Sundered into mere flecks of dust, the wall to the right of the red-haired knight collapsed in on itself, crushed under the impossible weight of an unseen force.
This monster is formidable.
Reinhard thought, his gaze narrowing.
I cannot afford to lower my guard for a moment.
It was a sensation foreign to the likes of Reinhard van Astrea, the Sword Saint of Lugunica. While he had faced powerful adversaries before, he could count on one hand the number of times he had been forced to exercise this level of concentration.
Cecilus Segmunt, the Blue Lightning of Vollachia.
Satoru Gojo, the anomaly of Lugunica—the very one to whom Reinhard had pledged his sword.
And Natsuki Sub—no, the impostor wearing the face of his friend.
These opponents stood in a realm apart, surpassing even the prowess of his grandfather, Wilhelm van Astrea, and his fellow knight, Julius Juukulius.
Those three existed on a different plane entirely—an incredible truth to admit.
And now, he faced another such opponent.
One against whom he struggled to close the distance without inviting a fatal strike.
—The Sin Archbishop of Greed.
Every strike Reinhard had attempted against this monster had been rendered ineffective. Even now, he found himself at an impasse.
"———"
Tensing his legs and relying upon his Divine Protections to bridge the gap, he vaulted over the torrent of destruction—a force that refused to be slowed or halted by any obstacle in its path.
With the sole exception, that is, of the legendary Dragon Sword, Reid.
The weapon's scabbard alone allowed him to weather Regulus's unstoppable onslaught, turning the impossible into the survivable.
Yet, there was one thing he could not comprehend. This monster is not deemed worthy in the eyes of the Dragon Sword.
He would never presume to question the blade's judgment, of course. However, he would be lying if he claimed he did not desire its aid in this battle.
He attacks by scattering gravel and sand. Yet, there is no gap of safety to be found within that cloud of debris; imbued with his power, every particle is an unstoppable projectile. I must weave between them with absolute precision to not be torn apart.
Vaulting high above the deadly spray, Reinhard coiled his legs against the empty air. With a burst of force, he propelled himself downward, aiming directly for the white-haired man standing poised below.
"To think you would still persist! Do you lack the capacity to learn? Is your brain so defective that you cannot comprehend the concept of—!!"
Reinhard drove the sole of his boot squarely into the man's chest, cutting off his tirade. The impact sent the Archbishop skipping off the pavement like a stone across water, crashing through the wall of a nearby building and bursting out the other side in a cloud of dust.
Despite the violence of the blow, Regulus landed on his feet with irritating ease, sliding to a halt. He brushed off his coat, raising a hand not in pain, but in sheer exasperation.
The sensation of the impact feels strange.
Reinhard thought. It was an anomaly that defied martial logic. It wasn't just hard or cold; it was a total void. There was no give, no heartbeat, and no feedback of damage. It was as if the entity before him didn't even exist in the first place.
"Really, my benevolence has its limits, you know? Sword Saint or not, surely you've realized that this entire barbaric display is utterly pointless? To continue infringing upon my time despite knowing it's futile... even a heart as generous as mine is beginning to feel its patience wear thin."
"That is precisely why I chose to separate you from the ladies you call your wives. I cannot overlook such tyranny, nor can I allow it to stand before me!"
Reinhard's voice arrived a fraction of a second after he did. He had practically materialized behind the Archbishop, moving faster than the sound of his own words. The Dragon Sword, still sheathed, was swung not with the finesse of a duel, but with the raw, blunt force of a battering ram, striking the man's ribcage with enough power to pulverize a castle.
Once more, Regulus was sent hurtling away. Yet, he righted himself in mid-air, his feet touching the ground with an unnerving firmness. With a flick of his wrist, he swiped at the empty air.
The dust kicked up by his landing instantly transformed into a wall of lethal buckshot, forcing Reinhard to abandon his pursuit and sprint laterally to evade.
"Cease this!"
He prepared to weave through the debris, but for the first time, a chill ran down his spine. His Divine Protections—usually a harmonious chorus of guidance—were screaming in his mind. It was a cacophony of warnings so intense it bordered on terror.
Trusting his instincts implicitly, Reinhard twisted his body backward, abandoning grace for survival and yet...
"———Hrk!!"
His evasion was perfect, yet it was not enough.
What just happened?!
There was no flash of light, no particles of any dust that could be made out by his eyes. It was an invisible severance of space. Despite his dodge, a deep, jagged gash erupted across his shin, spraying the Sword Saint's blood onto the pavement in obscene amounts.
Regulus did not press the advantage with speed or skill. Surprisingly, he simply walked forward and threw a punch—a sloppy, amateurish hook that telegraphed its intent from a mile away.
Reinhard raised the sheathed Dragon Sword to guard, bracing for the impact.
"———!!"
"It appears that in your arrogance, you have severely underestimated me! To think you could dare to fight me...!! Despite the fact I loathe fighting with every ounce of my being, that is something only a person with a death wish would attempt! You are infringing upon my right to walk forward unhindered!"
Regulus's fist connected with the scabbard.
"Fool, fool, fool! You should have spent your life learning your place! Now, regret your rudeness in your next life!"
The laws of physics seemed to shatter. Despite the block, Reinhard was launched as if hit by a falling mountain. His body became a blur, smashing through brick and mortar, crashing through dozens of walls and tearing a trench of destruction through the city for hundreds of meters.
Several moments of heavy silence passed.
When the dust settled and it became apparent that Reinhard was not immediately returning from the horizon, Regulus merely scoffed, dismissing the Sword Saint's existence entirely as he turned his back on the destruction.
"To think such tyranny would be directed at me... me, of all people! How truly unfortunate. This day... today, of all days! It was meant to be a celebration, a union! And yet, it has been trampled upon by savages who possess no concept of basic decency or humility!"
He raked a hand through his white hair, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh of suffering.
"Haaah... truly, my mood has been soured beyond repair. However, regardless of how foul I feel, it would be negligent of a husband to abandon his wives in such a chaotic environment. Yes, I must collect them. And as for Number 79..."
Number 79 referred to Emilia.
Regulus paused, tilting his head slightly. The air around him grew heavy with a distinct, creeping malice. It was clear that the Archbishop was currently weighing a terrible calculation in his mind: whether the silver-haired half-elf was still worth the effort of marrying, or if she had become too much of a nuisance to be allowed to live.
——————————————————————
The Sword Saint felt a rare sensation wash over him: shock. But far heavier than the surprise was the crushing weight of disappointment in his own inadequacy.
Not only had he been overwhelmed in that final exchange, but he was now forced to stand idle, waiting as the countless lesser-spirits lingering in the atmosphere flocked to his aid. They danced around his shin, knitting the torn flesh back together with a soft glow, but to Reinhard, the process felt agonizingly slow.
The silence around him was absolute. He could detect no footsteps, no shifting of debris. It implied that the Sin Archbishop of Greed had simply lost interest and departed—likely returning to Emilia and his "wives" with a soured mood.
I was negligent...
Reinhard chastised himself.
I lacked the necessary caution for the enemy.
He should have deduced the nature of the threat sooner. It wasn't just solid matter; that man could manipulate the very air, likely even his own breath, turning the intangible into an unstoppable conceptual weapon.
As the wound finally closed, Reinhard's thoughts drifted to a specific individual.
He did not doubt for a second that if a certain black-haired Spirit Knight were here—if Natsuki Subaru were standing beside him—he would have already unraveled the mystery. Subaru would have seen what Reinhard missed, finding the loose thread in the Archbishop's Authority and pulling it to bring the whole thing crashing down.
After all, Natsuki Subaru had performed countless feats previously thought to be myths in the span of a single year. He had conquered the Pleiades Watchtower, a place Reinhard himself could not even approach due to the rejection of the Sand Dunes, let alone challenge.
That was simply the kind of person Natsuki Subaru was. He made the impossible possible.
But unfortunately, the Hero was not here to guide him.
Nor was Gojo.
Both people he was truly missing, as of right now.
——————————————————————
The chaotic battle had only just begun, yet the church was already stained with tragedy. Regulus had slaughtered one of his own wives—a mere slip of the hand, in his eyes—and the reaction of the remaining women was horrifyingly efficient.
There were no screams. No tears. A few of the wives immediately knelt, their movements mechanical and practiced, to clean up the remains of what had once been their sister. Their faces were void of disgust or sorrow; they wore masks of absolute nothingness. To show emotion was to invite death.
Minutes passed. The sounds of anarchy and the roar of the Sword Saint outside had fallen silent.
Emilia was frantic. She had her hands on the shoulders of a blonde woman—designated 'No. 187'—and was pleading desperately.
"Why...? Why won't you move? Please, you have to listen to me!"
Emilia had initially thought the woman was injured. Considering the atrocity that had just occurred, it would have been natural. But a quick inspection with her Spirit Arts revealed no wounds. The woman simply refused to stand.
"Husband-sama has not instructed us to leave." the woman stated flatly.
There were those words again. A mantra of the broken.
"That doesn't matter right now!" Emilia cried out, her violet eyes trembling. "We all need to leave before he gets back, it's way too dangerous here!"
The golden-haired woman, No. 187, finally raised her head. Her eyes were dull, like glass beads that had lost their shine.
"You need to leave." No. 187 echoed, but she was speaking to Emilia.
"W-What? No, I'm not going to—"
"Husband-sama..." No. 187 cut her off, her voice devoid of inflection. "Regulus Corneas is not a man who can be defeated. He cannot be hurt. He cannot lose. It does not matter if we run. He will find us. And if we are not where he expects us to be, he will kill us."
It wasn't determination. It wasn't loyalty. It was a resignation so deep it had replaced her very soul. They had given up long ago. To them, perhaps the death Regulus offered was a mercy compared to the terror of disobeying him.
Emilia looked around the church. Dozens of beautiful women sat in silence, like exquisite dolls arranged on a shelf, waiting for their owner to return.
"But... Reinhard is reaaaally strong!" Emilia insisted, clenching her fists. "I mean it! He's the Sword Saint! I can't imagine him losing to anyone!"
No. 187 merely tilted her head, a doll-like movement that sent a chill down Emilia's spine.
"It does not matter who the opponent is. Just as you cannot imagine that man losing... I cannot imagine anyone defeating Husband-sama."
Emilia bit her lip. Words weren't reaching them. The chains binding these women weren't physical; they were forged from years of psychological torture. She couldn't drag them all out by force—there were too many, and she refused to hurt them.
Regulus Corneas is undefeatable.
The silence in the church was absolute. The women believed this truth more than they believed in their own existence.
Then, a sound broke the stillness.
It wasn't a roar, or an explosion. It was a soft, sharp thwip—like a pebble being flicked through the air.
Emilia's instincts screamed at the sound she'd heard once before. So she didn't think; she lunged, tackling No. 187 and throwing them both to the stone floor just as the space where they had been standing was erased.
There was no explosion of fire. The air simply split. A straight line of destruction carved through the church, obliterating pews, stone, and the wall behind them as if they were made of wet paper.
From the ruined entrance of the church, a figure walked in. He wasn't panting. He wasn't bleeding. His clothes weren't even ruffled.
Regulus Corneas stood there, brushing a speck of imaginary dust from his sleeve. He looked less like a warrior returning from battle and more like a man annoyed by a minor inconvenience.
"Honestly..." Regulus sighed, shaking his head. "To think I would be subjected to such barbarism. Swinging a sword around with such violent intent... does he not understand the concept of civility? It is a violation of my right for what was supposed to be such a celebrative day."
Emilia's breath hitched. Unscathed. Just as No. 187 had said.
"W-What...?" Emilia stammered, pushing herself up. "What happened to Reinhard?"
Regulus's eyes narrowed. He ignored Emilia, his gaze snapping to the blonde woman trembling on the floor.
"And did I... permit you to speak my name, No. 187?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop as those words passed. Regulus tilted his head, his expression shifting from annoyance to a lecture on morality.
"Talking about others behind their backs... it is a despicable habit. It infringes on my right to privacy. And to discuss whether I would win or lose? That implies there is a possibility of my defeat, which is a gross misrepresentation of my capabilities. It is slander. It is bias. It is an infringement on my honor as a husband."
He took a step forward.
"I gave you the privilege of being my wife. I allowed you to stand by my side. And yet, you gossip? You doubt? I will forgive you only this once, solely because your face is pleasing to look at. Do not forget the benevolence of your dearest husband."
In the corner of Emilia's eye, she watched No. 187 scramble into a perfect sitting position. The woman didn't look at Emilia. She didn't look at the destruction. She bowed her head low, her forehead touching the cold stone, though she didn't tremble, she was clearly desperate with the need to appease.
"Of course. Thank you, Husband-sama, for your mercy. My sincerest apologies for my thoughtlessness. It will not happen again."
Regulus's smile didn't reach his eyes. It merely widened, intensifying in a peculiar, hollow way that sent a chill through Emilia's veins. It was the expression of a man looking at a broken tool, not a human being.
Then, the smile vanished instantaneously, replaced by a look of profound, weary irritation.
"Honestly... you... Number 79. I have made the unfortunate decision that your continued existence is an infringement on my mood. Especially after all that has happened here today. Do you understand how much patience I have exercised? It is incredibly disappointing. To think that such a magnificent face was wasted on a woman who wastes it with such ugly smiles... truly, you are nothing more than a defect. An ungrateful, defective bitch."
Emilia blinked, the sheer volume of his malice washing over her. It wasn't just rude; it was fundamentally empty.
"Of course, as disappointing as it is for me to dirty my hands—violating my own desire for peace, mind you—it is something that must be done. Stand there. Accept your faults. Die quietly, without making a scene, and perhaps I will be generous enough to grant you a fleeting corner in my memory."
Every word was dripping with hypocrisy. In an instant, Regulus raised his hand, flicking his wrist back with the casual indifference of someone swatting a fly.
What would Subaru do—!?
Panic flared in Emilia's chest.
What would he do? This is bad, bad, bad! I can't—
Then, a different voice cut through the noise of her fear. A memory, sharp and clear, of a white-haired man who carried himself with the weight of the sky.
"Normally I shouldn't be helping the competition... but you do want the throne, right?"
"O-of course I do! What kind of question is—"
"...Then you may as well give up right now. Because with that way of thinking, you're only wasting your time."
Emilia's amethyst eyes narrowed, the panic receding as a cold realization settled in. Before, when she had overcome the Trials of the Sanctuary, she had been forced to confront the parts of herself she hated. She had to accept that she was a half-elf, that she was hated, and that she still wanted to save everyone regardless.
Looking at Regulus—a man who blamed the world for his own cruelty, and twisted logic in his way—reminded her of those Trials. He was the embodiment of the weakness she wanted to leave behind.
Once more, Gojo's voice chimed in her mind. Arrogant, yet undeniably right.
At the time, the words had felt cold. Now, she was so grateful he had said them.
"Yes. Put yourself on a pedestal. If you want the throne, you actually have to snatch it. Not with cruelty—but with purpose. With ego. A ruler who doesn't care for their people is a tyrant. But a ruler who can't even stand on their own two feet...? That's just a burden."
Satoru Gojo. The man she should have thanked dozens of times for the impossible things he had done to save them. But above all else, she was grateful for the harsh truth he had given her.
Even now... I was looking for Subaru to save me, wasn't I?
"———!"
The air around Emilia dropped in temperature. Her eyes flared with a sharp, crystalline light. She didn't look for Subaru. She didn't look for Puck. Not anyone else.
She extended her arms, her legs bending low, mana surging around her not in a panic, but in a controlled, freezing torrent.
What I need to do is not think like Subaru.
I need to just be Emilia!
As Gojo had once put it before...
'Being overly reliant on others can be considered weakness in of itself.'
The moment Regulus flicked his wrist, the world in front of him simply ceased to exist. There was no sound of wind, no warning—just an invisible vector of absolute destruction.
Emilia didn't see it. She felt the sudden, screaming void in the mana where the air used to be.
Dropping her hips, she surged forward not to attack, but to protect. She snatched No. 187 by the waist, her boots sliding against the stone floor as she narrowly vaulted out of the path of the invisible annihilation. The wall of the church behind them exploded outward, pulverized into dust instantly, but Emilia didn't spare it a glance. She set the blonde-haired woman down with a gentleness that belied the chaos, her eyes locked forward.
Don't stop. Don't think. Just run!
Mana surged through her legs, reinforcing her muscles to their limits. She didn't just sprint; she exploded off the ground, leaving a crater of ice in her wake.
She closed the distance in a heartbeat, moving with a ferocity that the old Emilia would have hesitated to unleash. But this was the Emilia who had decided to be selfish.
She pivoted on her heel, channeling her momentum into a high, devastating roundhouse kick that slammed squarely into the side of the Archbishop's neck.
—WHAM!
"———Wha?"
The impact was solid. For a split second, the invincible Little King was launched sideways, his body skipping uncontrollably across the floor like a stone over water. He slammed his foot down, gouging a trench in the church floor to arrest his momentum, his head snapping up with an expression of utter, baffled fury.
He didn't look hurt. He looked offended.
"You... you actually made contact? With me? With my person?"
Regulus straightened his jacket aggressively, his face twisting into a scowl of pure petulance.
"This is... this is simply preposterous! A violation! A clear, unprovoked violation of my right to bodily autonomy! To think that in the middle of a civil discussion, you would resort to such barbaric, savage physical violence—do you have no concept of personal space? No concept of the sanctity of another person's clothing? You put your dirty sole on my neck! My neck! That is a private area! That is not for public access! And definitely not for a whore like you!"
He stomped his foot, the ground cracking beneath it, his voice rising to a shrill, lecturing pitch.
"I was being lenient! I was being merciful enough to offer you a memorable death, and you repay my generosity by treating me like some common street brawler? This is why I hate interacting with others! You people are always so eager to infringe, to take, to touch without permission! It is disgusting! It is an infringement on my rights as a human being!"
Emilia didn't wait for him to finish his hypocritical sermon. She didn't even blink. She simply raised her arm, palm flat, facing the man who loved the sound of his own voice more than life itself.
"Ul Huma!"
With her absurd mana pool, the atmosphere screamed. Three massive spears of ice, each thick as a pillar, materialized instantly. They didn't just fly; they teleported across the gap between them, slamming into Regulus with the force of a freight train.
—CRASH!
The impact was explosive, shattering into a blinding white mist of diamond dust.
Yet, through the haze, Regulus hadn't even raised his arms to block. He had simply stood there.
The ice hadn't pierced him—it had smashed against the unstoppable, inviolable wall that was his skin and shattered. However, the sheer kinetic force was enough to crumble the floor beneath his feet, sending him sliding backward out of the church doors in a cloud of debris.
Emilia didn't hesitate. She chased the dust.
Bursting out of the church and into the sunlit, water-lined streets of Pristella, she skidded to a halt. Opposite her, Regulus was dusting off his shoulder, looking more annoyed by the fact she kept persisting, more than the fact that he was just struck by a wave of ice ballistas.
"To interrupt..." Regulus muttered, his face twitching. "To interrupt a person while they are speaking is the height of rudeness! It is a violation of my right to expression! Do you have no ears? Do you have no brain?! Well, OF COURSE YOU DONT!!"
He waved his hand casually toward the debris of Emilia's previous attack.
Suddenly, the shattered ice particles on the ground stopped moving. Then, defying gravity, they surged toward Emilia like a swarm of locusts.
Emilia vaulted sideways, her movements enhanced by mana, but the swarm was relentless. It furrowed a trench through the cobblestone to her left. She closed the gap, swinging a conjured ice-hammer, but Regulus merely sighed.
He exhaled. A simple, short breath.
The air itself became a bullet. The invisible projectile tore through Emilia's defense and severed a clean, deep gash through her right thigh.
"Ahhk—?!"
She stumbled, blood spraying onto the white stone. The pain was sharp, hot, and immediate. Her instinct screamed at her to stop, to heal, to retreat.
"...Just be more selfish."
Gojo's voice echoed in her skull.
She couldn't stop that easily.
Emilia grit her teeth, forcing her leg to move through the agony. She didn't retreat. She lunged.
"You... you vulgar woman! You persist in this savagery?"
Regulus shrieked, stepping back as Emilia's fist—encased in a gauntlet of ice—slammed into his chest. Again, he didn't bruise, but the impact sent him skidding backward toward the edge of the canal.
"You try to dirty my clothes with your blood! You infringe upon my cleanliness! Do you have no shame?!"
Emilia ignored him. She needed more. She needed an army.
"Ice Brand Arts!"
Mana flooded the street, dropping the temperature until the canal water began to steam. In her hands, dual lances of ice formed. But that wasn't all.
If she was going to save the wives, if she was going to be the Ruler, she had to be willing to use everything. Even him.
From the frozen mist, silhouettes rose. Not faceless soldiers. They were short, spiky-haired, and wore tracksuits.
Seven clones of Natsuki Subaru, crafted from ice and mana, materialized with jagged weapons in their hands.
"Go!"
The ice-Subarus sprinted forward, their movements reckless, throwing themselves at the confused Archbishop.
"What... what is this mockery?" Regulus's eyes widened in sheer disgust. "Dolls? You create dolls of a man? Disgusting! Presumptuous! To imitate life is a sin against nature and a personal insult to my vision!"
Regulus swept his arm horizontally immediately.
—BOOM!
The air pressure alone was catastrophic. Three of the Subaru clones were instantly vaporized, shattered into thousands of shards that flew backward like shrapnel, toppling the entirety of a nearby building.
Regulus stepped forward, grabbing the fourth clone by the neck and crushing it effortlessly before tossing it aside and snarling.
"Trash! Garbage! Don't put these fake things near me!"
But they had done their job. They were the distraction.
"Haaaaa!!"
While Regulus was busy crushing the image of her knight, Emilia had planted her bleeding leg firm. She wound back and hurled the ice lance like a javelin.
It struck Regulus dead center in the chest just as he turned.
—And the Archbishop of Greed flew.
Lifted off his feet by the perfect transfer of momentum, he was launched backward, sailing over the edge of the stone railing and hovering over the wide canal.
"AAAL HUUUUMA!!"
Emilia didn't let him fall. She raised both hands to the sky, her mana flaring like a beacon of light that pierced the night sky.
Above the canal, the air cracked. A boulder of ice the size of a small mansion materialized, casting a massive shadow over the water.
"Crush him!"
Gravity took hold. The massive iceberg plummeted, catching Regulus in mid-air and driving him down with the weight of a mountain.
SPLASH—CRACK!
The impact was tremendous, sending a tidal wave of water into the streets—but only for a second. The moment the ice touched the water, the canal, the spray, the waves, and the submerged Archbishop were instantly locked in a prison of solid, magically reinforced permafrost.
"Haa... haaa... agh..."
Emilia wobbled, nearly collapsing as the adrenaline faded and the pain in her leg roared back to life. She caught herself on her good foot, looking at the frozen river.
She placed a hand over her wound, a soft green glow emitting from her palm. Using the healing abilities of one of many lesser spirits to close the wound as best as possible.
Heal. Just enough to keep moving.
She knew, deep down, that a monster like that wouldn't die from just being buried. But she had bought time at least.
Is this what you meant, Satoru...?
As impressive as the spectacle was...
—CRUNCH.
In the end...
—SHATTER.
It amounted to nothing. Against the Archbishop of Greed, physics was merely a suggestion he chose to ignore.
From the center of the massive, frozen prison, a hole simply appeared. It wasn't blasted open; the ice had just been erased from existence where he walked. Regulus emerged, his white suit pristine, not a single drop of water clinging to his skin.
He was silent. He was seething.
He did not leap. He simply took a step and practically soared above the ground to close the gap between them.
"———Hrk!!"
Emilia's breath hitched. She was drained, her leg screaming in agony as she attempted to move. He was too fast. In her current state—in any state—he was a wall she could not climb.
Regulus raised his hand, his fingers poised to tear through her neck as easily as he had torn through the ice.
It's over.
"Die, you inconsiderate little—"
There was no sound of movement. Only the sudden, violent displacement of air.
"——What?!"
Regulus's eyes widened a fraction of a second before a blur of red and white collided with his side.
—BOOOOOOM!
The impact was not like Emilia's magic. It was a kinetic catastrophe. The shockwave alone shattered the windows of every building on the street. Regulus didn't just skid back like he had against Emilia; he was launched like a cannonball, skipping across the canal water at supersonic speeds before smashing through three consecutive buildings in the distance.
Dust settled. The wind calmed.
Standing in front of Emilia, holding a sheathed Dragon Sword incapable of being drawn, was the Sword Saint.
"I apologize for my tardiness. I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long, Emilia-sama."
He turned, extending a gloved hand toward her with the grace of a butler serving tea, rather than a warrior who had just swatted a monster.
Emilia stared at the hand, her heart hammering against her ribs. The relief was so potent it almost made her knees buckle.
"...Reinhard." she breathed out, taking his hand to steady herself. "I knew you were alive. It would've been suuuper sad if you'd actually died back there..."
"Haha... You give me too much credit. I am ashamed to admit it took me some time to navigate the rubble and heal from my injury thanks to the assistance of the lesser spirits."
Reinhard's smile was gentle, the picture of the perfect knight. But as he looked past her, toward the destruction in the city, and the distant pile of rubble where Regulus was pulling himself out, it rapidly thinned.
"Despite my presence, lives have been lost. Chaos has been wrought. I allowed this to happen..."
His grip on his sheathed sword tightened, the air around him vibrating with a terrifying, silent pressure.
"I will not allow any further tragedy. Not while I draw breath."
In the distance, a shrill, furious voice screamed out as Regulus exploded from the debris, his composure completely gone.
"YOU!! THE RED-HAIRED BASTARD!! DO YOU KNOW HOW RUDE IT IS TO INTERRUPT A MAN WHEN HE IS DISCIPLINING A WOMAN—?!"
Reinhard stepped forward, shielding Emilia entirely.
"Please, rest now, Emilia-sama. I will handle the complaints."
The air between them was heavy enough to crush a normal man's lungs.
Reinhard stood with the Dragon Sword Reid held high, the sheath poised into a stance.
Regulus stood with a single hand raised, his posture relaxed, ready to erase the Sword Saint from history with a casual swipe.
It was the immovable object against the unstoppable force. A clash that would not just end the battle, but likely the city itself.
But right as the world held its breath... Regulus froze.
"...What?"
The annoyance in his voice cut through the tension. Lowering his arm—an act of supreme disrespect in the face of the Kingdom's strongest knight—he reached into his pristine white coat and withdrew a thick, black book.
He flicked it open, his eyes scanning the text. Then, his expression contorted. Shock. Confusion. And finally, a petulant, simmering outrage.
"Hah... Hahaha... You... You cannot be serious. Is this a test? Is this some sort of prank at my expense?!"
He yelled at the empty air, his face twisting into a scowl as he slammed the Gospel shut and shoved it back into his pocket with aggressive force.
"It appears you have been granted a reprieve. Sword Saint. Witch. Isn't that just ironic? I am ready to dispense justice, to correct the errors of your existence, and I am told to withdraw? It is an infringement on my time! A violation of my schedule!"
Regulus dusted off his coat, regaining his composure instantly.
"Regardless... I am a man of diligence. I follow the guidance given to me, unlike you lawless barbarians. I will be leaving now."
Reinhard's blue eyes narrowed, the air around him sharpening.
"You believe you can simply turn your back and leave, Sin Archbishop?"
"Do not be foolish, Sword Saint. You know it as well as I do."
Regulus gestured vaguely to the city around them—to the canals, the shelters which no doubt had dozens of trembling civilians hiding in the rubble.
"If we continue this, what happens? I am perfect. You are... an anomaly. If we clash, this city ceases to exist. The shockwaves alone will liquidate the population. You understand that, don't you? I can see it in those self-righteous eyes."
Reinhard didn't move. His knuckles were white around the hilt of his sword. He knew. He knew that Regulus was right. The Archbishop of Greed was a walking catastrophe; killing him here, if it was even possible in the first place, would require a level of destruction that Reinhard could not contain.
"———"
"I am being benevolent." Regulus sneered, turning his back on the strongest man in Lugunica. "I am choosing to spare these insects. You should be thanking me. You should be bowing at my mercy."
He began to walk away, his steps echoing in the silent street. Then, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder.
"As for my wives... the Gospel requires my presence elsewhere immediately, so we will be momentarily separated as we all leave this hellhole of a city. How tedious."
His eyes darkened, the golden iris filled with a terrifying, possessive void.
"Feel free to 'stop' them. But know this: they are my property. If when we reunite elsewhere and I find that even one of them is missing, or damaged, or 'liberated'..."
He didn't raise his voice. He simply stated a fact.
"I will return. And I will not stop until I have turned every stone in this kingdom into dust. I will destroy this city beyond recognition, and then I will move to the next. Do not touch what belongs to me."
Reinhard watched in silence as Regulus resumed his walk, disappearing into the shadows of the ruined street. The Sword Saint stood frozen, his mind racing through a thousand simulations a second.
Attack? No, the damage would be too intense.
Pursue? No, continuing the fight would only cause more chaos.
He was the strongest, yet he was helpless.
Slowly, agonizingly, Reinhard lowered the sheathed Dragon Sword. The blade clicked softly as it returned to his hip.
He turned toward Emilia, the mask of the perfect knight slipping just enough to reveal a deep, profound exhaustion.
"I..."
"There's no need to apologize, Reinhard."
Emilia stepped forward, her voice firm. She looked at the direction Regulus had left, her fists clenched.
"This isn't your fault. And... I wouldn't make a different decision than you. If we fought him now, we would lose everything we're trying to save."
Be selfish, Gojo had said. Win.
Sometimes, winning meant surviving. Sometimes, it meant letting the monster walk away if in the end that meant less lives would be lost.
"This was the right choice." Emilia said, though the words tasted bitter. "...Even if it feels like we lost."
Reinhard frowned, lowering his head in a rare display of shame before shaking it off and straightening his posture.
"You are kind, Emilia-sama... thank you."
"We must regroup with the others. If the Archbishop and his wives are retreating, it means the Cult's plans have shifted in some way. We cannot afford to be reactive any longer."