag doll.

Her body hit the pavement with a sharp thud, pain shooting through her side as her head smacked the ground.

Bruises began to form instantly, and the impact left her dazed before she slipped into unconsciousness.

Hours later, she came to.

The memory of being thrown out burned in her mind, but instead of retreating, she immediately returned to the infirmary, driven by a desperate hope that if she just kept trying, someone—anyone—would remember her.

She burst into the room, ignoring the shocked and irritated stares of those inside.

She told them everything about herself—how she had rescued Mimi, Tivey, and Hetaro, how she had gone on to form the Hoshin Company from the ground up, and even spoke about Ricardo and their history together.

"Please, you must remember me! I'm—"

But Hetaro's cold voice cut her off like a blade. "I was saved by Sir Chuden, and the Hoshin Company was founded through his own efforts. How can you shamelessly claim to know us, let alone claim to be the owner of the Hoshin Company?!" His glare was sharp enough to pierce through her.

"Sir, I think she's trying to manipulate us," a healer nearby spoke up, his tone heavy with suspicion. "She's attempting to take advantage of the chaos. We should imprison her before she causes more trouble."

"Please… please believe me!" Anastasia's voice cracked as her eyes filled with tears that spilled freely down her cheeks. "I am your family! I'm the one who saved you! Julius… I am your lord!"

For a moment, Julius' jaw tightened. His teeth ground together, and his hands clenched into fists. Slowly, he stood up from his bed. Anastasia's heart leapt—her breath caught in her throat.

A smile of relief spread across her face. 'He remembers… he finally remembers!'

SNAP.

The sound rang sharply in the room.

Anastasia's head snapped to the side, her vision swimming as a burning pain spread across her cheek.

She had fallen to the floor, staring wide-eyed at the man she thought had just regained his memories.

"You vile woman," Julius spat, his voice dripping with contempt. "In a time when we are surrounded by death and despair, you only think of profit? You try to satisfy your greed while others suffer? I hope people like you rot and die in a ditch."

His glare was colder than ice.

"Take her away!" he barked, not even looking at her again.

This time, Anastasia didn't resist.

She remained silent, watching through blurred vision as the people she once called allies glared at her with pure hatred.

She let the knights seize her arms, drag her out of the infirmary, and toss her back into the street like unwanted trash.

"Do not come here again," one of the guards growled, his tone full of menace.

"If you do, we will execute you." His glare lingered, making sure the threat was clear.

Anastasia stood there for a moment, her expression unreadable—a mixture of pain, disbelief, and something darker.

Slowly, she rose to her feet and walked away in a daze, her thoughts a tangled mess.

In the days that followed, her life became harder with each passing hour.

The city remained a hostage to the Sin Archbishops, who roamed freely, causing destruction and terror at their whim.

Hunger and thirst gnawed at everyone equally—be they knight, civilian, or merchant.

The Sin Archbishop of Lust had sealed the city completely, threatening to open the floodgates and drown the entire population if anyone attempted to escape.

Even so, messages were still able to reach the outside world through the use of Metia, though no help had arrived.

The blockade also meant the city's food supply was completely severed from the outside.

To make matters worse, the main reserves of grain and other essential goods were stored in the central granary—located dangerously close to where the Sin Archbishop of Greed had made his lair.

In practical terms, this meant the city's stockpile was strictly limited. Every loaf of bread, every bag of rice, every scrap of preserved meat became precious beyond measure.

The knights, under orders to maintain what little remained, began confiscating supplies from markets, shops, and private homes.

The seized goods were gathered into guarded storage and then rationed out in mass distributions so that, at the very least, no one would starve immediately.

But the reality was grim—no matter how it was organized, there simply wasn't enough to go around.

Anastasia, who had been wearing a piece of cloth over her face to hide her identity, accepted the portion of food from the Knights in a daze.

For the first three days, she managed to get by without any major trouble, keeping to herself and avoiding unnecessary attention.

However, on the fourth day, everything changed. Due to the rapidly dwindling food supply, the Knights had announced that everyone's allocated rations would be cut in half.

This sudden shortage pushed some people into desperation, and many began secretly stealing food from others.

Unfortunately for Anastasia, she became one of such targets.

It happened right after she had collected her portion of the midday meal.

She had barely walked a short distance from the distribution point when a group of men suddenly surrounded her, blocking her path.

"Hey, girl," one of them drawled with a smirk on his unshaven face, "how about you hand over that food? You see, we're quite hungry."

Another man stepped closer, holding a worn kitchen knife in his hand.

His eyes narrowed, and his tone was far less casual. "Yeah… if you don't want trouble, give it up."

Anastasia's hands trembled slightly, and fear flickered in her eyes.

But then, something hardened in her gaze.

She looked at the men with an expression of resolve.

'I can't let them take this. If I give up my food today, they'll target me every single time after this.'

"I won't give you my food," she said firmly, her voice steady despite her pounding heart. "The Knights aren't far away. If I scream, they'll be here in moments. And even if you kill me… what do you think they'll do to you?"

She allowed a grin to spread across her face, watching them hesitate.

"In this tense situation, if they find out you've killed someone, they'll kill you on the spot just to keep order among the people," she added, her grin widening as fear began to creep into their expressions.

But before she could take another breath, a voice suddenly spoke from behind her. "That means we just need to not kill you… and keep you silent, right?"

Her eyes widened, but before she could scream, a pair of rough hands clamped over her mouth. She was shoved hard to the ground, the impact knocking the air from her lungs.

Anastasia thrashed and kicked, but the man holding her down kept his grip like iron.

"What are you two waiting for?!" he barked at his companions. "Take her food and run!"

The other two didn't waste a second.

They snatched the bread that had fallen to the ground during the struggle, and even though it was now covered in dirt, they didn't care—they would still eat it.

Without a second glance, they sprinted off.

The man holding her gave a satisfied grunt before releasing her and delivering a vicious kick to her stomach.

The pain exploded through her body, forcing a gasp from her lips and causing her to spit out saliva as her vision blurred. Then he too ran off, leaving her curled on the ground in pain.

By the time she managed to recover enough to stand, they were already long gone.

Gritting her teeth, she made her way to the nearest group of Knights, desperately pleading her case. She explained what had happened, insisting that her food had been stolen.

But one of the Knights narrowed his eyes, recognition flashing in them. "She's lying. A few days ago, she barged into the infirmary claiming she was the fifth Royal Candidate and saying Sir Julius had sworn loyalty to her, or something like that."

The others looked at her with suspicion.

"I'm not lying!" Anastasia protested, her voice rising with urgency. "They did steal my bread! Look at the dirt on my clothes and the mark on my face—this is proof!"

Her confident tone made some of the Knights hesitate. But before anything could be decided, a familiar figure appeared.

Anastasia's eyes widened in shock. "It's him! He's the one—he and the other two stole my food!"

The Knight turned to the man she had pointed at. "Sachin? Was it you?"

Sachin blinked with a show of surprise before shaking his head in exaggerated disbelief. "Of course not! This woman is lying! Why would we steal her food? We're members of Felt Camp. How could we, who belong to the same camp as Sir Reinhardt, do something like that?"

The lie rolled off his tongue as smoothly as if it were the truth.

Anastasia knew why—Sachin, along with his friends Rachin, Camberley, and Gaston, had all once been thieves.

Even after Felt had accepted them, their habits had not completely disappeared.

Initially, they had resisted stealing from others, but after Reinhardt's supposed death, Felt's capture, and the constant threat of danger, their restraint had vanished.

They had decided that if they were going to die in the coming days, they would at least die with full stomachs.

"Indeed," another Knight agreed. "They're from Felt Camp. No doubt this woman is lying. She lied before, and now she's doing it again—trying to get extra food in this desperate situation through deceit."

Anastasia felt her stomach churn. 'Why…? Why is no one believing me? Why does everyone think I'm lying? A manipulator?'

"Wait a minute! Aren't all Felt Camp members from the slums? They all are former thives! They must be lying!" she blurted out in frustration.

Her words instantly lit a spark of anger in the crowd.

"Now you're insulting people just because they're from the slums? How disgusting," a cold voice said.

She turned her head and froze. It was Julius. He had only just arrived, but his enhanced senses had allowed him to hear most of the argument from a distance.

"J-Julius, I'm telling the truth! Please, you have to believe me! I'm begging you!" Her voice broke, tears spilling down her cheeks.

But Julius flinched and then turned away. "Take her away! Tell her this is her last warning. If she causes any more trouble, she'll be executed for endangering public safety."

He didn't believe her. His spirits couldn't detect lies, so he judged her as guilty.

Anastasia's shoulders slumped, her eyes dimming as the Knights grabbed her and dragged her away, determined not to let her stir up any more problems.

Over the next two days, her misery deepened. Her food was stolen again—by the very same men. She tried different routes, different times, anything to avoid them, but it was useless. By the end of it, they had stolen her rations four separate times.

Finally, she stopped trying altogether. She no longer went to the food distribution lines. Instead, she found an isolated place among the destroyed rubble of the city, and simply lay there on the ground, too tired and too broken to move.

Her stomach ached with unrelenting pain—not just from the brutal beating she had suffered days ago, but also from the gnawing emptiness caused by severe hunger.

Every breath felt heavier, her insides twisting as if trying to devour themselves.

To survive, she drank water whenever she could find it, using it to quench not only her thirst but also to dull the sharp edge of hunger that seemed to stab at her constantly. But water could only do so much.

A few days later, she overheard people whispering with excitement—an army was supposedly on its way to attack Priestella and reclaim the city.

That faint spark of hope in the air was contagious; even she felt her heart stir ever so slightly.

But by the very next day, that hope was mercilessly crushed. When the army arrived, they never stood a chance.

The Sin Archbishop of Greed annihilated them completely, erasing any last shred of optimism the people had been holding onto.

From that point onward, the situation deteriorated rapidly. Food rations thinned even further, and desperation began to fester among the citizens.

Slowly but surely, the city descended into chaos—people started rioting, stealing from one another, and doing whatever it took just to survive another day.

It was during this worsening crisis that she had the misfortune of running into the same three thugs again.

They were furious with her—not because she had done something to them directly, but because she hadn't been receiving food anymore, which meant they had no opportunity to steal extra from her. Their frustration had been building for days.

With the amount of food everyone was getting shrinking by the day, and with whispers spreading that the nobles and wealthy merchants were considering cutting off rations to commoners entirely, their resentment boiled over.

They chose her as the target for their anger.

They accused her of ridiculous, unfounded things—claims so absurd they would have been laughable if not for the situation—and then, without hesitation, they beat her brutally.

The blows rained down one after another, the sound of fists and feet striking her body echoing in her ears along with her own ragged breathing.

When they were finally done venting their rage, they left her sprawled on the ground, battered and barely able to move.

Her vision was blurred from the blood flowing into her eyes, and her entire body throbbed with pain. She could feel that her arm was fractured; every attempt to move it sent waves of agony through her.

Somehow, she managed to drag her battered body to one of the destroyed sections of the city.

She took refuge there, in a place shielded by piles of rubble, away from the prying eyes of others. It was the only shelter she could find.

By the next day, the damage had taken an irreversible toll—she lost vision in her left eye completely, plunging her into partial blindness.

The days that followed were a constant battle against hunger, pain, and weakness.

She no longer had the energy to search for food.

Even if she did, she doubted she could keep it from being taken.

She felt her will to live slipping away.

She had lost all hope.

She felt deeply betrayed.

She had seen the true faces of people she once thought of as allies—friends, even—when they no longer had any memories of her.

Anastasia gave a bitter, hollow laugh when she thought back to how the so-called Finest of Knights had brushed off her accusations against those three men without a second thought, simply because they belonged to Felt Camp while she was just an unknown woman.

'His justice?' she sneered inwardly. 'I never knew Julius was so full of hypocrisy.'

But then another thought crept in.

'No… perhaps I always knew. I just didn't care back then. When I was in power, when my position was lofty, everyone believed my words without hesitation. Back then, if Julius wrongly accused an innocent man because of his overbearing sense of justice, I didn't mind. In fact, I welcomed it—it only made my own reputation stronger.'

But now?

Now she had nothing. All her connections, her friends, her comrades, her company—everything she had built over years—was gone.

At the lowest point of her life, she understood a harsh truth: money, power, influence… they could vanish in an instant, leaving nothing behind.

Perhaps… if there had been at least one person who still remembered her, who still cared for her, someone who would have believed her even as a stranger, then maybe… just maybe… she wouldn't have been reduced to this pitiful state.

She realized then that the value of a person who would stand by you in your worst times—someone who would trust you without hesitation, even if they had no reason to—was the greatest treasure in the world.

(A/N: Meanwhile Subaru doing same for Emilia, and getting the reply 'Wait for me' BRUH, it makes Emilia looks even worse)

But she pushed aside those ridiculous thoughts and continued to suffer as her hand slowly became necrotic, the flesh turning cold and lifeless.

She had been lying against a crumbling wall, the weight of despair pressing heavily on her mind. Thoughts of ending her own life invaded her repeatedly, swirling in her head like a dark storm she could not escape.

Yet, even in this desperate and broken state, she found herself lacking the courage to follow through. 'Why can't I just end it all?' she wondered bitterly, 'Is it fear? Or some stubborn will to keep living?'

Perhaps deep down, she simply wanted to cling to life a little longer. She still cherished the very act of living itself. Even if she were to die tomorrow, she did not want to be the one to decide that moment.

Suddenly, a noise shattered the silence. Through the rubble, a figure clad in white crashed past her, moving quickly and purposefully.

'What is going on?' she thought, turning her head with curiosity and caution.

"Haha! Mongrel! Prepare to be punished for your crimes!" a sharp voice called out. Anastasia squinted to see a man with white hair and golden eyes, his teeth clenched tightly with anger.

"How dare you! How dare you infringe on my—" Before he could finish, a golden axe flew through the air and struck him, sending him hurtling backward. The woman wielding the axe ignored everything else and took to the sky, pursuing him relentlessly.

Meanwhile, the rubble beside Anastasia suddenly began to collapse, threatening to bury her alive. Just as the debris was about to fall on her, strong arms grabbed her suddenly, pulling her to safety.

"Damn, Gloria is really going overboard this time," a calm male voice said as he wrapped his arms protectively around her, shielding her from the falling rubble.

He looked down at her pale, bruised face with genuine concern. "Are you okay, Miss?" he asked softly.

Anastasia gazed up at her unexpected savior as he cradled her carefully. Then, in an instant, the world around them shifted and they found themselves somewhere else—safe and away from the chaos.

Feeling the warmth radiating from his body stirred something inside her that she hadn't felt in a long time.

"Wait a minute… You're Anastasia Hoshin?!" the man's eyes widened in shock and disbelief.

Anastasia's whole body trembled as she looked at him, her lips cracked and trembling with a mix of surprise and hope.

"Y… You… remember… me?" she whispered with great difficulty, her voice barely audible.

While Subaru wondered how someone as strong and proud as Anastasia could have been reduced to such a fragile and broken state, Anastasia Hoshin's body finally gave out, and she collapsed unconscious into his arms.

To be continued...

(A/N: I hope you liked the chapter!

Also the next arc is Peak, I mean it is so peak that you will feel sad, and happy at the same time.

First join my discord, then we going to talk!

https://discord.gg/tKSjSBwt)

Chapter Text

...

{3rd Pov}

For as long as Felt could remember, she had lived in the slums. Her earliest memories were of the crumbling streets, the stench of rot in the air, and the constant hunger that gnawed at her stomach.

She had been taken in by Rom, a half-giant and the last of his kind, who had raised her since she was very young.

Rom was a towering figure, rough in manner and appearance, but he had given her a roof over her head and enough food to keep her alive.

Life in the slums was merciless.

There were days when she would go without eating a single scrap, her hunger so sharp that the only relief she could find was gulping down water until her stomach felt heavy.

Rom tried to look after her in his own way, but his care was practical, never warm.

In fact, in the beginning, Rom hadn't liked her much at all. He kept his thoughts to himself, rarely speaking to her unless necessary, and often regarded her with a cold or distant expression.

As a child, Felt couldn't understand why Rom seemed to dislike her, or why she sometimes caught him staring with what looked like resentment—or even hatred.

Despite that, Rom was the closest thing she had to family.

She had never known her real parents.

She had no memory of a mother's embrace or a father's voice.

According to Rom, as well as other slum dwellers, she had been abandoned as an infant—left behind because she was unwanted.

Felt quickly learned that in the slums, nothing came for free.

Whether it was food, clothing, or even the smallest scraps, you had to take it for yourself.

Rom provided shelter and enough food so that she wouldn't starve to death, but it was clear he didn't see her as his own flesh and blood.

To him, she was more of a burden—someone left in his care by another's will.

Her meals were often stale bread or whatever scraps could be scavenged. Her clothes were always old, ragged, and dirty.

She grew up knowing that if she wanted better, she'd have to earn it herself.

From a very young age, she began working to survive.

Sometimes she did hard physical labor for a few coins; other times she ran messages for shady deals, her speed and agility aided by her Divine Protection.

One afternoon, when she was about nine years old, she had spent the day helping merchants unload heavy crates and belongings from a carriage.

Her small frame had been pushed to its limits, but by the end, she'd earned a few precious copper coins.

Exhausted but satisfied, she started making her way back through the narrow alleys toward Rom's place.

That was when she was intercepted by a group of boys from the slums.

They surrounded her suddenly, cutting off her path.

Felt's eyes darted between them, trying to figure out why they were blocking her way.

She didn't know their exact reason, but their expressions told her enough—their intentions were far from friendly.

Instinctively, she tried to bolt past them, but they were older, stronger, and faster. Even with her Divine Protection, they grabbed hold of her before she could get away.

One of them snatched her coins from her hand.

"Give that back! I worked all day for that money!" Felt shouted desperately, lunging forward to try to reclaim it. Her voice was high and trembling, but fierce.

The boy holding the coins—a lanky fourteen-year-old—sneered and shoved her back with a hard kick to the stomach. "Shut up! This is our money now! If you don't want a beating, then get lost!"

Pain radiated through her small body, but she still pleaded with them, her voice cracking. "Please… sob… I worked… all day… hard… I'm hungry… please give it back…" Her cheeks were wet with tears, but she kept trying to step forward, even as her legs trembled.

They didn't care. Another boy, clearly irritated by her crying, shoved her again and sent her sprawling to the ground. "Cut it out with the useless crying! Do you think bawling will change anything? If you're so upset, blame yourself for being weak and pathetic!"

A third boy spoke up, his voice less confident. "Guys… maybe this is too much. We already took her coins…"

But the first two only laughed at him. "Too much? Don't make me laugh. That old man she lives with only keeps her around out of pity," the taller one said. "I've heard plenty of times how he doesn't feed her for days, makes her go get food herself."

Another smirked, adding, "At least we've got parents. She's probably the brat of some noble's fling. Her mother probably tossed her out like trash the moment she was born."

Their laughter echoed down the alley as they turned and ran off, still chuckling to each other about their cruel remarks.

Felt stayed where she was, her hands pressed to the dirty cobblestones. The sting of their words hurt almost as much as losing her hard-earned coins.

The tears came harder, her small shoulders shaking as she cried louder and louder, her voice breaking into raw sobs that no one in the slums cared to hear.

After nearly half an hour of crying in the alley, Felt's tears finally dried.

Her throat was raw, her face felt tight from the salt stains, and her eyes burned.

Wiping her nose on her sleeve, she slowly made her way back to Rom's place.

The walk felt longer than usual, every step heavy from exhaustion and the lingering ache in her stomach.

When she reached the door, she knocked weakly.A moment later, it creaked open, and she was greeted by a scowling Rom. His massive frame filled the doorway, his shadow falling over her like a wall.

"What is it, brat? Why are you back already?" he asked gruffly, his voice low but edged with irritation. "Didn't I tell you? If you want food and a place to sleep, you have to earn the money for it."

Felt shrank back slightly under his towering presence. "Y-Yes, I know," she stammered, her voice small. "But… I couldn't earn anything today. I—I got sick, and I vomited in front of a customer. He kicked me out right after."

She glanced up at him with a flicker of hope in her eyes. "I promise I'll pay you back for everything. I don't even need much—no food if you don't want to give it. Just… just a glass of milk with some water mixed in will do. And I can sleep on the floor. Please."

Rom's eyes narrowed slightly as he noticed the faint trails of dried tears on her cheeks.

His frown deepened, but this time it wasn't just out of annoyance. Slowly, he bent his massive knees and crouched so he was closer to her height.

"Tell me what happened," he said simply, his deep voice quieter now.

Felt forced a sad little smile onto her face, shaking her head. "It's nothing, Old Man Rom… If you don't want me here tonight, I'll just go."

She turned to leave, but before she could take more than a step, Rom's huge hand caught her by the shoulder. He let out a long, heavy sigh.

"No need for that. I'll give you food—on loan," he muttered. "It won't be anything fancy. Just bread and watered-down milk. You can sleep on the sofa tonight."

Her eyes lit up immediately. "Thank you, Old Man Rom!" she said with genuine relief, wrapping her small arms around his thick waist in a sudden hug.

The gesture clearly caught him off guard—he stiffened but didn't push her away this time, though he didn't return the hug either.

After a few moments, she let go, looking down at the floor with a hint of embarrassment. Rom's gaze lingered on her bony arms, her thin frame, and the hollows beneath her eyes.

Something in his chest twisted, though his expression remained unreadable.

They ate together in silence—her tearing into the stale bread like it was a feast, him slowly sipping his drink. Afterward, he set his cup down and looked at her again.

"Listen, Felt," he said flatly. "I don't care whether you live or die. But you owe me money, and I don't want you dropping dead before you pay me back. So—tell me what really happened today."

Felt, calmer now from the meal, hesitated before nodding. She told him everything—from the day's work to the moment the boys cornered her in the alley and took her coins.

She didn't leave out a detail. Rom's face didn't change as he listened, but his massive fists clenched tightly against his knees.

"They… they said I'm just some filthy child from a noble's fling," Felt added softly, her eyes lowering to the table. "Maybe it's true. I mean… otherwise why would my parents throw me away?"

Rom didn't reply. He simply reached out one large hand and gave her a single, rough pat on the head. "Go to sleep," he said.

She nodded without protest.

She was used to his bluntness and didn't expect comforting words.

The fact that he had listened to her at all was enough for her.

Hours passed. The night was black and thick with heavy rain, the sound of it hammering against the roof. Felt was half-asleep on the sofa when the creak of the old wooden floorboards woke her.

She heard the slow, deliberate thuds of Rom's heavy footsteps. Blinking against the darkness, she saw him moving toward the door.

She sat up slightly. "Old Man Rom…?" she whispered, but he didn't answer. He was pulling on his coat.

Curiosity gnawed at her, mixed with worry. It was the middle of the night, the rain was pouring, and yet he was heading out.

She hesitated for a long moment, torn between staying where it was warm or finding out where he was going.

In the end, her concern won.

She slipped off the sofa, keeping her footsteps quiet as she followed him at a distance into the wet, cold streets.

The rain soaked her instantly, plastering her hair to her face, but she kept going. She trailed him through winding alleys until he stopped in front of a small, run-down shack in the slums. He knocked hard on the door.

A boy's voice came from inside before the door cracked open. The moment the boy saw Rom, his face twisted into irritation. Words were exchanged—low at first, then rising sharply into an argument.

Suddenly, Rom's massive fist shot forward, connecting with the boy's chest and sending him flying back into the room.

The sound of the impact was followed by shouts as two more boys scrambled to their feet. Rom barreled into them, striking with heavy, deliberate blows.

The noise of the fight spilled out into the street, drawing the attention of nearby slum dwellers who poked their heads out into the rain to see what was happening.

Rom's voice roared above the downpour.

"Listen to me! If any one of you so much as lays a finger on Felt again, I'll tear you apart! I'll rip your head clean off your body and feed it to the Wolgrams! You touch her, you're dead!" His words echoed in the narrow street, carrying a raw fury that made people flinch.

From her spot in the shadows, Felt's eyes widened.

She realized then that the three boys in the shack were the same ones who had robbed her earlier.

The storm and darkness made it impossible to see their faces clearly, but their shapes and voices were unmistakable.

One of the boys, clutching his arm, shouted over the rain, "Are you insane?! Why go this far for some useless, family-less brat?"

Rom's response was a deafening roar as he slammed his fist into the wall, splintering the wood. "She's not an orphan! She's got me! I'm Rom—the one who raised her! I'm her grandfather! And anyone who tries to hurt her will answer to me!"

Lightning flashed, thunder bellowed, and the rain came down harder. Felt stood frozen, the words echoing in her head.

She watched the scene in disbelief, the cold rain on her skin unable to drown out the sudden warmth spreading in her chest.

Intense emotions churned inside her, so strong and unfamiliar that she couldn't even put a name to them.

Her chest felt tight, but not in the same way it did when she was angry or afraid.

Even as the cold rain pelted her small frame, soaking her hair and clothes, and the wind cut through the street like icy knives, there was a strange warmth blooming deep within her.

Her vision blurred as fresh tears welled up and mixed with the rain streaming down her cheeks.

The droplets rolled off her chin and splashed onto the muddy ground.

Her soft sobs were almost completely swallowed by the constant roar of the storm, but the tears kept coming anyway.

She quickly rubbed at her eyes with her sleeve, forcing herself to stop before the sobs grew louder. She couldn't let him see her like this—couldn't let him know she had followed him through the rain.

Turning on her heel, she ran back through the alleys to Rom's tavern, her wet clothes clinging heavily to her body.

She moved fast, splashing through puddles, ignoring the ache in her legs and the numbness in her fingers.

By the time she got back, the place was dark and quiet. She slipped inside and lay down on the sofa, pulling the thin blanket over herself.

Her heart was still beating fast from what she had seen. A few minutes later, she heard the tavern door creak open. Rom stepped inside, his massive silhouette outlined by the faint light from outside.

He cast one glance in her direction, and seeing her still form under the blanket, assumed she was asleep. In the dim light, he didn't notice her wet hair or soaked clothes.

Without a word, he headed straight to his room.

From that night onward, something shifted between them.

Rom never said anything about what had happened, never openly admitted it, but his behavior changed.

He started treating her differently—more like family than just some unwanted responsibility. He began talking to her more often, showing a softer side she had never seen before.

Even though he didn't say the words out loud, Felt knew that in his own way, he had claimed her as his granddaughter.

He even began offering her portions of his own food every day. But Felt refused to simply take it for free. Instead, she made him a promise.

"One day, Rom… one day we'll leave this slum behind," she said, her voice firm and her eyes burning with determination. "We'll have our own cozy home. We'll eat fresh, warm bread and drink milk that isn't watered down. We'll have a farm and grow our own food, all the good things nature has to offer. I promise, we'll make it happen."

Rom stared at her with his usual neutral expression. "Stupid brat," he muttered. "Unless you start stealing, that's just a dream."

"Then if that's what it takes, I will steal!" Felt shot back without hesitation. "Why should the rich eat fancy meals every day while we struggle to chew on stale bread? Why do they get warm beds in big houses while we have to patch up holes in the roof just to keep the rain out? If they don't care about people like us, then I won't care about them! I'll take their money!"

Rom exhaled slowly, almost like a sigh, but didn't scold her.

He knew she was right—he also knew how desperate their situation was.

A faint hint of guilt tugged at him when he thought about her malnourished frame and the fact that he hadn't been able to provide her a better life.

"Alright then, brat… but don't go getting yourself caught because of some pathetic, clumsy attempt at thievery," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I don't want you dying before you pay me back. So… get ready. I'll teach you the art of stealing properly."

From that day, Felt's life took a different turn.

Under Rom's guidance, she learned the tricks of thievery—how to move unnoticed, how to pick a pocket clean without a sound, how to slip away before anyone realized she was there.

She began saving the money she stole, bit by bit.

Her diet improved slightly, but she still kept herself on a strict routine: eating only twice a day, just enough to keep her body working, so she could store away more coins for the future she dreamed of.

Her goal never wavered—she would save enough to get both herself and Rom out of the slums one day.

Years passed, and her skills only sharpened.

One afternoon, she had just lifted a purse from a wealthy noble's belt when her escape was cut off. A tall figure stepped into her path, his presence almost radiating authority. Her stomach dropped.

'Oh no… I'm dead,' she thought instantly, her eyes locking onto the man's uniform—the official attire of the Royal Knights.

His blazing red hair and piercing blue eyes left no doubt in her mind. This was Reinhardt, the Sword Saint himself, the most famous knight in the kingdom.

Panic surged through her. She tried to bolt, but he moved like lightning. In a single smooth motion, he disarmed her and blocked her way, leaving her no chance to flee.

"Thank you, Sir Reinhardt! If not for you, this thief would have gotten away with my gold coins!" a noblewoman exclaimed, hurrying over.

Her voice was dripping with gratitude for the knight, but her expression turned venomous the moment her gaze landed on Felt.

"You filthy little slum rat! How dare you try to steal from me!" she spat, raising her hand as if to slap Felt across the face.

Before she could bring it down, Reinhardt's arm shot out, catching her wrist.

"Miss, please remain calm," he said, his tone polite but his voice edged with steel. "This girl will face the proper formal process. Until then, I cannot permit her to be harmed in any way."

The noblewoman, clearly unhappy with being stopped, huffed but forced herself to nod. "Very well," she muttered.

She shot Felt one last glare, her eyes full of contempt, and then turned away, muttering curses under her breath as she clutched her precious coins.

Felt stayed silent, her jaw tight. She had been caught, and there was no talking her way out this time.

Reinhardt, without warning, reached into his coat and pulled out something small and metallic-looking. Before Felt could react, he grabbed her wrist and forced the object into her palm, pressing it there with surprising strength.

"Hey—! What the hell is this?!" Felt snapped, yanking her arm and trying to pull free. She felt a strange heat radiating from the object.

Her eyes widened in panic. "Don't tell me this is a slave seal!" she shouted, struggling harder, but Reinhardt's grip was unshakable, his hand like a vice around hers.

The strange insignia began to glow faintly against her skin.

Reinhardt's mouth curved into a small smile—though to anyone watching from the outside, it could have looked disturbingly wrong, almost like some creep harassing a young girl in the middle of the street.

What he did next didn't help the impression. In one swift move, he knocked Felt unconscious and carried her away toward his mansion.

If Subaru had been around to witness the scene, he would've probably called the FBI on the spot.

Even if Reinhardt's intentions were supposedly "good," the way he went about it was completely unacceptable in Felt's eyes.

Things only got worse once she woke up and realized she was being kept in a massive, polished noble estate.

The maids there were terrifying—cold, efficient, and absolutely relentless.

They forced her into study sessions, drilled her on etiquette, and constantly corrected her speech and posture.

Reinhardt, always smiling politely as if nothing was wrong, only added to her frustration.

She tried to escape multiple times, slipping out through windows, hiding in laundry carts, and even climbing over walls.

But each time, either Reinhardt himself or one of the hawk-eyed maids caught her before she got far.

When they told her she was actually the fifth Royal Candidate, she couldn't have cared less. That title meant nothing to her.

Eventually, under constant pressure from the maids—and Reinhardt's infuriatingly calm demeanor—Felt was forced to learn about Lugunica's history, the structure of the nobility, royal customs, and the boring rules of high society.

Once, in pure frustration, she punched Reinhardt square in the chest while he kept that same damn smile on his face.

When the day of the Royal Selection finally arrived, she entered the main hall and made her stance clear from the start.

She stood there in front of everyone and bluntly announced that she wouldn't participate.

That declaration didn't last long. Not after what happened next.

Rom, in his own reckless way, stormed the castle in an attempt to take her back.

But his intrusion into the Royal Mansion was treated as a severe crime. The knights arrested him on the spot, and the punishment for such an offense was execution.

Faced with the reality that Rom could be killed, Felt realized she had no choice.

To gain the political power to save him, she reluctantly accepted her role as the Dragon Priestess. But in her heart, she made a vow that day—one she spoke out loud for everyone in the hall to hear.

She would tear down the current ruling class, crush the existing nobility system, and turn the entire kingdom upside down.

Time passed.

She later heard about the battle where Crusch was defeated by the White Whale and the news that Reinhardt's grandfather had died. That day, she saw something rare—Reinhardt looking genuinely sad.

"Why don't you just go and avenge your grandfather already?!" she demanded, glaring at him.

Reinhardt shook his head slightly. "It isn't that simple, Lady Felt. Until the Sage Council gives me official orders, I cannot take any action."

That answer made her blood boil. "Why the hell are you listening to those senile fools?!"

His smile faded a little, but his voice stayed calm. "Lady Felt, please do not insult them. They are the ones who manage this kingdom."

"Manage my ass!" she snapped, stepping forward. "Where are they when people starve to death? Where are they when children go to sleep hungry every night on the streets? Where are they when families are packed into rotting wooden shacks, with holes in the roof and mold in the walls?!"

Her words hit him like a slap. Reinhardt didn't reply. He didn't try to argue. For a few seconds, the silence between them was heavy.

He knew she was right—he'd probably always known—but he was trapped by the same chains that bound him to the kingdom.

"I'm your lord now, aren't I?" Felt said sharply. "Then obey my order. Slay that damn oversized fish."

Reinhardt bowed his head slightly. "I apologize, but I have been ordered not to pursue that matter."

She was about to explode in anger, but then she caught a clearer look at his face. For the first time, she saw more than just the polite mask—there was sadness there, real sadness, and even a flicker of anger buried deep in his eyes.

His jaw was tight, and his fists were clenched so hard that the leather of his gloves creaked.

She stopped herself from shouting. In that moment, she understood—just like her, Reinhardt was trapped by circumstances outside his control.

She'd heard of the "Reinhardt laws" and the ridiculous restrictions that governed his every action.

It became obvious to her that someone had deliberately ordered him to stand down, and the realization only made her hate the Wise Men and the rest of the nobility even more.

"I promise you, Rein," she said firmly. "When I become queen, I'll make sure you get your revenge. And I'll drag those bastards into the light and make them face justice."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away.

Behind her, in the middle of his sorrow, a rare and genuine smile crossed Reinhardt's lips. "I'll wait for that day… Felt," he murmured quietly.

But no one else was around to hear him.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

...

{3rd Pov}

A full year passed after that, and during that time Felt had made huge strides in improving the lives of the people in the slums.

It wasn't some instant miracle—there was still a long road ahead before the slum population could reach the same living standards as the average commoner—but the progress was real, and she was satisfied with how far things had come.

She had taken steps to develop the poorest districts in the kingdom, repairing streets, improving shelter conditions, and making sure more people had enough food to eat.

It was in the middle of this progress that she received a letter.

The sender was none other than Roswaal, the sponsor of Emilia, the half-elf whose reputation had skyrocketed after she personally killed a Sin Archbishop and wiped out a group of Witch Cultists—not long after Crusch's failed campaign to subjugate the White Whale.

The letter wasn't just a polite greeting. Roswaal was requesting an alliance and had invited all the other royal candidate camps—except for Priscilla's—to a meeting in Priestella.

Felt read the letter twice. Normally, she wouldn't care about what the other candidates were plotting, but now that she was serious about becoming queen, she understood she couldn't just ignore these kinds of political moves.

If the other camps formed an alliance against her, it would be trouble. At the very least, she needed to size up which camps were hostile and which might be neutral—or even potential allies.

For this trip, she chose her company carefully. Reinhardt would be at her side, of course—having the Sword Saint with her meant no one would dare try anything stupid.

Along with him, she brought three thieves who had joined her camp a few months earlier. They weren't just muscle—they were quick, sharp, and knew how to get information.

Rom stayed behind in the capital to handle her affairs while she was away. He was the only person she trusted enough to leave her work in the hands of.

When she arrived in Priestella, their lodging turned out to be a Kararagi-style hot spring inn, booked by Crusch through the Hoshin Company.

The place was clean, well-maintained, and full of the faint scent of herbal baths. Soon after settling in, she met with Crusch, and not long after, Priscilla made an appearance—completely uninvited.

Roswaal's letter had made it clear Priscilla wasn't supposed to be part of this meeting, but somehow, she had still learned about it and showed up anyway, announcing her arrival as if she owned the place.

It wasn't just Priscilla who turned up. Alongside her was Heinkel, Vice-Commander of the Royal Knights, current head of the Astrea household… and Reinhardt's father.

Felt's first impression of the man couldn't have been worse.

The moment he laid eyes on Reinhardt, he started berating him, hurling insults, and cursing him for Wilhelm's death—Wilhelm being Heinkel's father and Reinhardt's grandfather.

Felt couldn't believe the nerve. The man was blaming his own son for something he had no control over, acting like the perfect example of a hypocritical, self-pitying scumbag.

In the end, even Priscilla got sick of his endless rambling. Without warning, she knocked him out cold and declared she was tired of his whining.

Later that day, the camps received a message: Emilia's group would be arriving a few days late due to "unforeseen circumstances." Felt didn't overthink it—unlike the other two candidates, who seemed to weigh the news more heavily.

The next day, boredom got the better of her.

She decided to sneak out into the city alone.

She knew Reinhardt was ridiculously overprotective, the type to shadow her every move and follow her like a bodyguard glued to her hip. That constant hovering annoyed her to no end, so she slipped away without telling him.

What she didn't expect was for the city to be attacked while she was wandering around. Chaos broke out, people screamed, and in the middle of it all, one of the attackers zeroed in on her.

"I am the Sin Archbishop of Greed, Regulus Corneas!" the man announced with an arrogant smile, stepping forward and, without asking, wrapping his arms around her in an uncomfortably close hug.

"Let go of me, you bastard!" Felt yelled, struggling to shove him away. But her anger froze in place the moment she saw him casually flick a pebble at a passing knight—only for the man to drop dead instantly.

Her jaw tightened. "…."

"Were you saying something?" Regulus asked, tilting his head slightly, his tone mocking.

Felt's eyebrow twitched. She forced herself to stop moving, her mind racing. 'Fine. I'll just wait until Reinhardt shows up and wipes the floor with this guy.' She stopped resisting and let him drag her away. If this creep wanted to play kidnapper, he was in for a nasty surprise later.

He took her to meet his so-called "wives." The moment she laid eyes on them, Felt knew something was off.

The women's faces were blank, doll-like, with no spark of individuality. Their neutral expressions weren't normal—they looked like people whose personalities had been completely stamped out.

'Yeah,' Felt thought grimly. 'He definitely kidnapped them, just like he did with me.' She didn't know exactly how strong Regulus was, but she could guess he was more powerful than most fighters in the world.

Of course, that estimate didn't include Reinhardt.

She sat there, arms crossed, scowling at the situation. She hated waiting around like some helpless princess trapped in a villain's lair. The whole thing was ridiculous. And, in a twisted way, almost funny.

'Yeah,' she thought with a smirk. 'The big bad evil doesn't know the "princess" has the Sword Saint on her side.'

In the meantime, while she was stuck in Regulus's so-called home, Felt took the opportunity to talk to some of his other wives.

The more she learned, the more she realized just how messed up their situation really was—and just how much trauma Regulus had put them through.

"What do you mean?!" Felt nearly shouted after hearing one of them speak. "You're not allowed to smile?! You're not allowed to complain?!"

"Yes, Lady Felt," one of the women—introduced only as "Number 184"—replied in a flat, emotionless tone. "Lord Husband dislikes when we laugh, smile, or complain. If we show any expression other than a neutral face, he might kill us if he is irritated. And Lord Husband also dislikes complaints of any kind. If anyone complains… they die."

"You can't be serious!" Felt snapped, glaring in disbelief. "What if he just gets in a bad mood and decides to kill you for no reason?"

"Then I will die," Number 184 said, her voice steady and her face utterly blank. That lack of reaction made Felt feel a chill crawl down her spine.

"W–Wait… why does everyone call you 'Number 184' anyway?" Felt asked, her curiosity mixing with disgust.

"Lord Husband dislikes remembering our names," Number 184 explained. "He says names are unnecessary. He prefers us to be referred to by numbers instead."

Felt clenched her fists so tightly her knuckles ached.

'That bastard!' she thought, her anger boiling over.

If it weren't for the fact that she didn't feel like dying today, she would've already let Regulus have a piece of her mind—preferably in the form of a solid punch to the face.

Number 184 leaned slightly closer, still speaking in that cold, neutral way. "I hope Lady Felt remembers all of this. Lord Husband may be patient until the marriage, but after that… if Lady Felt does not follow all the rules exactly, then Lord Husband might kill you."

"Shut up!" Felt snapped, glaring right at her. "How can someone be this cruel to a person he calls his wife?" She took a deep breath, then smirked and added with total confidence, "You don't have to worry about me. My knight is Reinhardt—the strongest man in the entire kingdom. He'll definitely defeat Regulus and free all of us."

Number 184 didn't even blink. Her expression stayed exactly the same, like she was carved from stone. There was no spark of hope in her eyes—because there was nothing there at all.

"It is useless," she said in the same deadpan tone. "Lord Husband is the strongest."

Felt didn't bother arguing. She knew what she knew—and she knew Reinhardt. She just had to wait until he showed up and smashed this arrogant creep into the ground.

In the meantime, Regulus's wives continued their cold, mechanical preparations for the "marriage" between him and Felt.

The entire thing was disgusting, but just a few hours before the ceremony, when people had started gathering inside the church, her patience finally paid off.

The door burst open, and there he was.

"You bastard!" Felt yelled at Reinhardt the moment she saw him. "What took you so long to get here?! If you'd been just a few hours later, I'd be stuck married to that narcissist!" She didn't even think—she sent a kick toward his head on instinct.

Reinhardt tilted his head slightly, letting her foot pass harmlessly by, and simply smiled his usual calm, polite smile.

"I apologize for the delay, Lady Felt," he said in his gentle tone, completely unfazed. "However, given that the entire city was under attack and multiple Sin Archbishops were present, I couldn't act recklessly without a plan. Once the other royal candidates had coordinated a strategy, I came here as fast as I could."

Felt rolled her eyes so hard she thought they might get stuck. Reinhardt wasn't just trying to act like some perfect gentleman—he was actually like this.

Over the past year, she had realized he was genuinely innocent in a weird way. Sure, he was insanely powerful, but he was also kind of an airhead, and sometimes he acted like a clueless kid despite being a grown man.

(Author's Note: Reinhardt is a good boy.)

Meanwhile, some of Regulus's other wives glanced at Reinhardt nervously. They weren't scared of him exactly, but his presence alone might provoke Regulus into one of his famous violent tantrums.

And sure enough, that's exactly what happened.

When Regulus walked in and saw Felt speaking freely to Reinhardt—sharing details about his disgusting treatment of his wives, mocking him, and generally giving him zero respect—his entire expression twisted into rage.

In an instant, he moved. With a single step, he crossed the entire room faster than most people could blink, grabbed Felt by the arm, and hurled Reinhardt completely out of the building.

"This is my wife!" Regulus shouted, his voice dripping with arrogant possession. "Go get your own!" He raised his hand as if to make his point even clearer.

"Ugh! Let go of me, you bastard! Reinhardt, you idiot! Why did you just stand there and let him grab me?!" Felt shouted, thrashing in Regulus's grip like a furious cat.

Her glare shot toward Reinhardt, who stood a short distance away with an awkward, almost apologetic look on his face.

"Forgive me, Lady Felt," Reinhardt said calmly, his voice steady despite the absurdity of the situation.

"I judged that if I were to attempt to grab you back in that moment, there was a high probability his counterattack might have struck you, potentially causing injury. I decided it was safer to wait for a better opportunity."

Felt paused mid-struggle, her annoyance cooling slightly at his reasoning. Regulus, however, looked like someone had just told him his entire life's work was worthless.

His expression twisted, and he practically vibrated with indignation before exploding into a full-on rant.

"What is this nonsense?! This blatant violation of my rights!" he shouted, tightening his grip on Felt's arm.

"How dare you, in my presence, attempt to seduce my future wife?! Do you have no sense of shame?! No moral guilt whatsoever?! You think you can just lure her away from me with your false charms?! And not only that—you had the audacity to try and extract information about me from her?!" His voice grew louder with every sentence.

"This is an outrageous violation of my privacy! A criminal act! To plot against a man as righteous and pure as myself—how cruel, how disgusting, how—"

There was a moment of silence.

Then Reinhardt tilted his head slightly, a faint wry smile on his lips.

"I'm sorry," he said politely, "but I just acquired the Divine Protection of Nonsense Silence, so I didn't hear half of what you said. Could you repeat that?"

For a beat, nothing happened—then Felt burst into loud, unrestrained laughter, clutching her stomach.

Even some of Regulus's wives, normally emotionless and mechanical, had to stifle their own chuckles.

You could practically see the vein bulging on Regulus's forehead as his face darkened in pure rage.

"Enough!" he snapped, finally releasing Felt. "Prepare her for the wedding! If I do not see her in a wedding dress by the time I have finished judging this bastard—" his voice dropped into a deadly growl "—I will tear every single one of you to shreds!"

The wives didn't argue.

They moved instantly, swarming Felt in a silent, obedient rush.

Their faces stayed neutral, but their hands trembled as they took hold of her arms.

Regulus's threats clearly weren't just for show.

Felt glanced back at Reinhardt, worry flickering across her face.

'Do not worry, Lady Felt. We can communicate through telepathy,' Reinhardt's calm voice echoed directly in her mind.

'Oh. Right. You've got that Divine Protection thing for this,' Felt thought back. 'Okay, listen—his wives are terrified of him. So, just to keep them from completely breaking down, I'll play along and put on the stupid wedding dress. But you better finish this guy off as soon as possible.'

'I understand,' Reinhardt replied without hesitation. His mental voice carried the same polite certainty as his normal speech. 'Do not worry, Lady Felt. I will execute this man as soon as possible.'

Relieved, Felt stopped resisting and allowed herself to be pulled away.

Even though the women's faces didn't change, the faint tremor in their hands made it clear Regulus's earlier threat was still echoing in their minds.

Meanwhile, Reinhardt's hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. He gave a small tug—yet the Dragon Sword, Reid, did not move an inch.

'So, he's strong enough to be a challenge,' Reinhardt thought, narrowing his eyes slightly. 'And yet… he is not worthy? It must be because of his vile personality.'

"What's this?" Regulus barked. "Ignoring me again?!" His anger flared, and he stomped down on the cobblestone with enough force to shatter it.

Chunks of stone exploded upward, and in the same instant, Regulus kicked them forward. The rocks tore through the air at supersonic speed, faster than most eyes could follow.

Reinhardt shifted his stance and dodged them effortlessly, though his eyes tracked their path as they ripped through several houses before finally coming to a stop.

'If not for my Divine Protection of First Sight,' Reinhardt thought, a small bead of sweat trailing down his temple, 'I would have been struck immediately by that attack.'

It was rare—almost unheard of—for him to feel even a flicker of pressure, but Regulus's raw speed and force were undeniably dangerous.

If Reid had been willing to unsheathe, the fight would have been over instantly.

Unfortunately, the Dragon Sword's refusal made things far more complicated.

"How dare you dodge my attack?!" Regulus roared, his voice booming. "It's a violation of my rights! To ignore me! To ignore my attacks! You… coward!"

Without warning, he broke the sound barrier in a blur of motion, his fist shooting toward Reinhardt's face with lethal intent.

Reinhardt met the blow—not with the blade, but with the Dragon Sheath still holding the unsheathed Reid.

The impact was like a thunderclap, shockwaves exploding outward in every direction as the two forces collided.

Dust and debris filled the air, and the ground beneath them cracked from the sheer pressure.

The duel had officially begun.

Regulus's attacks were brutally fast—so fast that even Reinhardt, the Sword Saint himself, had trouble tracking them.

Every strike came like a blur, forcing him to rely not only on his razor-sharp instincts but also on the Divine Protection of Second Coming just to keep up.

He could parry and block, but the sheer relentlessness of Regulus's assault was unlike anything he had faced in a long time.

They crashed through building after building, the destruction spreading through the city like wildfire.

Reinhardt's eyes caught sight of something mid-battle—there were still innocent civilians inside one of the houses that Regulus's attack trajectory would destroy.

Without a second thought, Reinhardt changed his position, stepping directly into the path of the incoming blow to shield them.

The decision saved their lives—at least for a moment—but it came at the cost of his own. The force of the impact split Reinhardt's body apart, killing him instantly.

Regulus came to a halt a few meters away, panting—not from fatigue, but from pure irritation, his chest rising and falling with frustrated breaths.

Then, a twisted smirk tugged at his lips as he glanced toward the civilians Reinhardt had just protected.

"You're all too noisy," Regulus said flatly, as if announcing the weather. Without hesitation, he picked up a small stone and flicked it with casual force.

The projectile ripped through the air like a bullet, striking the group and obliterating them in an instant.

Blood and fragments sprayed the cobblestone.

"That," he said smugly, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve, "is what happens when you violate my rights."

But before he could enjoy his self-proclaimed victory for long—

A strange orange glow enveloped Reinhardt's mangled corpse.

Before Regulus's eyes, torn flesh knitted itself back together, shattered bones realigned, and the Sword Saint's tattered clothing repaired itself as if nothing had happened.

In the span of seconds, Reinhardt stood whole again, his body restored and his stance calm—but his eyes… his eyes were different.

The moment he glanced toward the mangled remains of the civilians, his normally serene gaze turned cold and sharp as steel.

Regulus, meanwhile, had frozen in place with a genuine "WHAT THE FUCK" look plastered on his face.

"D-Did you just… resurrect?" Regulus stammered, rubbing his eyes as if hoping the sight would vanish if he blinked enough times.

"I did," Reinhardt confirmed in a level tone. "And I'll admit—it wasn't exactly pleasant to experience death for the first time."

His voice dropped, carrying a dangerous edge.

"However… you didn't spare them. They were innocent. They had done nothing to you."

"They were violating my right to peace!" Regulus snapped, offended at the accusation. "They were yelling like madmen, screaming and making noise. So, I silenced them. Permanently."

He spoke as if that were the most natural and reasonable thing in the world.

Then, pointing a finger directly at Reinhardt, he added with growing outrage, "And you! You're cheating! Do you understand that? You're violating my rights right now! How dare you deny me my rightful kill?! How dare you just… pop back to life like it's nothing?! Do you have any idea how unfair that is? Do you not comprehend that people are supposed to die when they're killed?!"

Regulus ran both hands through his hair, pulling at it in frustration. The idea of having to kill Reinhardt all over again clearly did not appeal to him.

"Just because you are correct," Reinhardt said evenly, pointing his sheathed Dragon Sword in Regulus's direction, "does not mean you are right."

(A/N: LMAO.)

What followed could only be described as a clash between two of the most absurdly overpowered individuals in existence.

Reinhardt, however, restrained himself, constantly diverting his attention to shielding bystanders and avoiding collateral damage.

This handicap cost him dearly—time after time, Regulus's unrelenting attacks managed to overwhelm him.

Reinhardt suffered grievous injuries, each time dying in ways that would have been permanent for any other man. And each time, the orange light returned, restoring him as if the fatal blows had never landed.

By the end of it, Reinhardt had died four more times.

Regulus, on the other hand, fought with zero restraint, zero hesitation, and seemingly zero vulnerability.

He was practically invincible, however Regulus had yet to find a single way to permanently kill Reinhardt who seemed to have no end to his ressurections. This infuriated the Sin Archbishop beyond measure.

"Damn you!" Regulus shouted, his voice breaking into a high-pitched shriek of frustration. "Fuck your entire family! Fuck your mother! Fuck your whole worthless ancestry! You have violated rights I didn't even know existed until just now! Do you have any idea how violated I feel right now?!"

"I do not care how violated you feel," Reinhardt replied, his expression as cold and unshakable as ice. "But you have committed countless crimes, and you have violated far too many laws—both written and unwritten. As long as I am in this world, I will continue to stand against you."

His grip on the sheathed sword tightened. "And I will fight you for as long as it takes… until you stop."

Regulus suddenly fell silent mid-rant.

He stared at Reinhardt with a surprised look, almost as if a new idea had just popped into his mind.

Then, with a smug smirk spreading across his face, he laughed loudly.

"Haha! As expected of my perfect self! As expected of someone as intelligent, as noble, as gifted as me!" His voice was full of arrogance, practically dripping with self-admiration.

Without wasting another second, Regulus once again broke the sound barrier, vanishing in a deafening sonic boom.

In less than a blink, he reappeared right in front of Reinhardt and threw a punch. But this time, something was different.

The attack didn't leave a scratch on Reinhardt's body—it didn't even feel like it connected normally.

Instead, the strike generated a shockwave so powerful it launched Reinhardt high into the sky, sending him rocketing upward like a human missile.

The reason was simple—Regulus's Authority.

His ability allowed him to stop the flow of time on himself, making him completely invincible and giving him incredible strength and speed.

But the most terrifying aspect of his power wasn't just his own frozen time—it was that anything he touched could also have its time stopped, remaining locked in stasis until he decided to let it resume.

When Reinhardt had confidently declared that, as long as he was alive in this world, he would stand against him, Regulus had gotten an idea.

Why waste energy trying to kill someone who kept coming back from the dead? Instead, he'd simply stop Reinhardt's time and hurl him far away, somewhere he couldn't interfere for days.

And that's exactly what he did.

Reinhardt, frozen in the grip of Regulus's ability, was sent hurtling higher and higher until he disappeared into the upper atmosphere, far beyond the reach of anyone below.

Regulus's grin stretched from ear to ear as he watched his opponent vanish from sight.

"This is what you get for violating my rights," he said smugly, brushing his hands together as if the matter were settled.

Satisfied with himself, Regulus strolled back toward the church at a leisurely pace, his earlier grin fading into his usual mix of grumpiness and narcissistic self-importance.

When he returned, the wives waiting at the entrance immediately bowed to greet him. Felt, however, didn't bow. She just stared, her face full of shock and confusion.

'Why is Regulus back? Where's Reinhardt? Shouldn't Regulus be lying dead right now?' Her thoughts spun, each one worse than the last. Then, another even more disturbing possibility crossed her mind.

'Did Reinhardt… lose?'

Her face went pale at the absurdity of it, but the way Regulus looked so smug—and so alive—made it seem real.

"Where's Reinhardt?! What did you do to him?!" she demanded, stepping toward him in anger.

Regulus's expression twisted instantly. In a flash, he closed the distance and clamped a hand around her neck, lifting her off the ground with ease.

"Your husband returns from battle," he growled, "and instead of worrying about me, instead of showing me proper respect, you dare to yell at me? This is a violation of my rights as your husband!" His voice rose into a shout as he tightened his grip, cutting off her air.

One of the wives—Number 184—hesitantly stepped forward, her body trembling. "L-Lord Husband… she is not yet your wife."

The moment those words left her mouth, Regulus turned his glare on her. The sheer malice in his expression made her flinch, and the rest of the wives quickly looked away, already assuming she was as good as dead.

Sure enough, he raised his free hand, preparing to strike her down—

"STOP!" Felt screamed with all the air left in her lungs. "I apologize! I apologize for my behavior!"

Regulus held his glare for a few seconds longer before loosening his grip and letting her drop unceremoniously to the floor. Felt landed hard, coughing and gasping for air.

"Very well!" Regulus declared with mock generosity.

"As a magnanimous and forgiving husband, I will spare you both this time. But do not—" he jabbed a finger at her "—try to take advantage of my kindness. Now… thanks to that bastard ruining my mood, I am no longer in the mood for a wedding today. We shall have it tomorrow instead. And if there are any disturbances, you will be violating my rights again!"

With that, he patted his spotless clothes—though there wasn't a single speck of dust on them—and walked away as if nothing had happened.

The wives collectively exhaled in relief. Sylphy, her body still slightly trembling though her face remained neutral, approached Felt. She placed a hand on the girl's back.

"I am… extremely grateful to you for saving my life," Sylphy said quietly. "But you should start preparing for the wedding. Lord Husband is unbeatable—no one can defeat him. Not even the Sword Saint. It was always fated this way. After the wedding, Lord Husband will become even more irritable. If you fail to follow his rules, he may kill you without hesitation."

Without waiting for a reply, she walked away.

Felt was left frozen, her thoughts spiraling. Reinhardt was dead—or gone forever. That had to be the truth. Regulus wouldn't have returned so calmly otherwise.

'Rom…' She thought of her grandfather and the possibility of never seeing him again. But the thought of Rom trying to rescue her and being slaughtered by Regulus was even more unbearable.

'No… No! I can't let Rom come here! If Reinhardt wasn't a match for him, then Rom wouldn't stand a chance!' she thought desperately. She decided to cling to the slim hope that perhaps the Lugunican government would intervene. But deep down, she knew the odds were painfully low.

Still, in order to survive—and to hold onto that faint hope—Felt offered no resistance. The next day, she married Regulus. He didn't kiss her, much to her relief.

Apparently, Regulus never touched his wives in that way. According to them, he considered sleeping with "inferior creatures" to be beneath his dignity.

(A/N: The real reason? Let's just say his dragon never rises.)

From that point on, Felt learned to wear an emotionless mask, obeying Regulus's every command without question.

Days later, news finally reached her ears—an army from Lugunica had been deployed to drive the Sin Archbishops away. For the first time since Reinhardt vanished, hope sparked in her chest. But it didn't last.

Soon after, Regulus returned from battle completely unharmed, his clothes perfectly pressed as if he'd been taking a leisurely stroll. No dirt, no scratches, not even a wrinkle.

The reports were grim. The army had been annihilated. Regulus had destroyed them single-handedly.

The light in Felt's eyes faded. She began to move through her days like a machine, no different from Regulus's other wives—silent, obedient, and hollow.

Until one day—

"Mongrel! Come out! This concubine is here because of the rights that you have violated!"

The voice was loud, proud, and unmistakably female.

That day, salvation appeared—not in the form of the man she had been waiting for, but in the form of a blonde-haired woman with golden eyes, wielding an axe that shone with immense, terrifying power. And beside her stood a man with dark hair and golden eyes that seemed to burn with intent.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

...

{3rd Pov}

Subaru didn't know what to do at first. His head was already spinning from what he had witnessed regarding the fates of the Royal Candidates in this timeline.

He had seen enough to get the general idea of what had happened to each of them, and none of it was pleasant.

Crusch, for instance, had been reduced to something as humiliating and absurd as a fly.

Anastasia had ended up abandoned by Eridna, left entirely alone without her usual network of support.

Felt's situation was even more bizarre and disturbing—married off to Regulus, of all people.

These weren't just unfortunate outcomes; they were catastrophic in different ways.

The fact that their new memories were still actively forming meant one thing—they were still alive in some capacity.

But alive didn't necessarily mean safe.

Their circumstances were dangerous, volatile, and full of potential for disaster.

Given the unstable individuals they were trapped with, it was entirely possible that any of them could die at any moment.

Subaru rubbed his temples in frustration.

He didn't want to waste precious time.

His priority was to search for Reina. However, after thinking it through, he realized that her current situation might not be so simple to address.

If Reina had been teleported to a very specific point in time, then it wouldn't matter whether he arrived a few days early or a few days late—he would miss her all the same.

That meant rushing blindly wasn't going to help. He needed a more calculated approach.

Instead, Subaru decided to take advantage of the time he had here.

If he couldn't immediately reach Reina, then at the very least, he could improve this world's state of affairs before leaving.

That meant helping the people here—but he wasn't about to do it for free.

He will made sure to have them owe him favors, so that if, by chance, Reina were ever to teleport into this world in the future, she would have a safe place to stay and wouldn't end up spending her time in a panic over being separated from him.

He was also going to get a hefty compensation in return for his efforts from this world.

And in this case, the compensation he wanted was nothing less than two of this world's greatest treasures: the Yin Sword and the Life Sword.

His reasoning was straightforward. He planned to use both swords to forge a weapon specifically for Gloria.

Over recent events, Subaru had come to the conclusion that, aside from Beatrice, Gloria was the only one in his circle who could stand a real chance against someone of Reinhardt's level.

And frankly, he had become extremely paranoid after everything that had happened with Beatrice.

The thought of having another ally who could handle a Reinhardt-tier threat was comforting—not just for his own safety, but for the safety of his other contracted spirits.

Beatrice was undeniably powerful, but her strengths lay in magical prowess, not physical combat.

She lacked the sheer physical reinforcement that Gloria could achieve through her Yang Magic, which could boost her physical strength to terrifying levels.

That meant a weapon was far better suited for Gloria's fighting style.

As for Beatrice, Subaru was already planning ahead.

Once he returned to his own timeline, he intended to work with Echidna to create an automatic magic tome or perhaps a magical staff for her—something on par with a Great Sword of Power in terms of threat level.

With his plan decided, Subaru wasted no time and put it into motion.

Obtaining the Yin Sword turned out to be relatively straightforward thanks to his overwhelming affinity with Yin.

By channeling his power and calling to it directly, he was able to summon this world's Yin Sword into his possession.

The Life Sword came next, and though it wasn't as simple to claim, Subaru managed to secure it as well.

Together with the remnants of Reinhardt's broken sword, these three components alone could already create a formidable weapon.

But, as the saying goes, "When God gives you something, He gives it in full measure."

In Subaru's case, while using his Aura, expanding it across the surroundings, he felt an unexpected pull—an almost instinctive call toward something.

It was very similar to how he had obtained the Yin Sword in his own timeline, so he decided to trust his instincts and follow them.

That "something" turned out to be a new Great Sword of Power manifesting in this reality. Following the pull, he allowed his aura to fully respond, and from it, the once-lost Spirit Sword materialized in his hands.

Testing the Spirit Sword's capabilities revealed that it was far more than what he expected from it.

Not only could it harm spiritual beings directly, but it could also sever the connection between Od Lagna and a person's soul, making it an incredibly dangerous and rare weapon.

Against someone like Reinhardt—whose connection to Od Lagna was arguably the strongest in existence—it would still be more like a water gun than a real threat.

But then Subaru had another idea: what if he incorporated the essence of the Dragon Sword into it as well?

With the Yin Sword, Life Sword, Spirit Sword, and the Dragon Sword's essence, Subaru could theoretically create a weapon capable of rivaling even his own Yin Sword and Life Sword in power.

The potential was staggering.

The Life Sword, in its base form, was already a terrifying weapon—it could drain vitality.

Over centuries, it had evolved to gain the ability to destroy a soul entirely.

Then, due to Subaru's Return by Death ability—which had essentially multiplied the sword's essence sixteenfold—it had reached the level where it could kill even Reinhardt.

While it wouldn't be enough to kill someone at Reina's level, it was still an absurd level of power.

However, when Gloria heard that Subaru intended to sacrifice the Spirit Sword in the process of forging her weapon, she was not pleased in the slightest. Her disapproval was immediate and obvious.

"Father, you have acquired this weapon rightfully… so why should you sacrifice it? While this concubine is deeply moved by your affection, that mongrel's broken sword combined with this world's two legendary weapons will be more than sufficient. With just those, this concubine will already be unrivalled in the majority of timelines." Gloria's voice carried both gratitude and clear disapproval, her tone leaving little doubt that she thought Subaru was overdoing it.

Beatrice, standing nearby, couldn't help but cast Subaru a side glance full of mixed emotions.

Even for her current self, the thought of Subaru willingly giving up one of the Ten Great Weapons of Power—just to slightly improve another weapon specifically intended for Gloria—was hard to accept.

A part of her was jealous, though she wouldn't outright say it. After all, the Spirit Sword wasn't just any weapon.

Subaru, instead of looking troubled by their reactions, chuckled and reached out to pat Beatrice's adorable head with deliberate fondness. "Oh, my little imouto, don't pout. In the future, I'll make sure you get your own special weapon—a staff or maybe an overpowered magical tome. Heck, I'll even make sure every single one of you has a weapon worthy of your abilities."

"Umu! I want a sword! A blazing sword!" Agni immediately blurted out, her voice buzzing with excitement as she darted around in her mana orb form.

"Father! I want a hammer! A hammer that can crush everything to paste!" Gaea declared with enthusiasm, her earthy mana orb whirling around Subaru like a small planet in orbit.

"I want a trident! I saw one in Father's memories! All the handsome Gods of Water have a trident! I shall rule the Seven Seas—wahahaha!" Aqua boasted, laughing theatrically as her mana orb spun in a triumphant display.

"I want a bow… at the level of Rama's," Sylphy said softly, almost too quietly, but the request landed with the weight of a meteor.

Subaru nearly had a heart attack right then and there.

If Sylphy had simply asked for a bow on the level of Artemis's or Apollo's, he could have easily handled it—well, "easily" meaning stealing it during a little "visit" to another world.

Ahem.

But no, she had to aim straight for Rama's bow. And not just any knockoff from some parallel verse—no, she meant the mythological, original, one-of-a-kind bow.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, his mind split between two equally absurd possibilities. Half of him suspected that Lord Vishnu was actually just the Almighty God who had created the entire Omniverse.

The other half leaned toward the theory that Vishnu was some Nigh-Omnipotent—or perhaps outright Omnipotent—being weaving his own multiverse just for fun.

The only theoretical alternative would be to try and get it from the so-called "Rama Bag," but as the saying goes, gacha is pure hell.

And Subaru had no intention of walking willingly into that pit.

'Damn it… as they say, it's always the quiet ones who cause the most trouble.'

Still, Subaru reached out and patted Sylphy's mana orb form, and she shyly rubbed herself against his palm in response.

Despite their immense power, Subaru's spirits had chosen to remain in their mana orb forms.

They were already strong enough to assume human shapes, but doing so would require them to learn and adapt to new forms, their non-spirit forms would also slow down their overall growth.

Gloria, being a fully mature spirit, was the only one who had already taken and maintained a permanent human form.

With all of that out of the way, Subaru turned his attention back to the matter at hand. He had now collected all the necessary components—the strongest among the Ten Great Swords of Power. It was time to begin the forging of a new weapon.

His first destination was a volcanic region in Gusteko.

The place was a hellish environment by ordinary standards—searing heat, rivers of molten magma, the air itself shimmering with lethal heat distortion.

But for Subaru, it was no problem at all.

Thanks to his thermal resistance being boosted to an absurd 1,024 times the normal level, even the boiling magma failed to cause him the slightest discomfort.

Using his Ruler's Authority, Subaru crafted a detailed mold for an axe.

The shape came together with precision—broad, deadly, and built to channel enormous amounts of power without losing structural integrity.

"All of you except Gloria, stay inside. I don't want any of you taking an explosion head-on if something goes wrong," Subaru warned, his voice serious as he prepared for the dangerous part of the process.

"Umu! Not even me?" Agni asked, flickering brightly in her mana orb form, trying her best to look irresistibly cute.

Subaru just smiled at her, gave no verbal answer, reached out, scooped her up in one swift motion, and promptly pushed her into the safety of his soul space.

"…," Agni made a tiny, defeated sound as she vanished inside, leaving only Gloria standing at his side, ready for what came next.

Then Gloria, without hesitation, burned away her mana-formed clothing until she stood completely naked. She looked Subaru straight in the eye and declared, "This concubine is ready, Father."

Subaru forced himself to keep his composure and not take another glance at her bare form. He reminded himself sternly in his head, 'Subaru, it's your daughter! Adopted, yes, but still your daughter!'

The thought was enough to keep his mind on task, though a part of him still grumbled about the awkwardness of the situation.

Pushing away all distractions, he reached into his storage and pulled out the broken Dragon Sword.

Even in its shattered state, the weapon retained a lingering will, an echo of its former grandeur that seemed to resonate faintly in the air.

Without pausing, Subaru also drew his own Yin Sword—the real one from his original world.

First, he separated the handle from the broken Dragon Sword, carefully setting the hilt aside. He placed the shattered blade fragments directly into the mold he had prepared earlier.

Then he moved on to the next step—retrieving this world's Life Sword.

The moment the Life Sword came close to his Yin Sword, it began to tremble violently, as if aware of the fate awaiting it.

Subaru sighed in his mind and muttered silently, 'Sorry, you poor sword, but this is for the greater good.' 

Without any hesitation, he cut the Life Sword into pieces, ignoring its shaking, and tossed the fragments into the mold alongside the Dragon Sword's remains.

Next was the turn of this world's Yin Sword. Subaru approached it with a more guarded attitude—he knew this one wouldn't go quietly.

True enough, the sword immediately tried to teleport away the moment he moved to break it.

Unfortunately for it, his own Yin Sword easily overpowered and destroyed it before it could escape. Its broken remains joined the others in the mold.

Finally came the Spirit Sword. Subaru felt a brief pang of guilt for this one, remembering its rare abilities and potential.

Still, he knew this sacrifice was necessary. Steeling himself, he decisively cut it down and added its pieces to the growing pile.

(A/N: This is absolutely going in the "Top Ten Anime Betrayals." Rest in peace, Spirit Sword.)

With all four legendary weapons now broken down, the mold was full of jagged, gleaming fragments.

Subaru then created a separate section for the weapon's handle.

Using his transfiguration ability, he merged the handles of all the dismantled weapons together, incorporating them into the broken Dragon Sheath to produce a thick, almost viscous metallic liquid.

This mixture was carefully poured into the mold's handle section to act as the weapon's core grip structure.

The forging process began in earnest.

Subaru unleashed a surge of fire magic, raising the temperature by thousands of degrees in an instant, directing the roaring heat directly onto the pile of weapon fragments.

But as expected, the broken pieces of the pieces of the Great Swords refused to melt—they didn't even soften under the intense magical heat.

Thankfully, Subaru had already anticipated this resistance.

He amplified his output by channeling his aura into the flames, flooding the mold with both raw magical fire and overwhelming spiritual pressure.

Gradually, the unyielding shards began to heat up.

Then Subaru added yet another layer—his KI—forcing its raw life energy into the process.

At last, the legendary metals began to break down, their resistance giving way under the combined force.

Using his psychic abilities to hold the molten fragments together, along with precise transfiguration to shape them, Subaru carefully manipulated the glowing, viscous metal.

Slowly, it began to conform perfectly to the shape of the mold, the individual essences of each legendary weapon merging into one unified form.

The process was far from over, but the foundation for a weapon of terrifying power was now in the making.

Gloria assisted Subaru by continuously pouring large amounts of pure Yang Magic into the molten metal. The energy surged, making the air around them ripple with heat and power.

"Do it now!" Subaru ordered sharply. Without a moment's hesitation, Gloria brought her hand up and, with a swift motion, severed her own finger.

No blood emerged—she was a spirit, after all—but the act was still a clear show of her resolve.

She dropped the severed finger directly into the molten mixture. Immediately afterward, she began pouring her OD—her spiritual energy—into it without holding back.

The weapon inside the mold began to blaze with intense light, emitting a strange humming sound that almost seemed alive.

At that exact moment, Subaru's right hand transformed, scales spreading along his skin until it took the shape of a dragon's claw.

He altered its form further into a massive hammer-like shape, then raised it high before bringing it down onto the mold with overwhelming force.

Boom!

Boom!

Each strike reverberated through the volcanic chamber, the sound echoing like thunder. The shockwaves carried a raw, almost primal energy.

The molten mixture reacted violently, as the powers of the Four Great Swords of Power clashed and attempted to merge.

Initially, the different essences fought against one another.

They resisted merging, each fragment trying to reshape itself back into the form of its original weapon— all struggled for dominance.

But Subaru's relentless hammering and Gloria's constant stream of Yang-infused OD forced the chaotic energies to yield.

Slowly but surely, the rebellious fragments fused together, their conflicting auras blending into one harmonious whole. The molten mass began to glow brighter, shifting into a brilliant golden hue.

Once the weapon's rough form had fully taken shape, Subaru used a surge of precise Water Magic to douse it, cooling the molten metal rapidly. Steam exploded upward in thick, blinding clouds, the hiss of evaporating water nearly deafening.

When the last hiss faded and the steam cleared, the forging was complete. The weapon was finished.

"Come," Gloria commanded softly, her voice carrying authority. The newly forged weapon responded instantly—it tore itself free from the mold with a burst of force and flew straight into her waiting grip.

It was massive—a single-sided axe with a long, perfectly balanced handle designed for both reach and raw destructive power.

Its golden steel gleamed like a miniature sun, its surface smooth yet radiating a deadly presence. Even simply holding it,

Gloria could feel its energy flooding into her, amplifying her power to an extent she had never experienced before.

This was not just another legendary weapon—it was one of a kind, a creation that had no equal in the entire world of Od Lagna.

Its nature was completely unique. Forged from two Magic Weapons, one Holy Sword, and one Demonic Sword, it carried the merged properties of all four into something entirely new.

It was a nemesis to all magic and weaponry alike.

An Anti-Magic, Anti-Holy, and Anti-Demonic weapon in one.

A weapon capable of cutting through any concept, no matter how abstract or absolute.

It could fly to its user no matter the distance, crossing even the boundaries of space itself.

It could sever a target's connection to Od Lagna, annihilate the soul, and burn the body to ashes in one devastating strike.

"Rita," Gloria declared with a confident smile, "from now on, your name shall be Rita."

Subaru clapped once in approval, watching as Gloria turned toward a mountain in the far distance. Without hesitation, she raised Rita high and swung.

The resulting slash wasn't bound by ordinary physics.

It didn't just travel through the air—it tore through space, time, shadows, life force, spiritual essence, and even abstract concepts as if they were paper.

The mountain in the distance was instantly and completely cleaved in two.

The cut was so clean that for a brief moment, the two halves remained upright before gravity won out, causing the entire slope to collapse in a roaring landslide.

Fortunately, Subaru had already scouted the area beforehand.

This part of Gusteko was heavily infested with dangerous mabeasts and almost completely devoid of humans, so there was no risk of civilian casualties.

Gloria lowered the axe with satisfaction, a confident smirk tugging at her lips. She released her grip, letting Rita float freely in the air.

The weapon hovered before her, then slowly drifted toward her body. It passed through her without resistance, sinking between her breasts and disappearing entirely into her spiritual storage space.

With the weapon secured, her mana-formed clothes returned instantly, and Gloria wasted no time rushing forward to throw her arms around Subaru.

"As expected of Father!" she said gleefully, rubbing her face against his chest like an affectionate cat. "To grant this concubine such a magnificent gift! Perhaps the only thing that could surpass this would be our consummation!" Her giggles were light, playful, and entirely inappropriate.

Subaru simply patted her head, ignoring the incestuous undertone of her words. "Let's go," he said firmly. "The longer we waste here, the more innocent people might die."

Then he smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "And besides… we already have the perfect targets to test it on."

That day, the Divine Axe Rita was born—an unparalleled weapon forged by the Great Sage, destined to change the balance of power.

To be continued...