"Garfiel. Tell us what happened."
Subaru's voice was firm, sterner than usual. His angry-lookin eyes peering at the boy curled up against the wall.
"If those bastards nearly killed you and Mimi, then we owe it to both of you to take them down. But we can't do that blind. We need your help."
It was easy to forget—blinded by the boy's superhuman strength and loud bravado—but Garfiel Tinsel was still just a teenager. Still young enough to stagger under the weight of failure. Still young enough to shake.
His emerald eyes dropped to the floor, a ragged breath spilling from between his gritted teeth.
"…Two enemies showed up.." he rasped. "One was this huge bastard. Bigger than anyone I've ever seen. Wielded cleavers like they were twigs too."
He shuddered, his fists clenching on his knees. "The other… was a thin woman. One blade, a longsword. Either one of 'em, one-on-one, would've given me more'n I could handle. No… they weren't just on my level. They were above it."
"…So, we're dealing with monsters. Got it." Subaru exhaled sharply through his nose. "Do you think either of 'em was the broadcaster? Capella?"
Garfiel shook his head instantly. "No. The voice on the broadcast… it had this feelin'. Like slime crawlin' up your spine. Those two didn't give me that same disgustin' feeling. They just felt… like death."
"Well, that's just great…" Subaru muttered, rubbing his temple aggressively. "Three Archbishops confirmed in the city, and now we've got bonus mini-bosses to deal with too?"
Garfiel's voice cut sharp, defensive. "The thin woman's the one who cut down the shrimp! That's why I gotta—"
Wilhelm suddenly stepped forward. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet.
"…That woman. Please leave slaying her to me."
Garfiel's head snapped up, confusion flashing in his damp eyes.
"Hah? What're ya talkin' about? She nearly killed—"
Wilhelm's expression remained ironclad, but the depths of his blue eyes held a turbulent, swirling darkness.
"Though I cannot yet confirm it, I have reason to believe that woman is… someone I know. Someone deeply important to me." He drew a long, steadying breath. "I… must insist."
"Hrk…!" Garfiel flinched under the old man's intensity. He looked away, his pride fighting a losing battle against the Sword Demon's insistence.
"…Fine. Do what ya want."
Silence lingered until Subaru sighed, dragging a hand through his messy hair. "…Honestly? I really wish Reinhard was here. I hate relying on him, but that dude is the strongest person in the kingdom, let alone this city. And of course, he's off doing who-knows-what in who-knows-where."
"Correction!" Gojo drawled, stepping forward with a wagging finger. "He's not just 'off somewhere.' I believe he's being kept somewhere. Obviously not physically restrained—good luck with that—but I'll put money down on who's behind the delay."
Subaru narrowed his eyes. "…You mean—"
Gojo nodded lazily.
"Heinkel van Astrea. Daddy Dearest. Saw him earlier, remember? Drunk, reeking of cheap booze, acting like the Kingdom's biggest joke. Emotional blackmail is a powerful binding spell, Subaru."
The room sank into a grim quiet at the memory of the Vice-Captain's pathetic state.
Finally, Subaru slapped his cheeks.
"…Either way, Emilia is still in that rotten Greed bastard's hands. I hate leaving her there even a second longer, but…"
He looked up, his eyes sharpening into a glare.
"First priority is the City Hall. That's where the broadcast came from. If we take out the head, maybe the body falls."
"And we deal with those two cultist warriors if they intercept us…" Anastasia added smoothly, her hand playing with the scarf around her neck.
Crusch stepped in, her demeanor regaining its sharp, military edge.
"Information, then. Is there anything at all recorded about Lust? Or Greed?"
Julius shook his head, his expression grim.
"Very little on Lust. Sloth and Greed are the names most whispered around the kingdom." He shifted his gaze toward Subaru and Gojo. "However, you two have faced Greed in the past, killing Sloth alongside that. Your insight is more valuable than the rumors I might of heard."
"Valuable? Sure. Encouraging? Not so much." Subaru folded his arms, his face twisting in distaste. "Combat-wise, Regulus Corneas is… well, he looks pathetic. Amateur stance, talks too much, moves like a civilian. But—" His jaw tightened. "He's invincible."
"Invincible?" Crusch repeated.
"He can negate anything." Subaru explained, frustration leaking into his voice. "Doesn't matter if you break his nose, stab him, or drop a mountain on him. It just… doesn't happen. He's untouchable."
Gojo leaned against the wall, tilting his head.
"Don't undersell him, Subaru. The guy is a walking physics violation. Back when I stalled him during the Sloth fiasco, I tested everything and nothing worked."
Gojo lifted a hand, looking at his own palm. "My Infinity slows things down so they never reach me, right? It divides the space infinitely. But Regulus? He threw a handful of gravel at me. Just gravel. But if I hadn't dodged, I'd be Swiss cheese."
Julius frowned, his knightly composure cracking slightly.
"An Authority that ignores the laws of magic and physics… A shield that cannot be broken and a spear that cannot be stopped."
Gojo shrugged, a humorless smile on his face. "That's the gist of it. He's a cheat code given human form. And a really annoying one at that."
——————————————
The group began to move, their boots striking the pavement of the silent, abandoned streets. The air was heavy, smelling faintly of the blood and smoke that lingered from the battles raging across the city.
They were a formidable vanguard: Gojo, Garfiel, Subaru, Wilhelm, Julius, and Ricardo. Warriors, every one of them. Crusch and Aldebaran followed close behind—less certain factors in a direct fight, given Crusch's condition and Al's mystery, but necessary nonetheless.
Beatrice had remained behind with Ferris to heal the wounded civilians thanks to Subaru, despite her repeated insistence.
As they walked, Gojo drifted up beside Subaru, his hands cupped lazily behind his head. His blindfolded eyes seemed to scan the surroundings before flicking toward Subaru's bandaged right arm.
Then—poke.
"Urk—!" Subaru recoiled, clutching his arm and glaring. "The hell are you doing?!"
Gojo smirked, his finger hovering for another poke. "Just checking. The flow in that arm is still all gunked up. It's gross. Don't push it, okay?"
"…Right…" Subaru muttered, narrowing his eyes as he rubbed the spot. "Special eyes. Of course. How could I forget you see things we don't."
Ricardo's deep, rumbling laugh came from behind. The wolf-man sniffed the air loudly. "You can tell that much just by lookin', white-haired bro? My nose says nothin's wrong with the kid, aside from him smellin' strange."
Gojo chuckled.
"Trust me, it's a mess in there."
"Please…" Subaru groaned, waving a hand. "Don't inflate his ego any further. It's already big enough to crush the city!"
"Oi—what's that supposed to mean?" Gojo feigned hurt, placing a hand over his heart.
"Oh, you know exactly what it means!"
"Nope! Nuhuh, I don't! My ego is perfectly manageable, thank you very much~!"
Their bickering bounced off the empty walls of the canal city.
Crusch, watching them from a few paces back, allowed a rare, soft smile to grace her lips.
"This hardly resembles a relationship between master and student, if I had to be honest. It is… refreshing."
Subaru snorted, casting a side-eye at the sorcerer. "Well, it's hard to take a teacher seriously when he is younger than me."
"Hey! Younger, but way better!"
Subaru smirked at his spluttering sensei, then quickly turned his gaze away before Gojo could retaliate with a flick to the forehead. His eyes landed instead on Al. The helmeted knight was walking quietly, his head tilted down, lost in thought.
"…So then, what about you, Al?" Subaru asked.
Al blinked, tilting his helmeted head. "…What about me, brother?"
"Nobody here's ever really seen you fight. You planning on keeping that a secret forever?"
"Ahhh…" Al scratched the side of his helmet, the metal scraping audibly. "Afraid so, brother. At least for now."
He stopped walking. The group paused, turning back to him.
"Truth is…" Al said, his tone shifting from lazy to something harder to read. "I gotta split. Gotta find my Princess. Make sure she's safe. Knights' priorities, y'know how it is."
"…You're kidding me." Subaru's voice spiked. "You're ditching us now?!"
"Sorry, soooorry." Al waved his single hand apologetically. "Really. My bad. But look at this lineup. Between the Sword Demon, the Spirit Knight, and…" His gaze slid toward Gojo. "…that freak of nature over there, you don't really need me. Not compared to how much she might be needing me."
Gojo smirked, offering a lazy, two-fingered salute.
It was brief, but for a second, the air between Al and Gojo seemed to vibrate with a silent understanding.
To Subaru's surprise, Julius nodded firmly to Al. "I respect your choice, Sir Aldebaran. To prioritize the safety of the one you have sworn your blade to—there is no greater duty for a knight. I would act the same were it Lady Anastasia in peril."
Subaru exhaled, rubbing the back of his head with a weary sigh. "Haah… fine. Go find Priscilla. Just don't get killed, Al."
"You too, brother."
Al turned and jogged down a side alley, disappearing into the shadows.
"Crazy world we're in, huh, Gojo-sen—?"
Subaru turned to his side.
"—Sensei? …Gojo?"
Subaru blinked. The space beside him was empty.
He spun in a circle, scanning the street. "Huh?"
Ricardo's gravelly voice answered from the rear, a hint of genuine confusion in his tone. "If you're lookin' for the white-haired bro, he slipped off a second ago. Didn't make a sound. Looked real serious, too."
"What—serious? Him?" Subaru muttered, half in disbelief, half in sudden dread.
A weight pressed into the air. Wilhelm's hand subtly tightened around the hilt of his blade, his instincts flaring. Crusch's brows furrowed. Even Julius tilted his head, concern flickering across his face.
Subaru dragged a hand down his face and groaned. "Damn it, Gojo-sensei… disappearing like that without saying a word… I swear, he's worse than a cat."
Then Subaru shook his head, forcing his own rising panic down. He just shrugged
"Alright, whatever—Gojo isn't the type of guy to just vanish for no reason. If he bailed, then something happened that only he noticed with those eyes of his. We can't wait for him."
Subaru looked forward, toward the looming structure of the City Hall.
"We've still got our own job to do."
The group nodded, reluctant but in agreement. Leaving the strongest behind felt wrong, but they had no choice. They pressed on into the dark.
—————————————-
Far away from the others, another pair moved through the hollow veins of Pristella.
Rom, the lumbering giant whose bulk once made the loot house quake with every step, moved with a measured care that belied his size. While he was fairly powerful in the past, settling down had made him far more slack, but with Reinhard's training; he was now a warrior protecting a Royal Candidate. Though the weight of his feet still echoed faintly in the silence, there was a sharpness to his gaze that hadn't been there before.
Beside him, Otto Suwen tugged his green cloak tighter, his gray hair brushing against his pale cheek in the soft breeze. A merchant by trade, underestimated at every corner, yet here he was—walking headlong into a nightmare because his conscience, and a certain nasty-eyed friend, wouldn't let him leave people to die.
Rom grunted, scratching the back of his thick neck. "Keh… T'think, my perfect vacation… coulda been layin' down in some tavern right now, drinkin' 'til I couldn't see straight. But nah. Wherever that damn Gojo or that Natsuki kid goes, chaos follows like a bad smell, eh?"
Otto gave him a side-eye, his lips twitching into a humorless, resigned smile. "Haha… Although I certainly wasn't considering this business trip a vacation to begin with… I'd be lying if I said I wasn't starting to wish I was back doing anything else. My luck truly is catastrophic..."
As strange as the scene might have seemed, the two had struck a rhythm—giant and merchant, old warrior and young worrier—different as night and day, but somehow their complaints kept pace together.
Until Rom froze.
His bushy brows knitted together, and the easy, hulking weight of his stride vanished instantly. He stopped dead, his eyes narrowing at the shadowy street ahead.
"Hrr… somethin's wrong. This silence—it feels different than before."
Otto blinked, stopping a few paces behind. "Wrong? No, Mr. Rom, it's the same—eerily quiet, nothing more. I don't hear any—"
Then he saw it.
The words died in his throat. His eyes widened, and his stomach lurched violently.
It wasn't a street anymore; it was a slaughterhouse.
City guards lay torn apart as if a monster had strolled through the streets. Crushed torsos. Limbs splayed at angles that made human anatomy look like a cruel joke. Faces caved in by overwhelming force. The scent of blood was so thick in the air you could taste it on your tongue. Bodies were strewn about like discarded meat in a butcher's stall.
And in the middle of it all stood… something.
A small figure. Delicate. Doll-like.
Long, golden hair spilled across the cobblestones in a shining river, gleaming unnaturally bright against the crimson tide soaking the ground. The creature's skin was pale white, untouched by the blood she waded in. The white dress she wore fluttered gently in the wind, impossibly clean amidst the filth.
And then—her tongue darted out.
It was long, pink, and languid as it dragged across a bloodied hand she was holding, lapping up the crimson fluid like a child tasting honey.
Rom's breath rumbled low in his chest, his hand reaching for the massive weapon on his back.
"…This ain't good. Not good at all."
The figure froze mid-lick at the sound of his voice.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she turned. Her body seemed to rotate on a pivot to face the pair.
Two enormous blue eyes locked onto them. Wide. Unblinking. Innocent, yet devoid of any humanity. For a heartbeat, there was only confusion in her gaze.
Then, her lips stretched. They pulled and pulled into a smile too wide, too sharp, revealing rows of teeth that glittered like shark fangs.
"Hello, hello~"
The voice rang sweet and childish, something that Rom and Otto found incredibly disturbing due to the bloodbath that surrounds her.
"I'm sure this is a strange sight, yes, yes, of course it's strange! Incredibly strange, undeniably strange, utterly strange, strange, strange!"
Otto's pulse spiked. That cadence. It was the voice of a child, but the weight behind it felt malevolent and rotten.
The girl swayed, tilting her head to the left, then to the right, her golden hair swaying with her.
"A smaller, gray-haired big brother~ and a giant, muscular uncle~. Not who we were hoping to see, not who we wanted to eat, but oh well, oh well, oh well…"
Otto swallowed hard, fists clenching at his sides to stop the trembling. "What… are you?"
She tilted her head further until it looked like her neck might snap if she tilted any further. Then, a giggle bubbled up from her throat.
"What? Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrooooong! That's the wrong question! Not 'what'—no, no, no. You meant 'who,' didn't you? Yes, yes, who! That makes sense. Names are important. Names are taste!"
The girl released the severed hand. It hit the pavement with a slap. She spread her arms wide and gave that unsettling smile that belonged not to that childish face, but an impure monster.
"We are—no, I am…"
She paused, savoring the word, her eyes rolling back slightly in ecstasy.
"A Sin Archbishop of the Witch's Cult… representing Gluttony~"
Otto's throat closed up. His survival instincts were screaming at him to run, but his legs were frozen.
The girl's grin widened until it threatened to split her face.
"Rui Arneb~"
She giggled, and the sound was the most terrifying thing Otto had ever heard.
"In the flesh! Ah, finally, finally, in the flesh again!"
——————————————
Everyone was prepared. No one spoke.
All eyes lingered on the vast plaza stretched before them—a yawning, open expanse where every step felt like a target painted on their backs.
Julius's voice carried steady calm, though even he couldn't conceal the gravity of his words.
"This area is completely exposed. Although my quasi-spirits have scouted the perimeter, they found no path we could slip through unnoticed. Our only option is a direct approach."
Subaru grimaced.
"Well isn't that annoying. Can't you just order your little friends to peek inside for us?"
The purple-haired knight shook his head, lips pressing into a thin line.
"They lack the ability for something so complex. And besides… should the enemy possess spirit sensitivity, my allies would give us away before we ever reached the threshold."
"…Right."
Subaru bit his tongue. Saying out loud how much he'd hoped the spirits could've solved everything probably wasn't wise. Julius seemed to treat them like family.
Still, waiting here wasn't an option. If they lingered, that damn radio broadcast might flare back to life, and Lust could just start spitting out demands, using hostages as bargaining chips if they weren't already dead.
The sooner they moved, the better.
Their formation set, they advanced: Garfiel at the point, Subaru close behind. Wilhelm and Julius flanked. Ricardo's hulking form followed in rhythm, and Crusch guarded the rear, every step purposeful.
The silence was suffocating. Their footsteps echoed against the cobblestones, magnified in the empty air, until—
"—It's them!"
Garfiel's growl split the stillness.
Two shadows plummeted from above.
The plaza stones cracked beneath the colossal man's weight, his landing shaking the ground like a drumbeat of war. The woman touched down beside him with a dancer's grace, her stillness more unnerving than the man's sheer force.
Steel sang.
Crusch moved first, drawing and cleaving in one smooth motion. Wind erupted in the shape of a crescent blade, ripping across the plaza toward the pair. The air howled—until a casual swipe of steel bisected the gale, leaving the intruders untouched, unflinching.
"Tch! Ineffective!"
Crusch steadied herself, eyes narrowing.
Julius's voice rang next, commanding and sharp.
"Then let's see how you handle this!"
His sword pierced skyward, a prism of color blooming along its length as if light itself bent to his will. Spirits spiraled along his blade and burst forth in a torrent—an elegant storm of wind launched straight at them.
The cultists leapt skyward, narrowly avoiding annihilation as the gale streaked beneath.
Just as planned.
"Now!"
Subaru roared.
He was already there, plunging down from above. His heel slammed against the giant's upraised sword, driving both of them into the stone with an ear-splitting crash. Sparks spat as Subaru bent low, rolling his body to slip past the second slash, only to dodge again as a pair of blue arms tore through the fabric of black robing and snapped at Subaru from the air.
Four arms.
"…Four arms, huh…"
Subaru muttered, sliding back across the stones.
Ricardo's snarl followed like thunder.
"Perfect number for me, bro!"
The beastman lunged, cleaver flashing. His blade crashed against one of the cultists' own, the plaza ringing like a struck bell. The impact sent vibrations up both their arms.
The second sword scythed across at blinding speed—aimed to bisect Ricardo clean through.
"Not today!"
Subaru's foot cracked against the cultist's jaw mid-swing, knocking the blade's arc just wide enough for Ricardo to live another second. The giant skidded back, teeth bared in silence, but Ricardo and Subaru pressed in with relentless ferocity.
The world blurred into steel and sparks.
One sword caught beneath Ricardo's boot.
Another trapped by Subaru's shadowy grip, darkness blooming like roots up the cultist's arm.
The third hand wrenched sideways by Ricardo's crushing palm.
And Subaru's other arm clamped down on the fourth, muscles screaming, but holding it still.
"Rhh—don't stop now!"
Ricardo barked, voice low and wild.
All four arms locked.
Subaru's chest heaved, sweat dripping as his teeth ground together.
"Ricardo—finish it!"
With a beast's roar, Ricardo raised his machete high, every sinew and muscle in his frame coiling, the killing stroke ready to fall—
———————————————
At the same time—
"Ha—!"
In a flash of silver, pressure slammed outward as the Sword Demon lunged. Wilhelm moved like a force of nature: blade a streak of moonlight intended to bisect the cultist's torso. Sparks exploded as two steels met—snap, arc, the jarring ring of metal that sings when a fight truly begins.
The woman did not flinch. She met Wilhelm's blade with a calm ferocity, each parry answered with a measured counter. He stepped back to reset, then pressed forward—their rhythm a cold, deadly metronome. Every time Wilhelm tried to force an opening, the cultist closed it with impossible footwork and a whip-sharp response.
Wilhelm's eyes widened when they clashed—something old and painful crawling under his skin. "—I…" he began, breath ragged with countless memories passing through his mind.
"You forgot someone, you bastard Cultist!" Garfiel snarled, voice raw. He launched himself like a coiled blade, fist flashing low toward the woman's ribs—an attack that, landing, would have finished a lesser foe.
She shoved Wilhelm's sword aside with a surge born of impressive strength, folded, and shoved off his chest as if throwing a child aside. Her feet struck the stone, and she darted clear of Garfiel's strike with the grace of a dancer and the agility of a viper.
"—Hya!"
Crusch bellowed. Wind answered her call, a blade of air that raced across the plaza and slammed into the cultist in a sheet of force. Stone and dust erupted in a choking plume.
"—Did it work?!"
Immediately following that, the smoke rent—cut in half through it's center—and the cultist was gone. Not down, not unseated—gone. She'd sprinted straight through the clouds of debris and in a heartbeat her blade flashed for Garfiel's throat.
Wilhelm moved without thinking; he shoved himself between them and took the blow. Metal met metal at point-blank range—steel against the guard of an impressive sword—there was a scream of pressure and the sickening sound of bone protesting.
"…I… I knew it."
Wilhelm whispered, voice thin and shaken.
Garfiel didn't bother with whispers. He vaulted above Wilhelm, heel driving down toward the woman's head in a brutal, spine-crushing stomp. If it landed, it would have broken her like a stick—only she slid away, her footwork a bright, terrifying choreography born of lethal practice.
The counterattack came as a knee—snapping forward—Garfiel's nose exploded with the force of it. Blood and bone and stars. Wilhelm cursed, moving to intercept another strike that never had the chance: the cultist's roundhouse slammed into his ribs with the force of a battering ram and sent the Sword Demon skidding, his body a bitter arc through the air before she twisted and forced the blade back at Garfiel.
———————————————
Meanwhile—
"—!?"
"Wha—?"
Subaru and Ricardo watched in shock.
The cultist they'd tangled with revealed horrors of their own: fabric shredded and a second set of arms spilled free from within the black folds—then two more—then another pair. Limbs, like some grotesque flower, peeled from the robe and snatched Ricardo's machete mid-fall, palm and fingers catching cold steel as if it were a toy.
The cultist twisted; the trapped hand in Subaru's darkness tore free with a snap, purposefully dislocating the limb to break free and counterattack.
A blade flashed for Subaru's neck—steel singing the air—until another shadowed edge stopped it, Subaru's blade.
The pair leapt backwards, sliding next to one another.
"What the hell, eight arms?!"
Ricardo snarled, growling like a trapped bear.
Subaru ground his teeth.
"Garfiel wasn't kidding. These aren't ordinary goons at all."
He flexed, feeling the familiar pressure of authority note by note.
"I can retu—"
Speaking the taboo would never result in a complete sentence, because the Witch would not allow it to speak the burden that comes with changing fate, though this time it was for a different reason than that. Instead, a high, crystalline laugh cut through the melee—thin, obscene, horrifying.
"GYAHAHAHAHAHA—!!"
The laughter spread like a poison through the plaza.
"—Now what…!?"
Subaru hissed, scanning.
"You—you meat scraps really went and showed up huh? Was it truly that you found my seductive voice oh-so irresistible that you measly disgusting insects couldn't help but come here knowing you're facing death!?"
All eyes snapped up at the voice. The sky over the plaza, the rim of the city, the roofline—every direction—but the crowd's gaze coalesced at a single terrifying sight.
"—What?"
Julius's breath hitched. Crusch's face went pale.
"Ahhh—took you rotten little masochists long enough! Maybe if you grovel like dogs, this gentle lady will be merciful to your pathetic, writhing little souls!"
Perched atop the circular peak of the nearest building, a shape uncurled as if a nightmare had taken wing. Scales black as ink shone like oil, a sinuous neck arched with horrible majesty, and a maw that glittered with rows of pale teeth hung beneath a head crowned in spires. The draconic silhouette loomed enormous, casting a shadow over the plaza. Wind roared. The stone itself seemed to recoil.
"This…this lovely lady is the Sin Archbishop of the Witch Cult, representing Lust—"
The monster said, half-laughing, half-sobbing between words.
"—Dragon?"
Ricardo's voice was a ragged growl, one of evident disbelief.
"Capella Emerada Lugunica! Now die, die die die! You rotten slabs of meat!"