A deafening symphony of buzzing filled the air, as millions of insects swarmed in a relentless tide, their collective noise carrying for miles.
Yet, above this discord, a mightier sound emerged—the roaring howl of the wind.
A tempest of merged wind spells brewed in the sky, a furious storm that stretched as far as the eye could see.
Though the magic was spread thin, it proved devastating against the insect horde, tearing through their ranks with merciless force.
At the forefront, Crusch wielded her blade manipulating the currents of the wind and guiding her allies.
As she commanded the storm, pockets of wind formed to enhance the flames cast by fellow mages, transforming portions of the sky into a blazing inferno.
The exertion was evident, sweat streaming down her body, but she stood resolute, even as the minutes wore on.
Each swing of her blade, normally swift and precise, now carried the weight of exhaustion, causing her movements to slow, as she grappled with the immense responsibility of controlling the tempest.
Yet, Crusch fought on, determined to dispel any doubts that threatened to cloud her mind. She pushed herself to the brink, aware that their enemy couldn't sustain this assault indefinitely, though she couldn't recall where she had acquired that knowledge.
Moments of respite were rare, but when a scout reported the completion of the shelters, Crusch allowed herself a brief pause, focusing on regulating her overtaxed mana and simply breathing.
“If the food supplies and people have been moved to safety,” she commanded, her eyes fixed on the swarm-filled sky, "it is time for some of us to advance into the enemy forces.”
Lowering her gaze, she met the eyes of each of her commanders, before continuing.
“We'll leave behind our most skilled mages, those adept at combining their affinities, to hasten the insects' demise. But if casualties are no longer a significant concern, we must hurry, for our foes undoubtedly march toward their unknown destination even now."
“My lady, are you certain it's wise to confront our enemies in our current state?” one of her aides questioned, a crease of worry furrowing his brow. “Our forces are thoroughly exhausted, and while you would be taking the least fatigued among us, even they were required to rotate in and out. If you believe that you will be facing close quarters, we do have some of our more distinguished soldiers relatively fresh, but even so I do not believe it would be enough to match someone who would organise all of this.”
Hesitating for a moment the aide continued, as his eyes locked onto Crusch’s blade.
“All of that isn’t even isn’t touching on your current state, I do not believe I have ever seen your blade shake before in my life. If we could regroup with the division you sent to shepherd Sir Ferris, then we’d have a far greater odds of success.”
“You make valid points,” Crusch admitted, summoning her willpower to steady her trembling blade, aware that while she could suppress the symptoms, her body neared its limit.
“However, the division accompanying Ferris is tasked with an equally important mission, one that I have little doubt will take a toll on their own strength as well. It is best we attend our current objective with the forces we can spare. If nothing else, our initiative may catch our enemy off guard. Considering just how much our foes have committed, any objective they are focused on now may well be worth our lives.”
Crusch's words hung heavy in the air, her unwavering determination piercing the hearts of the division leaders present. Soldiers straightened their postures, voices rose in the clamour as they sought to decide who would accompany her.
Amber eyes locked onto a lone insect hovering amidst the swarm, emanating a distinct Wind that only she could perceive. In that instant, both parties understood that they were aware of each other's presence and that only one side would emerge victorious.
"We're coming for you!" Crusch declared, her final swing of the sword obliterating the spying insect, and without hesitation started to march forward.
A contingent of soldiers joined her, and at a glance she could tell that while many were exhausted, the wind blowing furiously around them showed their resolve. Together they marched forward, expressions grim as they studied their surroundings for any hidden insects.
For several minutes they moved in silence, accompanied by a growing air of tension.
Then one of her soldiers shouted a warning, and the chaos began anew.
A wave of arrows rapidly approached them, easily numbering in the hundreds, an attack that could easily spell the doom of them all.
Gritting her teeth, Crusch let her mana surge out of her gate in a fierce gust that forced the arrows downwards.
“Find cover!” Crusch shouted, even as she led by example and rushed towards a wall. “That was likely only the first volley!”
Sure enough, a second storm of arrows soon approached, but with the time Crusch had bought her soldiers had each found cover and the storm of arrows failed to bring any down, and even allowed them to cautiously advance.
After a third volley that failed to take down her soldiers, the arrows rapidly diminished, soon becoming only an occasional barrage and in far fewer numbers.
But as they drew closer, Crusch furrowed her brows, because from here she could see that her soldiers were outnumbered four to one, and worse yet if these soldiers had been left behind then it was clear their objective laid beyond here.
“Lady Crusch,” one of her captains murmured, drawing her attention. “Based on the formation, it appears we’ll need to leave the bulk of our forces here to fight the enemy combatants. It would be best to send one of our fastest units forward alone if possible but…”
“You're correct,” Crusch said, smiling lightly. “I’ll do it myself.”
“Lady Crusch, I say this with all due respect,” the captain began, straining to look her in the eye. “But while it would be a lie to say any of us are fresh, you are one of our most taxed soldiers right now, not to mention that you are amongst our most valuable assets. Just having you here inspires us to fight harder, sending you alone would be…”
“You're not wrong,” Crusch admitted. “But it just has to be framed correctly. You’ll all just have to fight harder to rejoin me.”
Despite her words, Crusch allowed herself to fall back, doing her best to preserve her energy, and it wasn’t until her soldiers crashed into her enemies that she forced herself to start sprinting, leaving the combat behind.
Once she was beyond the range of the enemy bows, she slowed, maintaining a running pace. She was still pushing herself to speeds none of her soldiers would be able to keep up with.
As the minutes passed on, her eyes caught the cloaked forms of three figures in front of her, two protectively flanking the third.
One seemed to hear something, and glanced back at her, their face obscured by the shadow of their cloak.
They shouted a warning, and the three of them looked back at her.
The cloaked figure that was in the centre of the formation turned away instantly, and sped up, sprinting towards the centre of the city, but the other two stopped completely, then charged at Crusch.
She slowed, readying her blade into a combat stance, one designed to stop a charge.
Her only warning that it was a mistake was the faint pattering of footsteps.
She spun around and parried, deflecting the blade that had been aimed at her back, her foot lifting off the ground to deliver a powerful kick that sent the hidden fourth cloaked figure stumbling backward. Utilising the momentum, she launched herself around, crashing into both the charging combatants with a forceful impact.
The two stumbled back, and Crusch darted to the side, where she could see all three of the assailants.
“Assassins,” Crusch murmured. It wasn’t the first time she’d fought against this sort of fighting style, but these three seemed more skilled than she was familiar with. At her current level of fatigue she’d need to be careful if she wanted to prevail.
The trio regrouped in front of her, clearly resolved to prevent her from going after their leader.
Stepping forward, she knew that unleashing her signature technique would be the key to ending the battle as fast as possible. Extending her blade, she could feel the wind responding to her command, coiling around her weapon as she poured mana into the strike. This was the moment that would determine the outcome.
With a burst of wind, the trio were scattered, creating a clear opening for Crusch to strike at their fleeing leader. She swung her blade, but her instincts screamed at her to abort the attack. Reacting swiftly, she gritted her teeth and released the technique prematurely, using the wind to propel herself into a graceful tumble, narrowly avoiding having her arm severed, as she once more avoided the assassin’s blade. Despite the unbalanced state, she desperately hoped that her strike had found its mark.
The invisible blade came agonisingly close, tearing through the leader’s cloak in an instant, but it failed to draw more than a trickle of blood and a flash of purple hair.
"Sakura?" Crusch whispered, her mind rapidly assembling the puzzle pieces. However, the revelation did little to alleviate her predicament as the three assassins once again charged towards her, their determination unyielding.
The woman who had once identified herself as treasurer spared Crusch a wicked smile before continuing to sprint away, leaving the Karsten heir to fight for her life.
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Once again, Ferris found himself racing against time, desperately trying to prevent the imminent death of one of his closest friends, this time from a curse that had lost its need for subtlety, and worse yet he wasn’t even by his side.
His body strained as he pushed his limits, healing torn muscles on the go, but deep down, he knew that his efforts might not be enough. It was a race against the clock, and the odds were not in his favour.
However, just as despair threatened to consume him, a glimmer of hope appeared before his eyes. Roswaal K Mathers seemed to materialise out of thin air on the road in front of him, as he deactivated the magics imbued in his cloak.
Ferris couldn't help but feel a surge of relief, tears welling up in his eyes, hurriedly arresting his legs and skidding to a stop.
“Ferris,” Roswaal greeted with a nod. “I had heard that you had located the potential cause of our rash of traitors, and was planning to give you my aid, but from the look of it, things have become even worse, correct?”
“I’ll explain as we move,” Ferris replied, a giddy smile playing on his lips as he tore off again, his determination renewed.
He heard a faint noise of surprise from Roswaal, before his teacher launched himself forward as well.
“It was a mind control technique, making people act out of turn. It won’t be a problem anymore,” Ferris said, allowing the uncertainty he felt at the abrupt change to creep in. “The person with the ability to do so was being coerced into helping, with her family being held hostage. In return for rescuing them, she’s fully released her hold on anybody she ever controlled. I checked and it seems she did undo it.”
He shook his head, pushing his lingering distrust of her away.
“More importantly, she’s also informed us that Fourier is going to be cursed soon and that the insect swarm is just a distraction!”
“Have you had the opportunity to independently confirm that these people are free of brainwashing, and not simply temporarily allowing a reprieve?” Roswaal questioned calmly.
For several long seconds Ferris was silent, before Roswaal once more broke the silence.
“I trust your judgement in people, Ferris, as your mentor you have never given me reason to doubt you. If you have faith that this person genuinely released the victims, and that the threat to His Majesty is real, then I too will do the same. How can I help?”
“Teacher,” Ferris whispered, his eyes watering slightly, but he shook his emotion off and continued. “You and I are the only ones able to break any powerful curses, especially since I don’t believe Julius is with Fourier if all is going according to plan. We need to arrive at the Palace at the fastest pace we possibly can.”
“Understood,” Roswaal said. “Sadly, Clind is busy with other matters, so I am alone at the moment. I would offer to carry you to increase our pace, but these old arms of mine would struggle even with someone as slender as you.”
“We are still going faster than most soldiers,” Ferris said, trying to make sense of their pace.
As if sensing his thoughts, Roswaal offered, “We should arrive in approximately fifteen minutes, provided there are no delays.”
Ferris nodded, saying no more.
He emptied his mind, focusing solely on putting one foot in front of the other, trusting the older man to keep a lookout for their surroundings as he focused on forcing his legs to move with as much speed as his body could muster.
A trust that was rewarded when the elderly man grabbed Ferris and dove to the right, Ferris barely making out the flash of a set of claws that would have disembowelled the both of them.
“The dirty fighter likes to interfere with our kills, doesn’t he!” hissed the Witch Cult Archbishop standing from the crater he had punched into the ground. A crater located exactly where Ferris had just been.
Ferris's skin tingled with unease as he watched the Sin Archbishop rise to his full height. His voice trembled as he turned to his teacher, seeking a glimmer of hope amidst the impending danger.
“Teacher, is there any chance we can get away?” Ferris whispered, ears flat against his skull as he stared at the twisted form before him.
“At this juncture, it is rather unlikely,” Roswaal said, eyes calculating as he seemed to consider several possibilities, before finally speaking. “Unlike before, it would appear that we are now his main targets.”
“That’s right,” Gluttony crowed, his smile spreading freakishly wide. “We know all too well your true name! Roswaal K Matthers the Court Mage, that dirty cloak of yours won’t hide you any longer! In fact, we’ll enjoy consuming the both of you.”
“Yet you seem more hesitant to attack us than before, I take it your main goal is to slow us down, and that our deaths would be but a benefit?” Roswaal said, yellow eye piercing into his smaller enemy, who twitched, before grinning even wider.
“We don’t know how you know, but it’s not as if knowing will help you,” Gluttony said, stalking slowly forward ready for another one of Roswaal’s metias.
“Ferris, I’m afraid this may be our final goodbye,” Roswaal spoke in a hushed tone. “One of us must distract him for the other to get away, and as the far more prominent fighter, as well as your teacher, that role must fall to me.”
A pallor washed over Ferris's face. "I can't!" he cried out desperately. "What if I can't save Fourier on my own? What if my presence here could help save your life, Teacher?"
“With or without me, I truly believe that you’ll be able to save his highness,” Roswaal said, allowing his yellow eye to close as the blue seemed to drink in the sight of the shaking boy.
“You have grown much. And if it’s for the sake of your best friend, I have no doubt that you’ll be able to surpass me as well as yourself for him. When I made you my student, I never had the slightest doubt that the day would come when you’d do so. But even I underestimated how proud I’d feel to truly be able to share some of my magical knowledge, and more importantly to just be your Teacher.”
"If my final act can pave the way for the bright future I believe the two of you will create, I can face Gluttony without hesitation. So please, Ferris, do not shed tears," Roswaal implored, his voice filled with a rare vulnerability.
Nodding Ferris forced his magic to move reluctantly through his body, turning up the adrenaline as he prepared to leave.
“I’ll tell the others, so Teacher… if you can survive long enough, help will definitely…” Ferris began, a rare hint of vulnerability in his voice.
“I’ll do my best. And who knows, perhaps I’ll even be able to defeat Gluttony before anyone can arrive?” Roswaal said with a smile. “Now go, Ferris, and save your best friend.”
With determination etched on his face, Ferris turned around and propelled himself into a sprint, doing his best to shut out the imminent confrontation as he refocused his attention on the task at hand.
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"I must say, I'm pleasantly surprised that you're willing to grant Ferris even a slight head start. I suppose I should express my gratitude," Roswaal remarked, his mismatched eyes studying the apparent youth standing before him.
“Who are we to stop you from making a mistake?” Gluttony replied with amusement, tilting his head to the side. “While we think it’s surprising a mage like yourself would volunteer to go first, you seem to be overestimating yourself if you think you can hold us back alone for long. This time we know your tricks, and we know your name.”
Gluttony chuckled and brought a hand up to wipe away the drool that had begun to form at the corner of his mouth.
“Poor little Ferris will be all the more easy to consume alone, and it may even lead to a more delicious meal. All sending him away accomplished is making it easier to take you each out.”
“Perhaps,” Roswaal allowed, stepping forward as for the first time his posture shifted into a more aggressive stance. “Or perhaps it is you who is underestimating Lugunica, and it is I who will claim this victory.”
“We must admit your martial arts are impressive for someone as old as you, the time that you must have spent perfecting it… Ah, the taste will be exquisite,” Gluttony said, his eyes briefly losing focus.
In that fleeting moment, the elderly man surged forward, covering the dozens of yards between them in less than a second. He became a blur of motion, a sight that would have astonished any bystander. But to Gluttony, such a tactic was easily anticipated, and he simply leaned to the side, raising his blade to skewer the charging man.
Yet, Gluttony had failed to anticipate one crucial detail.
Roswaal K Mathers was Lugunica's Court Magician, and no matter how deeply he delved into the art of combat, that fundamental fact would never change. As he closed in, Roswaal opened his clenched fist to reveal another one of the metias he had employed during their initial confrontation.
With no time to evade, the metia crashed directly into the Witch Cultist, engulfing him in a blazing inferno. The flames surged outward, threatening to consume everything in their path. However, Roswaal's prized cloak came to his aid, offering its protection against the onslaught.
Without the cloak's assistance, such a daring move would have spelled certain doom. But with its aid, even a raging conflagration was reduced to a mere warmth pressing against him. It should have incinerated anyone unprepared within seconds, but Roswaal knew all too well that someone who had attained the title of a Sin Archbishop would never be ordinary.
With that knowledge in mind, he carefully monitored the blaze, swiftly circulating his mana—his lifeforce—throughout his body. It was this rapid manipulation of his magical energy that saved him from the flames' lethal grasp.
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Erupting from the very ground itself, hooked blades hungrily sought out Roswaal's flesh. With a deft manoeuvre, the older man narrowly avoided being skewered, turning what could have been a fatal blow into a mere graze.
For an ordinary knight, even a mere graze to the artery could quickly prove fatal. In this case, he had less than half a minute before succumbing to unconsciousness due to severe blood loss. Death would soon follow if he failed to staunch the bleeding in time.
However if the Finest Knight had managed to cauterise such a wound, for the Court Mage of Lugunica to do the same would be expected.
Many however would be shocked to see the speed at which the heat perfectly centred itself on the wound itself, the heat not spreading an inch as the older man exhibited precise control over his mana, allowing only a few drops of blood to escape the now blackened area.
“It hurts?! Why does it hurt?” Gluttony shouted, clutching his ankle in shock while gazing at Roswaal, who stood tall, his smile darkening.
“On to round two then. While not my preferred method, it feels only fitting to handle you like this, but you’ll find it isn’t my only trick.”
Reaching into his now tattered cloak, he pulled out a heavily modified sling-shot, and with a pulse of mana, tiny metias in the shape of orbs shot out by the dozens, each of which would explode on contact.
Down a leg, and with little way to dodge, even the skills Gluttony had previously shown should have been overwhelmed. Yet if Roswaal had been hiding tricks, then so had Gluttony, as with a muttered curse, his claws tore through the air as they deflected the orbs one by one.
Roswaal continued to fire, but it seemed as though Gluttony was always one step ahead, dodging and deflecting every projectile with a grace any martial artist would envy.
However, Roswaal had prepared for this very scenario, ensuring his slingshot possessed enough ammunition to sustain the onslaught for minutes—precious time that Gluttony was squandering, evident in the growing panic etched on the youth's face.
Despite flawlessly deflecting the barrage, the injured youth abandoned his defence and launched himself through the hail of orbs, only attempting to evade the deadliest shots. Each explosion slowed him down, leaving him singed and blackened. Nevertheless, the slim figure of the Witch Cultist pressed forward with unwavering determination, even as he left behind a bloody trail.
"Finally!" Gluttony exclaimed, his smile widening, but his expression twisted with anger as his blades passed through Roswaal without any impact.
Snarling, the boy tried to recover but mid-air and down a leg, even his stolen skills failed to be enough as a flurry of daggers slammed into him, each coated with not only the strongest poisons Roswaal had previously created, but his own blood as well.
Linked in such a way it was easy to allow the sympathetic curse he’d first placed on Gluttony to spread and mutate, as he manipulated the mana he’d left in his blood, turning it into something that could rival even the greatest of curses.
Gluttony stumbled, his movements becoming sluggish as he tried to fight off the effects, but it was no use.
“Mama,” whispered the child, before anger twisted his face into a fearsome menace that few could withstand. Yet when his eyes met Roswaal's gaze, the Court Mage smiled.
“One more round,” Roswaal promised. “But this time, I’ll be deciding the venue.”
Closing his eyes, Roswaal allowed his focus to drift towards the curse entirely as he abandoned his flesh and dove into his gate.
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As Roswaal opened his mental senses, he could feel his creation attempting to crush the foul power that the Sin Archbishop had accumulated over the years. Here in their souls, both of the masks their body wore ceased to matter.
To dive into someone else’s gate required great skill and a powerful connection, typically achieved through powerful healing spells. Such gentle magic would forever be beyond Roswaal's grasp. However, he had devised an alternative method, albeit one steeped in malevolence that even he found discomforting to employ.
Curses could be made to tie people together in a similar way to healing, and he’d based the idea off from the bond a ulgarm formed with those they harmed. Utilising his own blood which even now was tied to him as the catalyst to the curse, he’d used it as an entry point to invade his enemy’s body.
Taking a glance at his arms, he saw hands devoid of the makeup he favoured but which had regained the power of their youth. Allowing a smile to spread across his lips, the man whose eyes had darkened to show only two yellow orbs stalked forward.
This battlefield may have strengthened the Archbishop, but it had done the same for him, and he knew it far more intimately than any Witch Cultist ever would.
As he drew nearer, he slowed his approach in order to study the appearance his adversary had taken.
A sphere far larger than any man filled with a dazzling array of colours that rapidly swirled around, just gazing it at filled Roswaal with a strange sense of yearning, one that wasn’t purely mental, as when he tore his gaze away, he saw that his prized cloak was slowly being pulled in its direction.
Releasing a slow breath, he centred himself and refocused on the sphere. Glancing at the dizzying lights for more than a few seconds threatened to pull him under, and he felt foreign memories blossom in his mind.
He saw flashes of a dark-haired woman with a stern expression, wielding a sword in a battlefield. He felt the weight of armour and the smell of blood. He saw a young boy with blue hair, studying magic in a library. He heard the sounds of pages turning and ink scratching on parchment. He saw a group of travellers walking through a dense forest, trying to evade dangerous creatures. He felt the rush of wind and the rustling of leaves. He saw a tall man with a scarred face, standing in front of a burning village. He heard the screams of women and children and smelled the smoke. He saw a white haired woman with a dark dress, conducting experiments in a laboratory. He felt the hum of unusual metias and the smell of chemicals.
Feeling his reformed muscles give way, the man instinctively wrapped himself in a barrier of protective magic that barely prevented him from hitting the ground.
Was he Roswaal, or was he someone else entirely? The memories were so vivid, and they felt like they were his own, and he knew that if he kept looking, their entire lives would unfold in his head, indistinguishable from his own.
Tearing his eyes away from the sphere his eyes shot towards his arms, only to witness in horror that his arms were changing, warping before his eyes, as if their very foundation had been corrupted.
Although even as he stared, he could see the corruption losing to his own existence as his greater amount of memories and the reassuring feeling of his affinities asserted their existence. Yet to think he’d suffered this much corruption at a glance. Was it even safe for him to get closer to his foe like this?
Closing his eyes, Roswaal allowed the gentle tugging of his cloak to draw him closer, while his most important memories consumed his thoughts. In this ethereal landscape, compelled to assume the form that resonated most with his soul, his memories felt achingly tangible. It seemed as though he could slip into them and relive those moments if he simply halted and immersed himself.
However, succumbing to such illusions would mean denying the truth—a truth he had long accepted. His identity itself could crumble, but one unwavering reality remained.
"Even this soul of mine is but a tool for my dream," he murmured, pressing a hand against his chest. Retrieving a slim black book, he held it before his gaze, contemplating it silently.
The book was his most prized possession, and he needed its curse to reach its maximum potency. The prospect of damage within this realm held no consequence in the material world.
Hesitating for a moment, Roswaal tightened his grip on the book and allowed his most potent curses to envelop it, extending the curse's influence to himself as well. If he couldn't trust in his future self, then he must bind it so that it had no choice but to follow his will. With utmost care, he allowed the curse to settle, despite the spikes of agony they induced as the chains of mental control took hold.
The time had come to bring this battle to an end.
Standing before the sphere once more, he opened his eyes, determined to ignore the tidal wave of memories crashing upon him.
If his previous strategy had relied on outlasting his adversary, such an approach would be foolish now that he faced memories of exponentially greater magnitude.
The mere eleven lifetimes he possessed paled in comparison to the tens of thousands consumed by the power of Gluttony.
We are… we must find the one who devoured us.
At that thought, its eyes pierced through the veil that obscured its depths, revealing a thick plane of transparent glass within. And within that plane, it glimpsed the figure responsible for igniting this conflict.
We must…
The figure slumped, body starting to dissolve as its identity was finally crushed under the weight of the memories.
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A gleeful smile curled upon Roy's lips as he beheld the stumbling figure before him, barely recognizable as a man. Features that once defined him had been erased, leaving a pitiful form that now faced imminent danger, oblivious to the impending doom it had summoned upon itself.
How foolish the interloper had been, so self-confident in his attack within this world of memories. He must have believed that his mere comfort within this realm made him special. But little did he know, Roy's connection to this world ran much deeper. He had been born here, shaped by its essence to become its most formidable predator.
Such thoughts raced through Roy's mind, fueled by a childlike instinct and an overwhelming sense of superiority. He revelled in the impending triumph, savouring the innate advantage he held over this unsuspecting intruder.
Within Roy's racing thoughts, a spark of surprise and excitement ignited as he pondered the existence of a magic that could bind two individuals within this realm. The prospect of such power intrigued him, and he eagerly anticipated sharing the discovery with his brother. Together, perhaps they could harness this magic and find a way to reunite with their long-lost sister. The mere thought filled him with a sense of childlike wonder and endless possibilities.
However, his musings were abruptly shattered as the figure lurched towards him, causing his heart to skip a beat. Roy instinctively recoiled, taking a step back, his narrowed eyes fixed upon his approaching adversary. Dark energy exuded from the featureless creation, its core centred around a small black book affixed to the figure's chest. Dark chains materialised, sinuously snaking around each limb.
An unsettling shiver coursed through Roy as he realised that he must not allow those chains to make contact. Their mere presence set his teeth on edge as he glared at the encroaching darkness. He couldn't comprehend how Roswaal managed to remain standing, but he would rectify that now.
With a thought, he released a relentless assault of memories, a torrential onslaught from countless stolen lives. Each memory was vastly different from the others, ensuring that none could bind themselves in sympathy. Each memory fought for dominance within the mind of his target, unleashing a chaotic clash within the depths of his opponent's consciousness.
Yet to his horror, the figure pressed on, unfazed by the torment unleashed upon it. With a swift motion, it swung its arm, propelling a chain of darkness toward Roy. Even as he hurled himself backward, he perceived the very air growing dim in the chain's vicinity, intensifying his sense of trepidation.
The chain's sinister nature became all the more apparent as it split apart, multiplying relentlessly while Roy desperately evaded its grasp. What began as a simple division soon escalated into an uncontrollable proliferation, with countless chains hungrily pursuing him. The darkness they exuded grew thicker and more suffocating with each strike, challenging Roy's ability to withstand the onslaught from this enigmatic adversary.
But even as he fought back, he began to feel something creeping into his mind, something that felt like a cold, clammy hand wrapping around his brain and squeezing. To Roy’s horror he realised that several lives worth of memories he’d consumed and made part of himself over the years were becoming dimmer, as if they were losing some vital spark that kept them alive rather than as simple records he could pursue at will.
Roy screamed anger finally overwhelming the visceral fear, and drew on his myriad of lives studying magic. If this interloper wanted a duel of magic, then he’d put the fool in his place.
Ordinarily, reaching the highest levels of magic would require Roy's transformation, but as his heart raced, he felt a profound connection with the remaining magic still etched within his being. Streams of fire and wind erupted from his outstretched arms, colliding with blasts of darkness and light, momentarily pushing back the encroaching chains and granting him a reprieve.
Even the very earth beneath his feet imbued him with renewed energy, revitalising his spirit as he scanned the shrouded darkness in search of his elusive opponent. The growing power of the chains eluded his comprehension, yet he endeavoured to suppress the mounting fear that failure to halt this assault might lead to his demise.
“Come out, come out wherever you are, Roswaal. Unless you're telling me that, you're perfectly fine with me waking up right now and consuming your precious student.” Roy taunted ears straining for any noise that would allow him to detect his foe.
The darkness enveloping Roy seemed to thicken, a palpable force bearing down upon him. His breath grew ragged as he fought to maintain focus, scouring the surrounding gloom for any sign of his adversary.
But there was nothing. Only the oppressive weight of the darkness and the incessant clattering of chains, growing louder with each passing moment.
Perhaps he should retreat, abandon this place. His target was slipping further away, and the risk to his physical form remained a constant concern. However, the mere thought of forsaking his home, his seat of power, sparked a deep ache within him. Surrendering it to another would be a fate worse than death.
Then should he take the attack in a random direction, all it would take was…..
“No, no, no, no” Roy muttered as he realised that the magic he’d released was already beyond him. The reason the chains weren’t attacking anymore, wasn’t because he’d held them back.
It was because he had never been their real target.
Breaking out into a run, he aimed for his altar of power, it was a place he should never be able to be challenged in and yet…
In seconds the Darkness parted at his will and he arrived only to find nothing but chains as far as the eye could see, each pulsing as they seemed to absorb the remaining memories.
"Those memories belong to me!" Roy screamed, yet no means to strike down his enemy presented itself within his mind.
Uncaring of the danger. Roy charged forward, and seized the nearest chain, which instantly reacted to his touch.
The chain was searing hot, and Roy recoiled realising his mistake even as the chains wrapped around him pulling him close.
Pain seared through him, igniting every nerve in his body as if he were being burned alive. Memories of his past torments flashed through his mind, but none compared to this agony. It was worse than the time he'd been locked in a cell without food or water for weeks, worse than the day he'd been branded by the woman he called ‘Mama’. Even worse than the moment he'd accepted his authority and been reborn, the pain he felt now was unbearable, all-consuming, and inescapable.
“Mama, help me,” the boy whispered as he was pulled into the darkness to be consumed.
Done with their prey the chains once more fell limp, and the cold world fell silent at last. Yet in this realm where time itself was slowed to a crawl, years could pass in seconds.
Slowly a set of chains seemed to loop together drawn in by an invisible force, with the vast majority of the chains slowly seeming to corrode as rust slowly seemed to form on the chains as the darkness dissipated.
Eventually, yellow eyes reopened, and Roswaal focused on the form he had once embraced with contentment. Rising to his feet, he meticulously unfastened each remaining chain attached to his body. With a mere thought, he draped a replica of his cherished cloak over his frame.
Already, the memories of what had just transpired began to blur, now that the entity that had bound them had departed. Pausing for a moment, Roswaal bowed, paying his respects to the memories that were slipping away. He had not acted for their sake, but he hoped that by destroying Roy, he could bring some solace to those memories, even though he suspected that the majority of them had merely sought refuge within another vessel of Gluttony.
Shaking his head, the man allowed himself to slowly begin to drift away from the world he’d dove into, even as he ignored the tug his heart felt. He didn’t deserve to hide in comforting lies, not when there was still so much left to be done after all.
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Crusch soared across the rooftops with breathtaking speed, her senses honed to detect each incoming strike solely through the disturbance of the wind.
She had underestimated the three assassins who now impeded her progress, hoping that her own swiftness would allow her to quickly catch up to the treacherous treasurer.
However, their coordinated efforts proved to be a formidable challenge, for while their individual skills might have fallen short of her own, their seamless teamwork was an entirely different matter.
One of the assassins, a shirtless man radiating raw strength, matched her pace effortlessly despite the burden he carried, maintaining a calculated distance between them at all times. Cradled in his arms was a slender figure specialising in ranged attacks, already unleashing a barrage of throwing knives, fireballs, and a whip that nearly sent Crusch hurtling off the roof. Together, the duo posed a significant distraction that would have surely slowed her down had she not dealt with them accordingly. Yet, it was the third assassin who proved to be the most formidable of all.
With dual blades swinging from different angles, each strike capable of dealing a fatal blow, Crusch relied on her wind barrier to momentarily hinder the swordsman's onslaught, allowing her the opportunity to retaliate. The blond-haired swordsman exhibited remarkable skill, wielding both blades with a proficiency that would have impressed most knights. Furthermore, his seamless coordination with the ranged assassin kept Crusch off-balance, her progress significantly impeded. Though over ten minutes had elapsed, she had barely covered half the distance she would have otherwise.
As Crusch contemplated the situation, doubts gnawed at her mind. Was she heading in the right direction? Should she not focus on defeating her foes before resuming the chase? If she had correctly surmised the treasurer's destination, then...
"No," Crusch whispered, her determination resolute as she turned her back on the assassins and surged forward once more. Despite the delays, they were now in close proximity, making it crucial for her to prioritise speed above all else. The Palace Guard would be able to provide assistance, and she could alert them to Sakura's presence.
A part of her wondered if it might be a decoy, an attempt to lead her astray. After all, Crusch had no certainty of the fake treasurer's current whereabouts. With the knowledge of Crusch’s friendship with the king being common knowledge, it was possible that the traitor had deliberately chosen this path to lead her astray.
And yet, despite these doubts that gnawed at her, there was something within Crusch's heart that urged her onward, refusing to let her waver.
“Crusch, take care of Ferris when I’m gone, he’ll need the extra support.”
Fourier's importance was immeasurable. Should he perish, the civil war would likely escalate, and even if the enemy's intentions were different, his safety still needed to be accounted for.
As the wind parted before an incoming blade, Crusch swiftly adjusted her stance, narrowly avoiding being cleaved in two, though she did suffer another deep gash to add to her growing list of wounds.
I need to focus, Crusch scolded herself, releasing a counter attack that her adversary deftly evaded.
But it had bought her space.
She surged forwards again, temporarily drawing ahead of her pursuers.
Her eyes searched the path ahead of her, and she spotted the flash of purple hair up ahead, motionless and gazing at the palace. Could she be too late? Crusch knew she had to bring this confrontation to an end swiftly.
Crusch desperately evaded two more strikes, her barrier dissolving, allowing the man to assume she was out of mana.
Flames wreathed the blades as her pursuer prepared to finish her off, but Crusch raised her own blade, wind storming around the metal as she prepared her ultimate technique.
Eyes widening, the man leapt back, fire leaving his blades as he erected a flaming barrier, failing to realise who her true target was.
Even as she was releasing her attack, one of the others cried out a warning, “You fool! She’s aiming at Sakura!”
The fire dissolved, the assassin realising his mistake and trying to intercept her attack, but he was too far out of position.
Whether she heard the warning, or sensed the attack through another means, Sakura whirled, attempting to step out of the way, but she reacted far too late to dodge the strike completely.
In a burst of blood, Sakura’s arm was violently blown away from her, sending her careening into the ground with a scream.
Before Crusch could really feel any satisfaction, however, all three of her pursuers appeared on the same rooftop, even as the muscular man charged, and the swordsman did the same, hoping to catch her in a pincer manoeuvre.
Allowing her blade to clash with the right, her hand dipped into her pocket before throwing her dagger at the one on the left, she didn’t expect it to land but it would force the man to deflect it, buying her the seconds to finish off her current opponent.
Turning around, she could see that the man had chosen to ignore the dagger in his arm to swing his own blade at her neck, but even off balance, her wind current was strong enough that one-armed it bought enough time for her to impose her own blade in the way.
For a moment they strained against each other, his greater size allowing him to press her even one armed. But even an exhausted Crusch wouldn’t lose to someone like this. Wind once more cloaked her blade and another body fell.
Not sparing the matter a second thought Crusch let herself fall from the rooftops landing in front of her true target.
Sakura clutched at her bleeding stump, still seeming in shock, but before Crusch could approach any closer, insects rose from the ground, hovering in front of her as a shield.
“Attack her now!” screamed Sakura, shock morphing into rage as the swarm buzzed loud enough to almost drown out her words before launching forward.
As the swarm launched towards her, Crusch couldn’t help but compare it to the legions she had fought with her army earlier.
In comparison this was but a small fragment leftover from then, but Crusch could admit that holding them back had been one of the most exhausting battles she had ever faced. Since then she’d had to continually push her body from one encounter to another and she could tell her body was burning out.
“I won’t let you take another step forward,” Crusch declared, a storm gathering upon her blades as the winds screamed its wrath, even her own barrier dissolving to be added to the whirlwind.
She could feel the hammer of wind she’d created falter however, she’d pushed herself too quickly and too far and the winds came apart even as she tried to keep them contained.
The insects buzzed as the majority of the winds slammed into them, sending them scattered, but even as it tore them aside, picking up Sakura along for the ride, Crusch was right beside them as the winds sent her careening away.
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Opening her eyes, Crusch attempted to rise and failed, only managing to start to slide against the wall she found herself against.
“Awake, I see,” came the weak voice of someone physically close to her.
Craning her head, she turned and saw Sakura, similarly pressed against the wall, but where she had made a small indentation, Sakura had found raised metal, impaling herself and slowly bleeding out.
“Sakura,” Crusch said, adrenaline dulling her pain, but even as she twitched she failed to get up. Far too exhausted to even move.
“You're lucky that blast of yours destroyed the last of my insects, otherwise I would have made sure to have you die far slower than I will,” Sakura said, the hatred was clear in her voice. “I’ll leave you with this final message instead: you were too late. I’ve already cursed our dear King, and he’ll be dead in minutes.”
“No,” Crusch whispered, refusing to believe that Fourier could have died like that, even as her divine protection told her that Sakura was telling nothing but the truth.
“I’ve been told by Mama that the stronger dose won’t only kill faster, but that it’ll be a far more agonising death than the one’s his family suffered under,” Sakura hissed, coughing and twitching even as her eyes stayed locked on Crusch’s. “I’ve been told that you have a divine blessing that can tell the truth. So you can trust when I say that Mama has more experience with dealing pain than anybody I know, and that I’ve seen her give out fates far worse than death.”
“You hate this Mama person even more than you do me, or even Fourier,” Crusch observed, eyes having caught the change in wind. Now that Sakura was no longer hiding her toxic secrets, the woman seemed to perpetually let out a noxious aura, but it had intensified when she had mentioned the woman behind her.
The wind blowing around Sakura shifted with a touch of fear, and she glared at Crusch, but another coughing fit broke it.
“Of course I hate her,” she whispered as her body calmed down. “She’s the one who gave me this cursed ability, dooming me to never have a moment where I’m not in pain.”
Her words softened further, her eyes slowly losing focus. “It’s been years since she did so, and not once has it ever abated. I couldn’t even move until you and your army had destroyed the majority of the swarm. I suppose if nothing else I can feel at least a little grateful that your army just finished killing the last of them. If I have to die, then doing it in silence for the first time in years sounds nice.”
“Please! If you truly hate this woman so much, trust in the fact that if nothing else I and the kingdom of Lugunica will want revenge,” Crusch promised hating even pretending to accept Fourier’s death. But if it would lead to the person responsible for the death’s of the entire royal family.
“Ha! As if you and your Kingdom stand a chance against Mama! Besides, do you really think I’d feel anything at the deaths of the royal family? I wish I could see your face when you find your precious prince’s body,” Sakura spat, hatred reigniting her fading flame. “But if nothing else, I suppose confronting Mama truly will lead to your worst fate imaginable. Look for the name—”
Crusch watched aghast, as the woman choked as one last hidden insect emerged, stinger already stabbed not into Crusch herself but the insect master itself.
Job accomplished, the wasp started to fly away, leaving the choking woman to die behind him, and leaving Crusch alone and without answers.