It hadn't been long since Garfiel had thrown down the gauntlet to the Sword Saint.
The Strongest Knight. No, the whispers claimed more than that—the strongest in the kingdom. A title that weighed heavier than any steel ever could.
Reinhard van Astrea.
Garfiel wasn't going in blind. He'd heard of the man's absurdity from Gojo himself—that fighter whose very existence was a wall of infinity that had forced Garfiel to rethink everything he knew about power. If a monster like Gojo acknowledged Reinhard, then doubting it was just stupidity.
And yet, standing face-to-face with the Sword Saint, Garfiel almost wanted to laugh.
The man looked nothing like "The Strongest." His expression was soft, his frame lean and elegant. There was no crushing pressure, no bloodlust leaking from his pores. If this were the old days, back when Garfiel was rotting in the Sanctuary judging books by their covers, he would have dismissed Reinhard as some delicate noble's brat—someone he could snap like a dry twig.
But Garfiel wasn't that reckless kid anymore.
The lessons were burned into his flesh. He remembered attacking Subaru in blind arrogance, only to be outwitted. He remembered rushing Gojo, only to learn what it meant to touch the untouchable. Those scars had taught him a single, hard truth: The louder the dog barks, the weaker the bite. The silent ones are the ones that kill you.
And Reinhard… he was terrifyingly silent.
They had agreed to take it to the courtyard. Fighting inside the inn was out of the question; one slip and the whole place would come down on the Captain's head. Outside, there was stone beneath their feet and the open sky above.
Even so, the setup made Garfiel bristle. Reinhard stood there empty-handed, looking for all the world like he was preparing for a light stroll rather than a duel. It felt like he was looking down on Garfiel's amazing self.
"Don't think I'll go easy on ya just 'cause you're pretty." Garfiel growled, baring his fangs. He lowered his hips, muscles coiling.
Reinhard smiled, a genuinely apologetic look on his face.
"I wouldn't expect anything less. Please, come at me whenever you are ready."
That was when it happened.
The atmosphere didn't just shift; it settled.
Reinhard hadn't drawn a weapon—he couldn't, given the restrictions of the blade against unworthy opponents, and the destruction unleashing Reid would wrought—but the way he stood made the concept of "unarmed" irrelevant. His posture was flawless. It wasn't a stance honed by practice; it was a stance loved by the world itself. The mana in the air seemed to be drawn around him, as if afraid to disturb the Sword Saint.
For the first time in a long while, Garfiel felt something deep in his gut quiver. It wasn't his heart. It was his instincts, screaming at him that he was standing in front of a natural disaster.
He bit down on that fear. He chewed it up and swallowed it.
With a roar that shook the courtyard, Garfiel launched himself.
The stone cracked under his launch. His claws gleamed, aiming for the throat. The agreement to avoid lethal strikes evaporated in the heat of the moment. Against a monster like this, holding back was suicide. He aimed to end it before Reinhard could take a breath.
A desperate, full-power gamble.
And in the instant before the blow connected—
The world stopped.
Reinhard's hand was simply there. It wasn't a blur of speed; it didn't look like he had moved fast at all. It was as if his hand had been waiting at that specific coordinate since the beginning of time. He caught Garfiel's wrist mid-air.
There was no shockwave. No struggle. Garfiel's momentum, enough to smash through a carriage, died instantly. It was like striking the ocean; the force just vanished.
Satoru Gojo hadn't lied.
But Gojo's strength—that "infinity"—felt alien, a rejection of reality. Reinhard's was different. It was raw, grounded, and absolute. It was the unfair reality that some beings are simply born above the clouds.
Dread lanced through Garfiel's body, cold and sharp.
Move... Don't freeze up now, dammit!
He wrenched his arm free—Reinhard let him go—and lashed out again. Left claw, right claw, a spinning kick, a feint, a rush. He moved like a golden blur, unleashing every ounce of violence the Sanctuary had bred into him.
And yet.
Not a single attack touched a thread of the knight's uniform.
Reinhard didn't even pick up his feet. He merely shifted his weight, swaying like a willow in a breeze. He parried a lethal claw with the back of his hand, brushed aside a kick with his forearm, and tilted his head a fraction of an inch to let a strike snap at empty air.
He hadn't moved from his starting spot. He was rooted to the earth, and the earth refused to let him falter.
Minutes passed? Seconds? It didn't matter. Time blurred under the weight of futility.
Finally, Garfiel skidded to a halt. His chest heaved like a bellows, sweat stinging his eyes. His claws trembled.
Reinhard stood opposite him, breathing evenly. His hair wasn't even ruffled. He wore that same kind, almost guilty smile, as if he were sorry for being this strong.
The silence that followed was heavier than any roar Garfiel could muster.
"Tch…"
Garfiel straightened up, the tension leaving his shoulders. He clicked his tongue, scratching the back of his head aggressively to hide the frustration burning his face.
"…I lost."
The words scraped out of his throat, rough like gravel. For someone as stubborn as him, admitting defeat was like tearing off his own skin.
But he couldn't deny what was right in front of his eyes.
The gap between them wasn't just wide. It was infinite.
And for the first time, Garfiel Tinsel truly understood what it meant for a man to be loved by the world.
———————————————
The static-laced echoes of the broadcast still rang in Garfiel's ears as he and Mimi navigated the narrow stone walkways.
Capella. Lust. A Sin Archbishop of the Witch's Cult.
That shrill, mocking laughter had felt like broken glass grinding inside his skull. But it wasn't her voice that made his fur stand on end—it was her claim. The water towers. The idea that she held the entire city by the throat didn't just sit wrong with him; it made his blood boil.
But Garfiel couldn't let himself get lost in the rage. Not yet. His job was simple: get to City Hall.
He kept low, shoulders hunched, his golden hair bristling like a cat in a thunderstorm. His ears twitched at every stimulus—a pebble skittering, a wooden shutter banging in the wind. Mimi padded along beside him, her small staff gripped tight. For once, the usually bubbly girl kept her mouth shut. That alone told Garfiel how bad things were.
His nose wrinkled. Nothing. Not a single guard's scent. Not the jingle of armor, not the heartbeat of a sentry.
"…What the hell's goin' on?" he muttered, his voice a low rumble.
Something was wrong.
Dead wrong.
Both of them picked up on it at the same instant.
A shift in the wind. A heavy, coppery tang drifting up from the canal. They followed the waterway, turned a sharp corner—
And froze.
"…Tch."
The stench hit them like a physical blow. Iron. Blood. Rot.
City guards lay scattered across the cobblestones like broken dolls. The brutality was efficient and nauseating. One man's chest was cleaved clean through, armor and all. Another's face was twisted into a mask of terror, throat gaping wide. A third had been split in two entirely, his entrails staining the pristine white stone of Pristella.
Mimi gagged, slapping a hand over her nose. "Ugh… smells bad. Smells really bad."
Garfiel raised his forearm, trying to filter the air, but the taste of death clung to his tongue.
"Those cultist bastards…"
His teeth clenched so hard they creaked.
"What do they take my amazing self for? Butcherin' people in the street like cattle… thinkin' they can run wild right under our noses?"
Rage hammered against his ribs. Rage and shame. Because the Witch Cult had chosen here. In a city where monsters like Gojo and even Reinhard walked, they dared to do this? It was an insult. A spit in the face.
And maybe, just maybe, it was a trap.
"Garf!!"
Mimi's shriek snapped him out of his head.
His instincts screamed a split second later.
Death.
A whisper of steel cut the air.
He ducked low on pure reflex, claws digging into the stone as a silver flash sang just inches above his scalp. The wind of its passage severed a few strands of his golden hair. He sprang backward in a crouch, fangs bared, Mimi skidding to a halt beside him.
"Hah… damn it… that was a close shave…"
Cold sweat pricked his back. If Mimi hadn't yelled, his head would be rolling into the canal right about now.
They looked forward, into the shadows of the alley—
And saw them.
Two figures stood amidst the carnage.
One was massive. A giant of a man, larger than any human had a right to be. He held massive cleavers in his hands—hands that looked like they could crush a skull like a grape. He held the weapons lazily, but Garfiel could tell from the eerie stillness of his stance that this wasn't some mindless brute. This was a warrior.
Beside him stood a slender woman in a dark robe, her face obscured. She moved with a terrifying grace, a single longsword gleaming in her hand—the very blade that had almost claimed Garfiel's life.
Both were masked. Both were silent. And yet, the pressure rolling off them was suffocating.
"…That's a real nasty greetin'," Garfiel snarled, straightening up and flexing his claws.
Mimi's ears flattened against her head. Her staff shook in her hands.
"Garf… they're strong. Really, really strong!" Her voice cracked, losing its usual bounce. "Mimi feels it in her gut! If we fight them head-on… we'll… we'll die! Mimi doesn't want to die!"
The words weren't cowardly. They were honest. Mimi was an instinctual creature; if she said they were outmatched, it was because her soul was trembling.
And Garfiel felt it too.
That gnawing dread in his gut. That prickling along his spine. These weren't the fodder cultists Subaru had warned him about. These were monsters.
Killers. Legends, maybe.
But still—
They ain't nothin' compared to Him.
The image of Reinhard flashed in his mind. The Sword Saint, standing in the courtyard, parrying Garfiel's fiercest blows without even shifting his weight. Compared to the infinite, suffocating sky that was Reinhard van Astrea, these two were just storm clouds.
Garfiel bared his jagged teeth in a feral grin, his emerald eyes flashing with defiance.
"We'll break through 'em together, Mimi. N' show these rotting bastards they picked the wrong fight!"
Mimi shook her head frantically. "B-but… Garf! They're too strong! We can't win!"
He let out a slow, ragged breath, forcing his pounding heart into a rhythm he could use.
"…Maybe. But they ain't exactly steppin' aside to let us pass, yeah?"
He rolled his shoulders, his shields rising, magic flaring around his body.
"So here's the play. We hit 'em hard. We hit 'em fast. And then we run like hell. We find someone else—Subaru, Gojo, Julius, the redhead, anyone. Just buyin' time is a win today."
Mimi blinked, looking at his back. Then, she slapped her cheeks with both hands.
"Okay! Yeah! Hit 'n run! Mimi is really good at running!"
Her tail puffed out, and she gripped her staff, her eyes burning with a spark of renewed courage.
Together, side by side, they faced down the looming shadows of the two executioners.
Garfiel's grin widened, savage and wild.
"Alright then. Let's see if yer bite is as big as yer bark."
——————————————
"So, what is the deal with this 'Capella Emeralda Lugunica' woman claiming to be the Archbishop in command?" Subaru finally cut in, his arms crossed tight against his chest. "That name's royalty-only, right? So what, did the royal family have a secret kid who grew up and decided, 'You know what? I'll go full cultist and make everyone's life miserable'?"
The sarcasm was sharp, but his eyes betrayed his unease. He'd only just managed to pull himself together after his breakdown earlier. No, he swore to himself, pushing the dark thought down. I won't give in to the temptation of Return by Death. Not yet. Not unless there is absolutely no other path left to walk.
Al leaned back in his chair, his singular arm resting behind his helmeted head. "Brother, if you ask me, it's probably just a taunt. Way I see it, takin' over one of the five great cities of Lugunica is bad enough. But slapping the royal name on top of that? That's pouring salt in the wound. They want us angry."
Ferris's ears twitched, his expression uncharacteristically grim. "Mhm. Especially since everyone knows how the royal family died. Ugly rumors still linger, nya. It is a very bad taste joke."
Wilhelm stirred at last.
"While I cannot place the full title… the name 'Emeralda Lugunica' does strike a chord. Roughly fifty years ago, there was indeed such a woman. She was famed for her beauty… and equally feared for her ruthlessness."
Subaru blinked.
"…And nobody thought to mention this until now?"
Before Wilhelm could answer, Gojo's head snapped toward the entrance. His eyes were concealed, but his gaze was sharp, piercing through the wood and stone.
"Hmm?"
No one else had heard it yet, except for Gojo who raised a brow at the commotion.
Wilhelm's instincts flared a split second later. He turned, his hand hovering over his sword hilt. "Who's there?!"
The door didn't just open; it crashed inward from the force of it being struck.
A silhouette staggered through, heavy with guilt and bloody.
"Hrk—ghh…"
"Garfiel?!" Subaru shot up, the speed of which causing his chair to clatter to the floor.
The boy stumbled inside, soaked in red. He was clutching Mimi's tiny body to his chest so tightly his knuckles were white. His teeth were gnashed together, his whole frame shaking with a violent tremor.
"Sorry, Cap'n… hrk! My amazin' self… I'm worthless…! Incompetent!" His knees buckled. He hit the floor hard, words cracking between ragged, sobbing breaths.
"Couldn't protect her… useless… I'm useless!"
"Garfiel—!" Subaru rushed forward, eyes wide with horror. "Wh-what the hell—what happened—"
The words died in his throat as he looked down.
Mimi was devastatingly pale. Her body was matted with blood that didn't seem to stop falling, and her chest was rising in shallow, jerky hitches.
"…Ferris!"
"I'm already on it, nya!" He was beside them in an instant, his hands glowing with the shimmering light of water magic. He pressed his palms against the gash on Mimi's side.
"Close… come on, close!"
The light pulsed, but the flesh refused to knit no matter what he did. The blood simply kept on coming out.
"What—?!" Ferris's face drained of color. "It's not closing—it's not responding at all—!"
Panic crashed through the room like a physical wave.
Subaru's stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat.
Failure. Is this it? Did I fail? Is she going to die right here?
And then—
"Step aside."
The voice was calm. Almost bored.
Gojo was there, crouching beside Mimi. He didn't shove Ferris, but his presence was so absolute that the healer instinctively pulled back. Gojo extended two fingers, pressing them gently near the wound.
"Gojo-sensei?" Subaru stammered.
A shimmer of distorted space wrapped around Mimi's side. The blood didn't clot, but it stopped flowing. As if it was frozen in time, caught in the infinite space between her body and the outside world.
"There we go." Gojo exhaled, straightening up and dusting off his hands. "I can't heal the wound, but I can stop her bleeding out. She's in stasis."
He glanced lazily at Subaru, a grin tugging at his lips. "Don't look at me like that, as incredible as I am. I'm not a doctor, I just know how to press pause."
Subaru's legs went weak with relief. He slumped against the table. "…You overpowered, cocky bastard."
Everyone exhaled—everyone except Ferris. The healer's hands were trembling violently.
"No… no, this isn't right." The usual sing-song tone was gone. Ferris looked sick. "That wound… it rejected my mana. That shouldn't happen. Nothing rejects mymana like that…"
Wilhelm stepped closer in stunned silence, his eyes—usually sharp, unflinching—widened as he looked at the jagged tear in Mimi's side.
"…This is…" He couldn't finish the sentence.
Garfiel swayed where he stood, eyes empty. He hadn't even tried to close his own wounds. His gaze was locked on Mimi, guilt eating him alive.
"Garfiel." Subaru snapped his fingers in front of the boy's face. "Oi! Mimi's stable now. Gojo's got her. But you're bleeding out too, you moron! Can you heal yourself?!"
The words shook him back to reality. "…Ah… y-yeah."
He pressed his palms to his chest. Green earth magic bloomed weakly, sealing his own cuts. His jaw clenched, but his eyes flicked up—caught on the expression of the old swordsman.
"…What d'ya know, old man?" His voice cracked. "Why are ya lookin' at her like that?"
Subaru turned too, frowning. "Yeah. Wilhelm-san, you've got that face. You've seen this before."
Wilhelm shut his eyes. For a moment, he looked every one of his many years. Then, he opened them, a cold resolve settling in.
"…Though I cannot be one hundred percent certain, I believe that wound was inflicted by a blade bearing the Divine Protection of the Death God."
"…The what?" Subaru blinked. "Since when was that a thing? Doesn't even sound like something Mr. Redhead Sword Jesus has. Wait, even he has limits?"
Wilhelm's gaze hardened. "It is not a matter of limits. It is a curse."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Gojo finally broke it, tilting his head.
"So. History lesson time, yeah? What actually is this Divine Protection? Because right now, I feel like I missed an episode."
Wilhelm inclined his head solemnly.
"…The Divine Protection of the Death God is a cursed gift. Any wound inflicted by its wielder cannot be healed. Not by spirits, not by magic, and not by time. The injury festers, unhealable, until the victim bleeds out or the wound reopens eternally."
Ferris's ears pressed flat against his head.
"That's… that's why Mimi's body isn't responding… nyan."
Wilhelm's gaze fell on Mimi, then drifted to the window, looking at something far away in the past. His voice lowered to a whisper that carried more weight than a scream.
"And, if you did not realize already… that Divine Protection is the very same one that belonged to my wife."