...
{3rd Pov}
Everyone in the room looked visibly stressed, the tension practically dripping from their faces. From time to time, their gazes would drift toward Subaru, as if they expected him to suddenly come up with some miraculous solution.
"I don't think staring at bro is going to magically fix the situation, you know…" Al muttered, his tone dry yet oddly grounding.
"What we really need is to sit down and actually discuss a proper plan." His words successfully redirected the attention of the others away from Subaru, if only slightly.
"Currently, only three of the Royal Selection candidates are here in this room," Crusch noted calmly, her sharp eyes scanning the group as she spoke.
"The other two candidates are somewhere out in the city, and right now their exact whereabouts remain completely unknown. Under normal circumstances, we would have already mobilized and taken action immediately. However, after the outrageous stunt that the Archbishop of Pride pulled, it has become absolutely necessary to gather all of our available forces before moving forward. Charging in recklessly would only invite disaster."
Anastasia leaned forward in her chair, her usual businesslike smile nowhere to be seen.
"Even if we assume that gathering everyone is the smart move, there's still a big problem. What are the actual chances that the Sin Archbishop will keep his word and refrain from attacking us if we split up to search for the missing candidates? Words from someone like that don't exactly come with a guarantee." Her practical tone struck a chord with everyone present.
The logic was sound, and no one could deny the risk.
"The chances of it happening are very low, I suppose," came Beatrice's sudden, matter-of-fact reply.
"Lady Beatrice?" Julius asked with polite curiosity.
The Spirit Knight adjusted his posture slightly, his knightly demeanor showing as he gave the tiny spirit his full attention.
"Why do you think the Archbishops would actually bother to keep their promise?" His question carried genuine respect, for while Julius often reprimanded Subaru bluntly for his unknightly behaviour or called him by name with little ceremony, his attitude toward Beatrice was entirely different.
As a Great Spirit, her words carried immense weight in his eyes, and his knightly instincts compelled him to show her deference.
Of course, all of that chivalrous attention was completely wasted, because Beatrice only had eyes for Subaru.
To her, Julius might as well have been a decorative vase in the corner.
The little spirit's obsession with Subaru was so obvious that it practically radiated through the room.
(A/N: Honestly, watching this dynamic play out is hilarious. Julius is out here acting like a shining knight in service to a noble lady, while Beatrice is basically a yandere loli whose entire universe revolves around Subaru. Talk about an awkward love triangle, oof!)
"We can already deduce, without much room for doubt, that the Sin Archbishop of Pride has essentially taken over the entire Witch Cult at this point, I suppose," Beatrice declared firmly.
Her small voice carried an unusual weight, and everyone in the room leaned in slightly, listening carefully.
Several of them even nodded along, acknowledging the logic in her words.
"The Sin Archbishops are insane—no one here would argue otherwise—but their insanity doesn't mean they act randomly," Beatrice continued, her serious tone holding the group's attention. "They are deeply aligned with the sins they embody. Since it was the Sin Archbishop of Pride who gave us that declaration earlier, his arrogance practically guarantees that he won't break his word. Pride will always cling to his promises, no matter what, in fact!" She finished with conviction.
At that moment, Subaru stepped forward and suddenly hugged Beatrice from behind, unable to contain his relief.
"Beako! That's amazing! Way to go!" he cheered enthusiastically, his arms wrapping around the tiny spirit as he gave her a few proud pats.
"It is… it is nothing great," Beatrice mumbled, her cheeks turning pink.
"It is only that a bit of Subaru has rubbed off on Betty, I suppose…" she admitted with a small blush, trying and failing to hide the shy smile tugging at her lips.
After this brief moment of levity, the mood in the room shifted back to seriousness as the others exchanged looks with one another.
Crusch was the one to break the silence.
"Remaining here and doing nothing will not change our situation," she stated firmly.
"Some of us need to take the risk and head out to locate the two missing Royal Candidates as well as Reinhard. With the Sword Saint at our side, the balance of power will tip dramatically. Only then will we stand a realistic chance against the Sin Archbishops."
Her tone was confident, though the underlying tension was obvious.
"I guess without Reinhard, we can't even hope to put up a fight against the Sin Archbishop of Pride," Subaru muttered suddenly, his face grim.
His blunt words immediately drew everyone's attention, and now all eyes were fixed on him and Beatrice, both of whom wore troubled expressions.
"Subaru," Emilia spoke up hesitantly, her voice soft yet pressing, "you mentioned that you and Beatrice confronted Pride when I lost consciousness. Please tell me the truth—what exactly happened? Is Pride really that strong?"
Her violet eyes searched Subaru's face, desperate for reassurance but bracing for the worst.
Subaru let out a heavy sigh before answering, his tone sharp and unflinching.
"Strong is too weak of a word. He's not just strong—he's a fucking monster. Honestly, I'd rather explain everything once we've gathered everyone together. Because let's be real here—if I revealed the full extent of his power right now, half of the people in this room would lose their morale instantly. That's how terrifying it is."
The weight in Subaru's words left a thick silence hanging over the room.
Deep down, he himself doubted whether even Reinhard could actually stand against Pride's overwhelming ability.
The thought alone made his stomach churn.
But at the same time, Subaru reminded himself of one undeniable fact: Reinhard was the strongest individual in the entire city, the man whose very existence was synonymous with invincibility.
If anyone could bring them hope in this desperate situation, it was him.
After all, Subaru remembered clearly what was said about Reinhard's sword.
That legendary weapon was rumored to be capable of cutting through literally any concept itself.
And if that was true… then maybe, just maybe, even Pride's terrifying ability could be severed by it.
To someone from a modern world, it might all sound like complete nonsense, but Subaru had already learned the hard way that his so-called "modern knowledge" was practically useless in a fantasy world like this one.
Things that should make sense logically back home often fell apart in front of the absurd rules of this world.
Take Emilia for example.
She's capable of unleashing enough magical power to freeze an entire city solid without breaking a sweat.
In terms of destructive potential, she's terrifying. And yet, despite that overwhelming power, her physical endurance is laughably fragile.
A single well-placed slap could knock her out cold, and something as simple as a regular knife stab to her body could be fatal.
That insane contrast never stopped being jarring for Subaru, no matter how many times he witnessed it.
Then there was Beatrice, or Beako as Subaru called her.
She could manipulate mana to create pocket dimensions, summon door crossings, and even manifest black hole-like phenomena that could erase anything unlucky enough to touch them.
Her arsenal of magic was something out of science fiction, and her potential destructive force was immeasurable.
But just like Emilia, she shared the same glaring weakness.
For all her cosmic-level firepower, Beatrice was essentially a glass cannon. In terms of durability, she was just as vulnerable as any ordinary human.
A simple stab from a kitchen knife could be all it took to end her life if she let her guard down.
It was because of this paradox—world-breaking powers paired with laughably fragile bodies—that Subaru placed so much trust and hope in Reinhard.
Unlike the others, Reinhard wasn't bound by the same fragile balance.
He wasn't just a powerhouse who could wipe out armies; he was also an unshakable fortress in human form.
Subaru had seen enough to believe that Reinhard's sword, the weapon said to be able to cut through any concept, truly might be able to sever Pride's ability itself.
And so, despite the doubts gnawing at him, Subaru clung to that one shred of faith.
Because if Reinhard couldn't do it, then honestly… who else in the world possibly could?
Perhaps.
In the end, after a long and tense discussion, they decided it was best not to press Subaru or the others for further details.
Instead, the group quickly shifted focus toward arranging a proper search operation.
Alderban—better known as Al—volunteered to head out and search for Priscilla, since he knew her best and could probably track her down faster than anyone else.
Sachin, who had been brought into the castle under the protection of Felt's camp, took on the task of searching for Felt and Reinhard, as both of them had vanished without leaving any trace.
Subaru, of course, refused to sit idly by.
He made the decision to leave as well, insisting on heading out alongside Beatrice.
Their priority was to locate Garfiel and Otto, who had yet to return and whose safety weighed heavily on Subaru's mind.
Plans were set, tension was high, and just as the various search parties were about to depart, the atmosphere was shattered.
Someone suddenly came running up to the gate, panic written all over his face. In his arms, he carried a blood-soaked body that made everyone freeze on the spot.
"Captain!" the figure shouted, his voice loud, desperate, and raw with emotion the moment he caught sight of Subaru.
It was Garfiel. Subaru instantly recognized him.
Garfiel, the shield of Emilia's camp, the reliable powerhouse who always threw himself into the frontlines to protect his comrades, was now staggering forward with blood dripping from his arms.
He stopped just outside the gate, and the sight made everyone's eyes widen in shock.
The person in his arms was gravely wounded, her small frame limp and pale from blood loss.
"Damn it, Captain! I… I'm sorry! I couldn't save her!" Garfiel growled through clenched teeth, his expression twisted with shame as he turned his eyes away from Subaru, unable to face him directly.
The injured person he carried was none other than Mimi, one of Anastasia's three beloved beastman siblings.
Seeing her like this, Anastasia's usual calculating composure instantly cracked.
She rushed forward with panic in her eyes, and Julius followed right beside her, his usual knightly calm replaced with barely contained urgency.
Felix quickly hurried over as well, his hands already glowing with healing magic as he examined her wounds.
The healer worked frantically, pouring his energy into keeping her alive.
After what felt like an eternity, Felix finally stabilized her condition enough to prevent her immediate death.
Mimi was no longer on the verge of dying that very second, but the severity of her injuries still remained.
Her body was covered in cuts and deep gashes, and the sheer volume of blood she had already lost meant that her life was still hanging precariously by a thread.
She was promptly moved to the makeshift patient area, where Hetaro and Tivey—her brothers—had been helping watch over the other injured and keeping spirits calm.
The moment they saw Mimi's state, both siblings froze in shock.
Their eyes went wide with horror, and their faces turned pale as the realization set in.
They rushed to her side, trembling, their expressions filled with grief and helplessness.
Meanwhile, Garfiel stood there stiffly, his head lowered and his fists clenched.
His teeth ground together audibly as he looked away, unable to meet the eyes of anyone in the group.
His guilt was obvious, as if he believed Mimi's condition was entirely his fault.
He carried himself like someone who had failed in his duty, the shame practically oozing off him.
Yet no one raised their voice to blame him.
Not a single person.
They all knew the truth.
Against the Witch Cult, even death was considered normal. Surviving at all, even with heavy injuries, was already something close to a miracle.
The very fact that Garfiel had managed to escape alive while carrying Mimi's battered body was already proof enough of both his strength and his luck.
Most people would have been killed instantly in such a confrontation, yet he had not only survived but also managed to bring someone back with him.
That alone spoke volumes about his determination.
Even so, Anastasia couldn't help but feel an extremely sour taste in her mouth as she watched her companion in such a critical state.
The sight of Mimi, bloodied and clinging to life, twisted her insides with rage and despair.
But despite the storm of emotions boiling within her, she swallowed her anger and held it back with sheer willpower.
She understood better than anyone that lashing out at Garfiel would accomplish nothing.
She chose not to blame him, no matter how badly she wanted someone to direct her frustrations toward. Anastasia knew all too well the reality of going up against the Witch Cult.
It was never a fair fight.
Every battle against them carried absurd risks, and even the most skilled warriors often fell without achieving anything.
Expecting Garfiel to bring everyone back safe and sound was unrealistic, even for her.
After the immediate panic settled, Garfiel lingered in the corner of the room, his head bowed and his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
The shame was written all over his face, and no words of comfort seemed able to reach him.
He sulked in silence, convinced that he had failed his duty as a shield.
Meanwhile, the others knew that time was not on their side.
No matter how painful the situation was, they couldn't allow themselves to remain frozen.
While Garfiel sank deeper into his guilt, the rest of the group quickly organized themselves and headed outside.
Their next priority was clear: they had to continue the search for the two missing Royal Candidates before things spiraled even further out of control.
…
Heinkel stood there with a twisted grin plastered across his face, one arm firmly wrapped around Felt while the other pressed a knife dangerously close against her neck.
His eyes gleamed with malice as he stared at the man standing opposite him.
Reinhardt, his expression unusually stern and his voice calm but firm, addressed him directly.
"Father, please release Miss Felt. If you continue this reckless behavior, then I will have no choice but to take action."
"Shut your mouth, bastard!" Heinkel barked back with venom, tightening his grip on Felt just enough to make his point clear.
"As long as she's dead, that's one less competitor standing in the way. That's all that matters!" His grin widened with satisfaction at his own twisted logic.
Among all the Royal Selection candidates, Felt was undoubtedly the one with the weakest background.
She wasn't a noble, a merchant, or anyone of influence—she was just a girl dragged straight out of the slums and thrown into the grand stage of politics.
Unlike the other candidates, she had no connections, no prestigious family name, no powerful faction backing her—at least not in the traditional sense.
The only reason she was even in the competition at all was because Reinhardt, the Sword Saint himself, had chosen to sponsor her.
Yet even that sponsorship had limits.
Reinhardt might be the most powerful warrior in the kingdom, but he wasn't the head of the Astrea family.
That title currently belonged to Heinkel.
And because of that, in the eyes of the nobility and the law, Reinhardt had no legitimate political authority to shield Felt.
If she were to die here and now, there would be nothing Reinhardt could legally do to stop it.
On top of that, Reinhardt was bound hand and foot by the kingdom's laws.
His honor and his code prevented him from recklessly attacking his own father.
Killing Heinkel wasn't just morally questionable; it would also carry severe legal consequences.
The system itself restrained him, making this situation even more suffocating.
In simpler terms, Heinkel held all the cards.
He could slit Felt's throat this very moment, and at worst, the punishment he would receive would be nothing more than a slap on the wrist.
The harshest penalty he might face would be being prohibited from supporting any candidate in the Royal Selection.
But to Heinkel, that meant little.
He had already aligned himself with powerful nobles and forged an alliance with Priscilla's camp.
Even if he lost the ability to support someone openly, it would make little difference; his influence would remain intact, his schemes untouched.
And that was precisely why he dared to grin so boldly in front of the Sword Saint himself.
Of course, Heinkel wasn't rushing to kill Felt just yet.
It was his last resort, a final bargaining chip he was willing to play if Reinhardt refused to accept the terms he was about to put on the table.
In truth, the majority of the kingdom's nobles despised Felt.
They considered her a stain on the dignity of the Royal Selection and looked down on her origins as a commoner from the slums.
Many of them wished for her death and wouldn't have shed a tear if she were to vanish tomorrow.
However, because she bore the official title of Royal Candidate, openly killing her was an act very few people could get away with unscathed.
Naturally, Heinkel Astrea was one of those rare individuals who could.
As the current head of the Astrea family and a man already tied to powerful noble factions, he had the kind of backing that allowed him to commit acts others could not.
Heinkel, who had thrown his support behind Priscilla and aligned himself with her network of nobles, wasn't content with simply undermining Felt's candidacy.
His ambition was far bolder.
His plan was to abduct Felt outright, use her as leverage, and then force Reinhardt into submission.
By turning the Felt camp into nothing more than a puppet of Priscilla's camp, the nobles could effectively bend the entire Royal Selection process to their will.
And this wasn't the only scheme being whispered among the noble circles.
Many of them had already been eyeing Emilia's camp as another target for manipulation.
Emilia's popularity and her growing reputation as a symbol of hope made her an attractive candidate to control.
However, unlike Felt, Emilia's camp had powerful safeguards.
The meteoric rise of her faction's fame, combined with the unwavering political and financial support of Roswaal, made it impossible for the nobles to interfere so openly.
For now, they were forced to grit their teeth and wait for an opportunity.
The Crusch camp, on the other hand, was already facing heavy interference.
Ever since Crusch had lost her memories during the battle with the Witch Cult, her position had weakened drastically.
Many of the nobles who once supported her began to waver, and more than a few outright switched allegiances to other camps.
Now, several influential families were already plotting ways to seize control of what remained of her faction, twisting her camp into a tool for their own benefit.
All of this demonstrated the ruthless cunning of the noble class.
They weren't content to merely support their chosen candidates; they sought to turn the entire Royal Selection into a stage for their own power plays.
It wasn't about the throne, the kingdom, or the people—it was about control, influence, and ensuring their own supremacy.
And Heinkel, standing there with Felt in his grasp and a knife pressed to her neck, was a perfect example of that corruption.
His grin widened as he revealed his intentions clearly.
"However…" he drawled, voice dripping with malice, "I can spare her life… if you agree to a few of my terms."
Felt stared straight at Reinhardt, her sharp eyes completely unshaken despite the cold blade pressed against her throat by Heinkel.
There was not a shred of fear on her face, only defiance.
"Reinhardt, don't you dare listen to this idiot," Felt declared firmly, her voice cutting through the tension.
"Absolutely do not agree to any of his terms, no matter what he says."
Her words struck Heinkel like a slap.
His expression twisted with fury, his teeth grinding together as rage bubbled up inside him.
In his anger, he tightened his grip around Felt's small frame, pressing the knife harder against her neck until the blade threatened to break skin.
"Shut your filthy mouth, you slum rat!" Heinkel spat venomously.
His eyes flicked back to Reinhardt, his voice rising into a hateful growl.
"And you—listen well, you monster! If you don't want your precious lady to die right here in your arms, then you'd better obey me and follow my conditions to the letter!"
The tension in the air was thick enough to suffocate.
Reinhardt stood motionless, his face calm but his eyes burning with a quiet intensity.
Felt remained still in her captor's arms, not a single ounce of fear betraying her despite the very real danger at her throat.
And then, suddenly, the silence was broken.
A faint buzzing noise filled the air.
At first, it was small and barely noticeable, like the hum of a single insect.
Everyone's heads turned instinctively toward the sound, and soon enough, their eyes caught sight of a lone aphid drifting lazily through the air.
A plant-sucking insect, small and harmless—or so it seemed.
But then the sound grew louder.
Much louder.
The buzzing multiplied, swelling into an overwhelming chorus that made the hairs on the back of everyone's necks stand on end.
What had started as one insect was quickly revealed to be hundreds—no, thousands—of aphids, gathering together in a massive swarm.
Within moments, the air itself seemed alive, filled with the writhing, shifting mass of insects.
Heinkel's eyes widened in disbelief, his composure cracking.
"What the—?!" he blurted out as the cloud of aphids surged toward him like a living wave.
Startled, he instinctively jumped backward, releasing some of his grip on Felt as he tried to fend off the sudden assault.
The moment his hold loosened, Felt acted without hesitation.
Channeling her Divine Protection, her body slipped free from Heinkel's grasp like water slipping through clenched fingers.
In an instant, she was no longer in his clutches but safely out of harm's way, her sharp gaze flashing back at him with triumphant defiance.
And in the very next heartbeat, Reinhardt moved.
With the ease and precision of a man who needed no wasted effort, the Sword Saint closed the distance and struck.
The blow was swift, overwhelming, and completely one-sided.
Heinkel, who had been so smug and confident only moments earlier, was effortlessly knocked aside as though he were nothing more than an unruly child standing in Reinhardt's way.
The knife clattered uselessly to the ground.
The balance of the scene had shifted entirely, and the outcome was decided the moment Reinhardt acted.
Reinhardt let out a heavy sigh, his expression carrying both relief and guilt.
"Lady Felt," he said solemnly, his voice steady but tinged with regret, "I am deeply ashamed that you had to endure something so disgraceful. For you to be subjected to such a situation… I cannot begin to apologize enough."
Felt rolled her eyes, her sharp tongue quick to follow.
"Seriously? You're apologizing for this?" she snapped, jerking her chin toward Heinkel's unconscious form on the ground.
"That pathetic man is your father. Just when I thought my impression of him couldn't possibly sink any lower, he goes and pulls something like this."
Her tone was biting, but beneath it, there was a flicker of lingering frustration and maybe even disappointment.
Reinhardt remained silent at her words, his calm composure unwavering, though the brief shadow that passed over his eyes betrayed that her remark had struck a nerve.
But before the tension could linger, both he and Felt turned their attention toward their unexpected savior.
Standing a short distance away, looking distinctly uncomfortable with all eyes on him, was Otto Suwen.
"So it was you, my friend," Reinhardt said with a faint smile, inclining his head respectfully toward Otto.
His voice carried genuine gratitude, softening slightly as he acknowledged the man's intervention.
Otto scratched his cheek awkwardly, clearly embarrassed by the recognition.
"Ah… well, yes, I suppose it was me," he admitted. "When the Sin Archbishop of Gluttony attacked, I only barely managed to escape with my life. It was pure luck, really. But after that, I happened to come across this group of kidnappers dragging Lady Felt away. I couldn't just stand by and do nothing, so… I did what I could."
He offered them a nervous smile, trying to downplay his own courage.
Reinhardt's expression grew serious again.
"Even so, your actions saved her life. For that, I owe you a great debt. On behalf of my Lady, allow me to offer my thanks."
With that, the Sword Saint gave Otto a small but sincere bow, a gesture that carried far more weight coming from someone of his stature.
Otto nearly choked on his own breath at being treated with such formality, but before he could stammer a response, Felt cut in sharply, stomping her foot.
"You idiots! This isn't the time for courtesy and bowing!" she snapped, her voice rising with impatience.
"Do you even get what's happening right now? Do you have the slightest clue what kind of chaos the city might be in after that damn Sin Archbishop made his announcement?!"
To emphasize her point, she swung her leg out in a frustrated kick at Reinhardt.
Predictably, the Sword Saint dodged with effortless ease, stepping aside as though avoiding the strike were as natural as breathing.
Felt only grew more irritated at his casual evasion, while Reinhardt's expression remained perfectly calm, as if this back-and-forth were an everyday occurrence.
(A/N: Reinhardt's dodging skills against Felt is literally infinite now due to his DPs, lmao)
"Indeed," Otto replied with a serious nod. "And with how that Sin Archbishop interrupted another during the announcement, we need to be especially cautious. If you recall, when Lust was speaking, Pride suddenly cut her off and, judging by what followed, possibly punished her."
The memory of the event lingered in their minds.
There had been no sound of resistance, no sign of a struggle at all.
The absence of any clash only confirmed one thing: if there had been a battle, it had been completely one-sided. Lust hadn't even been able to put up a fight.
That single fact weighed heavily on all of them.
Reinhardt, Felt, and Otto had already come to the same grim realization—the Sin Archbishop of Pride was very likely the strongest of the Archbishops they had heard of so far.
His arrogance was terrifying enough, but the overwhelming strength behind it made him a monster in his own right.
They also couldn't help but harbor other suspicions.
Was Pride aiming to seize control of the entire Witch Cult? The possibility hung in the air, gnawing at their thoughts.
Still, for now, it was too farfetched. None of them had even seen Pride in person yet, and speculation without proof could only go so far.
After a long round of tense discussion, the three decided it was best to regroup.
They bound the unconscious Heinkel tightly with ropes to ensure he wouldn't cause any more trouble, then prepared to move out.
With their prisoner secured, they finally left the area together.
On the road back, fate brought them into contact with familiar faces.
Just up ahead, they spotted Subaru and Beatrice approaching.
"Subaru!" Otto called out instinctively, his voice filled with relief.
"Otto! Thank god you're okay!" Subaru exclaimed, his shoulders dropping as a massive weight seemed to lift from him the moment he saw his friend alive and unharmed.
The genuine relief in his voice was impossible to miss.
Otto couldn't help but smile at the reunion, his usual awkwardness momentarily replaced by simple happiness.
After everything that had happened, seeing Subaru again felt like a breath of fresh air, a reminder that he wasn't facing this nightmare alone.
(A/N: Ah yes, the relief you get when you realize your friend is in same dipshit as you LMAO)
"Subaru, you really never fail to drag trouble right to our doorstep, do you?" Otto complained, throwing his hands up in exasperation.
"The strongest Sin Archbishop, of all people, actually wants you alive. Do you have any idea what kind of nightmare that means for the rest of us?"
His tone carried both frustration and disbelief.
Ever since he had joined Emilia's camp, his life had been nothing but one chaotic disaster after another.
Not that this was anything new for Otto.
Even before meeting Subaru, his life as a merchant had been plagued with misfortune.
If there was a worst-case scenario to stumble into, Otto inevitably found it.
Among all the merchants of Lugunica, his reputation for bad luck was practically unmatched.
"Shut up already! Don't act like this is all my fault!" Subaru shot back, glaring at him.
Then, narrowing his eyes with sudden seriousness, he asked, "Also… you have the Book of Wisdom with you, don't you?"
Otto froze for a moment before nodding awkwardly, scratching at his cheek with visible discomfort.
"Y-yeah, I still have it," he admitted, though clearly reluctant to be reminded of the cursed item.
Satisfied for now, Subaru turned his attention toward Reinhardt.
The Sword Saint stood tall and composed, carrying the unconscious Heinkel bound tightly in ropes across his back like a sack of grain.
The image was surreal enough to make Subaru's lips twitch.
"Ignoring the fact that your old man is trussed up like luggage right now," Subaru said with a crooked grin, "I'm honestly just really happy to see you again, Reinhardt!"
Reinhardt met his words with a soft, genuine smile that seemed to brighten the heavy atmosphere around them.
"Thank you, Subaru. I too am very happy to see you safe and sound." His tone was warm and sincere, as though he truly meant every word.
"Now, let's get back to our base of operations. The meeting to decide how we're going to fight against the Witch Cult is about to begin!" Subaru declared, clenching his fists with determination.
Even as he said those words, the memory of the Sin Archbishop of Pride weighed heavily on his mind.
That monstrous man possessed the terrifying ability to kill whoever—or whatever—he wanted, without resistance or exception.
The sheer unfairness of that ability made Subaru's stomach churn.
Deep down, Subaru had already accepted the grim truth.
He was going to die.
Not once, not twice, but dozens—maybe even hundreds—of times before this ordeal was over.
The path ahead promised nothing but pain and despair.
And yet, surrender was not in his vocabulary.
Giving up wasn't an option.
No matter how many times he was crushed, no matter how much agony he had to endure, Subaru would find a way to stand back up.
If the Sin Archbishop of Pride was a man who could cheat life itself, then Subaru was the one who could cheat death.
That was his sole advantage, the one weapon only he possessed, and he was determined to use it until the very end.
From a distance, Zero, who had been quietly observing Subaru's little display, rubbed his temples with visible irritation.
"Man… I never realized my self-motivation monologues looked this ridiculous when seen in third person," he muttered under his breath.
It suddenly made perfect sense to him why everyone around Subaru often ended up irritated by his dramatic speeches.
'The protagonist aura on this guy is way too strong,' Zero thought bitterly, shaking his head in disbelief.
To be continued...
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