Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Beloved No More
The fire was spreading.
As far as his blue eyes could see, flames took their harvest. The capital… no, the entire territory of Lugunica, it burned with an intensity that defied nature itself. Buildings crumbled into skeletal frames, their wooden bones cracking and splintering beneath the inferno's relentless appetite. Screams echoed through streets that had once bustled with life, a chorus of the dying that would haunt his dreams for eternity.
Undoubtedly, the population of Lugunica will become much lesser from this point onward.
Reinhard stood atop the hill, his white regalia marred by soot and ash, while fierce winds tugged at his fiery red hair and carried with them the acrid stench of death. His gaze drifted across the ruins of the kingdom he had sworn to protect, the countless lives he had vowed to defend, now reduced to smoldering wreckage, drifting embers, and endless fields of ash.
And all of this is because of him. Pride. The Archbishop of the Witch Cult with unknown motivations.
The dark-haired boy who had knelt before him moments ago, spewing madness and conviction in equal measure. The one who had spoken of love with such twisted devotion that it made Reinhard's stomach churn.
He wasn't strong enough to save the kingdom he was meant to protect even as the strongest of his bloodline. In other words, the Sword Saint failed this oath spectacularly.
The title felt like ash in his mouth.
"I WISH I'D BEEN LIKE YOU."
The cultist’s words echoed in his skull.
To be honest. To be strong. To possess the power to save everyone.
Lies. All lies.
This was hardly the first monster Reinhard had stood before. Throughout his life, he had faced countless calamities that would have broken ordinary people, and each time he had answered them with the same unwavering composure expected of the Sword Saint.
But this…
This was different.
This was hatred.
The emotion burned through him like the flames consuming his kingdom, hot and alien and utterly consuming. He didn't think he was capable of feeling such heavy emotions as right now. Even his divine protections that kept his mind clear, that shielded him from the chaos of the world, were incapable of processing the sheer amount of emotion he was feeling.
His thoughts fractured. Splintered. Reformed into jagged shards of rage.
"You truly are outside the norm, aren't you?"
The sultry voice cut through his spiralling thoughts like a blade. Reinhard's eyes snapped into focus as he deflected a strike intent on tearing through his gut.
A black silhouette emerged from the shadows of the burning cityscape. The Gut Hunter. Elsa Granhiert. Covered in blood, with her dark outfit torn in places and strips of pale skin exposed, she was, much to Reinhard's displeasure, very much alive.
She should be dead. I killed her.
"…How many times must I cut you down?"
Reinhard's voice emerged flat, devoid of the emotion that raged within him. He had severed her limbs. Pierced her heart. Removed her head. And still she stood.
“Oh?”
Elsa licked her lips, her dark eyes gleaming with that familiar, deranged delight.
"As many times as it takes, Sword Saint. That's the beauty of this dance, isn't it?"
She lunged.
The distance between them vanished in an instant. Her kukri—where had she found another blade?—sang through the air, aimed at his throat. Reinhard moved without thought, his body responding automatically. Even now, part of him remained fixed on the sea of flames swallowing the city beyond her.
His hand shot up, palm flat, and intercepted the blade.
Crack.
The knife shattered against his skin. Shards of metal scattered across the stone roadway, glittering like fallen stars.
"You're persistent," Reinhard muttered, a strange inflection creeping into his voice as he stepped forward. "I'll grant you that."
"I have someone to protect, after all." Elsa spun, her leg sweeping toward his head. "A prized customer, you could say."
Pride.
The thought of the dark-haired boy, the one who had spoken of love while setting the world aflame, sent a fresh wave of fury through Reinhard's veins.
He caught her leg. Squeezed. Felt the bones shift beneath his grip.
Elsa's eyes widened, but the smile never left her face. "There it is. That fire in your eyes. That's what I've been waiting for."
"Even after witnessing all of this... you can still smile."
"Isn't it beautiful?" She twisted in his grasp, her other foot connecting with his jaw. The impact would have shattered a normal man's skull. Reinhard barely felt it. "All this suffering, all this pain… what else could it be but a grand performance?"
She's insane. They're all insane.
Reinhard released her leg and stepped back. His hand moved to his waist, toward the sheathed blade that hung there. The Dragon Sword Reid.
It had refused to be drawn against her before.
But now?
The legendary sword hummed at his touch. A vibration that travelled up his arm, through his chest, settling in his heart like a promise.
Yes. This is worth drawing for.
Elsa noticed. Her eyes flickered to the sword at his waist, enacting something that might have been genuine excitement crossed her features.
"Ah. The fabled Dragon Blade. It's decided to acknowledge me after all?"
"Acknowledgment would be a strong word for it." Reinhard's hand closed around the hilt. "The Dragon Sword Reid is drawn only against those it deems worthy of its edge. That you have earned this honor—"
"Means I'm truly special?"
Means your sins are great enough to warrant death by the blade that once slew dragons.
"That you are deserving of the ending you'll receive," Reinhard finished.
He drew.
The blade emerged from its sheath with a sound like a sigh, like the world itself exhaling. The steel gleamed with a light that seemed to come from within, ancient and terrible, carrying the weight of a thousand battles.
The Dragon Sword was drawn against which he deemed worthy.
That's right. I shouldn't be so surprised.
If Pride managed to get so many people to stand in his path and burn the kingdom to the ground, then surely the legendary sword would deem the cultist worthy to die by its sharp blade.
Elsa laughed.
Not a mocking laugh, not a cruel laugh. This, this was something else. Something that bordered on genuine joy.
"There it is! Finally! I've been waiting for this moment ever since I first heard of you, Sword Saint. To see that blade drawn in my honor… I could die happy."
"You will," Reinhard promised. "One last time."
The battle that followed was brief.
Reinhard moved with a speed that defied comprehension, the Dragon Sword singing through the air like a beam of light. Elsa met him head-on, her kukri flashing, her body twisting and spinning in patterns that would have been beautiful if they weren't so deadly.
But the Dragon Sword was not a blade to be matched by mortal steel.
The first strike severed her right arm at the shoulder. The second took her left leg above the knee. The third—
She regenerated.
Reinhard watched in something approaching horror as the wounds sealed themselves, as flesh knitted and bones reformed. The Bowel Hunter's body repaired itself faster than he could damage it.
"How many times?" he demanded, his voice rising. "How many times must I cut you down before you stay dead?!"
"As many as it takes!" Elsa's voice emerged as a laugh, unhinged and glorious. "As many as it takes, Sword Saint! I will never stop! I will protect him until my dying breath, and then I will rise again and protect him some more!"
Protect him. Protect Pride. Protect the man who set the world ablaze.
The incongruity of it all struck Reinhard like a physical blow. Elsa Granhiert, the Bowel Hunter, the woman who killed for pleasure, who delighted in the suffering of others… and she was willing to die for a monster.
Why? Because she is a monster herself?
"Pride…" Reinhard's grip on the hilt tightened. "What did he do to earn such loyalty? What could he possibly offer that would make you willing to throw away your own life?"
Elsa's eyes softened. It was such an incongruous expression on her face that Reinhard almost missed it.
"He let me choose," she said with a bloody smile. "For the first time in my life, I chose my own path. And he honored that choice. He honored me."
She's speaking of him. She's praising him. The man who burned cities, who destroyed the kingdom, who killed innocents. She speaks of him as though he's a savior.
How could she not see the truth? How could she not understand the horror of what she was defending?
"You're not going to run," Reinhard said. It wasn't a question.
"No." Elsa's smile was peaceful. "I'm going to fight. And I'm going to die. And it will be beautiful."
"Such a waste." Reinhard spat the words out. Had anyone seen him now, they would never have believed it. But there was no one left to witness it, and little time left to care.
"We're all waste, Sword Saint. We're all trash, one way or another. The only difference is whether we choose what we're thrown away for."
For a moment, Reinhard didn't know what to say.
She's choosing this. She's choosing her end. She's choosing to believe in a monster because that monster believed in her.
One thought naturally led to another, from the dark-haired boy's resentment toward Reinhard's strength to the Kingdom in flames, and finally to his father, who, regardless of the skill he had once possessed as a knight, could never have survived a calamity of that scale.
In the end, Pride got what he wanted. He took everything he wanted. And I can't even save one lost soul from his influence.
Perhaps it was nothing more than an attempt to escape the guilt that had begun consuming him, but Reinhard nevertheless chose to speak with the murderer before him.
"You truly are a weapon of fate," Reinhard said coolly, his voice carrying neither triumph nor anger. His gaze rested upon Elsa, whose lips still carried a smile despite the certainty of death. "Even now... you can still laugh. Is it because you accepted your death long before this moment?"
"Laugh?" Elsa tilted her head, a genuine smile spreading across her features. "Oh, Sword Saint. I'm not laughing because I've accepted my death."
The kukri came up. The Dragon Sword swung down.
"——I'm laughing because I'm free."
And thus, Reinhard rasps a goodbye to Elsa who LAUGHS in his face.
"Goodbye, Bowel Hunter."
"Goodbye, Sword Saint. It's been a wonderful dance."
The Dragon Sword descended amid a mesmerizing chorus of blue light that shook the very foundations of the world.
The blade that had once slain dragons, that could cut through the fabric of fate itself, found its mark. It pierced Elsa's heart, her soul, her very existence. This time, there was no regeneration, no resurrection, no return.
The laughter stopped. Once and for all.
Elsa Granhiert, who had killed countless innocents and found joy in their suffering, was reduced to ash by the blue light.
Reinhard stared down at the ashes. The Dragon Sword Reid hummed in his grip, unsatisfied. She wasn’t the one the sword wanted to battle.
Still, it's over. She's dead.
But it didn't feel like victory.
It felt like failure.
Reinhard lifted his gaze from Elsa's body, scanning the burning cityscape. Smoke rose in thick pillars, blotting out the sky. The screams were dying down now, not because the people were saved, but because there were fewer people left to scream.
Pride. Where is Pride?
The dark-haired boy had fled. And Reinhard had been too busy fighting his deluded servant to stop him.
A fool. I'm a fool.
"So this is what it feels like to lose everything."
Even then, none of this was truly his.
The fire continued to spread.
But Pride had escaped.
And somewhere out there, he would finish his work.
The fire continued its feast.
I shall find you.
Reinhard swore, turning his gaze to the burning horizon.
His foot lifted from the scorched stone.
I shall find you, and I will end you.
The wind howled around him, carrying ash and embers like malevolent fireflies.
For the Kingdom. For the people you burned. For the loyalties you twisted.
His toes touched the ground, ready to launch.
"Please... someone..."
Reinhard froze.
"Anyone... please..."
His head turned, blue eyes scanning the inferno. Through the flames, through the collapsing buildings, he could see a family. A mother clutching two children, trapped beneath a fallen beam. Their faces were blackened with soot, their eyes wide with terror, their lungs filling with smoke.
They need help.
But Pride was getting away. Every second he delayed, the Archbishop of Sin would escape to continue his madness.
I must pursue. I must end this.
"Help us..."
The mother's hand reached through the flames, her fingers curling toward nothing.
Reinhard's jaw tightened. His duty as a knight. His duty as the Sword Saint. His duty to the kingdom.
Which duty matters more?
"Weren't you supposed to protect us?!"
The accusation came from somewhere to his left in the form of a man, his clothes burning, his face twisted with rage and despair.
"Weren't you the Sword Saint?! Weren't you supposed to save us?!"
Reinhard's throat constricted.
"What kind of Sword Saint are you?!"
Another voice. A woman, cradling a child in her arms.
"What kind of knight abandons people to die?!"
"Please... it hurts... it hurts so much..."
A child's voice. Small. Weak.
"Mommy... I can't breathe..."
"Please... anyone..."
A mother's voice. Desperate. Dying.
"Help... help us..."
Another voice. Another family. Another plea.
"Water... please... give us water..."
"Help... please... I don't want to die..."
"I can't see... I can't see anything..."
"Where are the knights?!”
"Please... please don't leave us..."
"I don't want to die... I don't want to die... I don't want to die alone..."
"Someone... anyone... please... please..."
The voices came from everywhere. From the burning buildings, from the collapsing streets, from the dying people scattered across the capital like broken dolls. The flames lit their faces. Mothers, fathers, children, elderly, all of them looking to him with eyes that demanded answers.
Answers he didn't have.
Answers he would never have.
The Dragon Sword hummed in its sheath, as if urging him forward, as if telling him that vengeance would be the better path.
But the voices…
"Please... please..."
"I can't... I can't breathe..."
"Help us... please help us..."
A child cried for their mother. A mother cried for their child. A husband cried for his wife. A wife cried for her husband.
And Reinhard stood in the heart of it all, paralyzed by the weight of a thousand pleas.
His gaze naturally turned toward the path Pride had taken. He let him escape. He chose to save the few instead of stopping the one who killed the many.
His friends.
The thought struck him like a blade to the chest.
Julius is dead.
Poisoned. Killed because he was an obstacle.
Ferris is gone.
Disappeared under unknown circumstances.
The rest of the knights most likely dead by the cult.
Slaughtered. Burned. Annihilated!
Reinhard's knees buckled.
He fell to the ground, his hands pressing against the scorched stone, his head hanging low. The fire crackled around him, the screams echoed in his ears, the smoke burned his lungs.
"How many times! Do you think I've tried to kill you!? How many times, tens and hundreds and thousands of times, do you think I've faced you!?"
Pride's words from before echoed in his skull.
There was no point in listening to lunatics. Monsters like the Bowel Hunter or the Archbishops were just that, monsters with no goal beyond the destruction of everything around them and the sick joy they took in it. They were a different kind of monster from him, a monster who was supposed to protect the kingdom.
He died thousands of times to bring me here.
A metaphor? Perhaps that was the horror of it. That was the tragedy. Pride had spent what must have felt like centuries orchestrating this, burning the kingdom, destroying the knights, killing his friends, all to make Reinhard suffer and achieve some twisted goal.
And Reinhard had never known.
What kind of monster... what kind of monster dedicates their entire existence to destroying someone else?
He raised his head. His eyes, usually so clear, so certain, were clouded with confusion.
The contradiction tore at him.
He did all of this... for what?
Reinhard forced himself to his feet. His legs shook. His hands trembled. His entire being felt... wrong. Broken. Like a sword that had been forged incorrectly, that would shatter at the first impact.
He stumbled forward, through the flames, through the smoke, through the dying. His eyes scanned the burning cityscape, searching for something that could make sense of this nightmare.
Where is he? Where is Pride?
He had to know. He had to understand why. Why all of this death. Why all of this suffering. Why—
Reinhard stopped.
Ahead of him, in the middle of a clearing ringed by flames, stood a figure.
Silver hair that caught the firelight like spun moonlight.
Amethyst eyes that held the weight of a thousand unshed tears.
White attire stained with ash and soot and something darker.
A half-elf stood alone, her hands at her sides, her shoulders trembling. Before her, crumpled on the ground, lay a body.
A body with dark hair.
A body with a hole in its chest, a hole that had been carved by ice.
Reinhard took a step forward. His voice came out as a rasp.
"Emilia-sama..."
She turned.
And Reinhard's heart shattered.
She was crying.
These were ugly tears. They came from a place so deep, so wounded, that there was no stopping them.
Her face was red. Her eyes were swollen. Her cheeks were streaked with tears that cut paths through the soot.
"Emilia-sama..."
"Who...?" Her voice cracked. "Who was he?"
Reinhard didn't understand. "What?"
"Who was he?!" She pointed at the body at her feet to the body of Pride. "He said he loved me! He said he burned the world for me! He said he wanted me to be the ruler! But I don't even know his name!"
"His name was Natsuki Subaru," Reinhard stared at the corpse.
“H-He… He said something similar…”
"He was the Sin Archbishop of Pride."
The words emerged flat and lifeless. His voice sounded distant, as though part of him remained unable to reconcile the man before him with the monster who had brought the Kingdom to ruin.
"Pride..." Emilia's laugh was hollow, broken. "Pride. He was proud of this? He was proud of burning cities and killing innocents and..." She looked down at her hands. "And making me do this..."
Her hands were covered in blood.
So, so much blood.
Reinhard stepped closer, his gaze falling to the body. Pride's face was peaceful, almost serene. His eyes were closed. His lips were curved into a small smile.
He died smiling.
He wanted this. He wanted to die at her hands.
Absentmindedly, Reinhard studied the wound. A single ice projectile, piercing through the chest, straight through the heart. Clean. Precise. Just as Lady Emilia's magic was known to be.
She didn't give him a chance to escape. She didn't give him a chance to use any tricks. She killed him instantly, without hesitation.
Reinhard's hands trembled. He was in such turmoil that he didn't even question why Pride hadn't attempted to escape. The inconsistency never registered with him.
"I couldn't defeat him in time," he whispered. "I couldn't catch him. I couldn't... I couldn't stop him."
Emilia looked at him, her tear-streaked face unreadable.
"But Lady Emilia did so swiftly. She ended him without him slithering his way out using some trick."
He looked at his own hands. The hands that had cut down Elsa, that had slaughtered cultists, that had failed to reach Pride in time.
"Truly," Reinhard said, his voice barely audible over the crackling flames, "I must be cursed."
Emilia blinked. "Cursed?"
The Sword Saint.
And yet, I couldn’t save the kingdom I swore to protect. I couldn’t save my friends. I couldn’t save the people who looked to me for protection.
He looked at the peaceful face of the man who had destroyed everything.
"I couldn’t even be the one to kill him."
Emilia was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, she knelt beside Pride's body.
"I don't understand him," she said softly. "I don't understand why he did this. I don't understand why he loved me. I don't understand why he wanted me to be happy when he knew... when he must have known..."
She reached out, her fingers trembling, and brushed a strand of dark hair from Pride's forehead.
"When he must have known that I would kill him for it."
"Perhaps," Reinhard said, "that was what he wanted."
Emilia's hand stilled. "What do you mean?"
"Consider the plan he laid out," Reinhard said, his voice gaining some strength. "He burned the kingdom. He destroyed my reputation. He eliminated the other candidates and their supporters. He created a crisis only you could resolve. The one who would slay the culprit behind it all... would be you."
Emilia's eyes widened.
"He wanted me to kill him. He wanted... he wanted to make me a hero."
Because he loved you.
"That's not..." Emilia shook her head. "That's not love. That's not... that's not what I wanted."
"Perhaps not. But it's what he believed."
Emilia looked down at Pride's body, her tears falling freely again.
"You fool," she whispered. "You absolute, utter fool."
Reinhard watched her, his heart aching with a sorrow he had never known.
"Emilia-sama," he intended to ask gently, but the words emerged as fractured as the man speaking them. "What will you do now?"
Emilia looked up at him, her amethyst eyes raw with grief.
"What can I do? The kingdom is in ruins. People are dying. The Royal Selection is a mess. I have to... I have to help. I have to fix this."
"Then you shall fix it," Reinhard said. "For the Kingdom. For the people who survived. For..."
For the knight I failed to be.
He didn't say it aloud. But Emilia seemed to understand.
"Reinhard," she said his name sadly, "what will you do with him?"
She gestured to Pride's body.
Reinhard's gaze fell upon the one responsible for it all. The Capital in flames. His comrades lying dead. The countless failures he had believed were his alone. Every one of them began and ended with the man standing before him.
The man who had died smiling because he had given his love one final gift.
"The flames," The Sword Saint decided. "We will let the flames take him."
Emilia nodded slowly. "And his legacy?"
"Whatever you decide," Reinhard said with finality. "If you choose to claim the victory over Pride, the people will believe it. They will celebrate you. They will make you queen."
Emilia was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, she shook her head.
"No," she denied. "I won't lie. I won't build my kingdom on a foundation of lies. I'll tell them the truth. I killed a man who surrendered. I didn't want any of this."
"The people may not understand."
"They don't have to understand. They just have to know."
She still chose the truth.
"Emilia-sama," Reinhard said, bowing his head, "you are the truest ruler this kingdom could ask for."
Emilia didn't respond. She just looked down at Pride's body, her tears falling silently onto his face.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."
And from somewhere in the burning city, the voices continued to cry for help, for mercy, for salvation, for someone to save them.
Reinhard heard them.
"What… what are you planning to do now?"
The question was directed at him. Emilia's amethyst eyes, still red from weeping, searched his face for answers he didn't have.
Reinhard didn't respond. His gaze remained fixed on Pride's body, now being consumed by the encroaching flames.
He died smiling.
The words repeated in his head.
"Wait… your sword is unsheathed?"
Emilia's voice cracked with sudden alarm.
Reinhard looked down at his hand. The Dragon Sword Reid gleamed in the firelight.
He should sheathe it. The battle was over. Pride was dead.
But his hand wouldn't move.
"……"
"R-Reinhard," Her voice shaking, Emilia stepping closer. "will you help me rebuild this kingdom?"
Rebuild. The kingdom. Him?
Reinhard's eyes finally lifted from Pride's body.
She was asking him, the Sword Saint who had failed everyone, to help her.
She doesn't understand. She doesn't know what I've done. What I failed to do.
"I'm afraid," Reinhard said, his voice hollow, "that I don't deserve such kindness."
"E-Eh?! W… Wait!"
Emilia reached for him, her fingers brushing against his sleeve. But before she could say another word…
Reinhard vanished.
.
.
.
.
.
The flames screamed past him as he moved.
Faster than he had ever moved before. Faster than thought, faster than time, faster than the agony that clawed at his heart.
He appeared in burning buildings, pulling families from collapsing structures. He appeared in crumbling streets, carrying children to safety. He appeared in the smoke-choked alleyways, lifting the elderly, the wounded, the dying.
Everywhere he went, there were people.
Everywhere he went, there were screams.
Everywhere he went, there were eyes.
Accusing, desperate, pleading.
"Weren't you supposed to protect us?!"
"What kind of Sword Saint are you?!"
"Please… please don't leave us…"
Save. Carry. Protect.
His mind burned with exhaustion, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. If he stopped, the guilt would consume him. If he stopped, the voices would drown him. If he stopped, then…
I would have to face what I've become.
So he moved. Faster. Faster. Faster.
Until dawn broke over the ruins of Lugunica.
.
.
.
.
.
Reinhard stood at the highest point of the capital, overlooking the devastation.
The sun rose behind him, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson. But the light only made the destruction more visible.
The collapsed buildings, the burned streets, the bodies that still lay where they had fallen.
I saved who I could. But I couldn't save everyone.
His hand tightened around the Dragon Sword Reid. The blade was still drawn, still unsheathed, gleaming with a light that seemed to mock him.
“…There is one thing I can still do.”
He turned his gaze westward, toward the distant mountains where the White Whale had been sighted.
The beast that had devoured countless lives.
One final duty.
Then...
Then he could finally rest.
Reinhard moved.
The distance between one point and another disappeared in an instant, a deafening sonic boom arriving only after the figure racing through the night sky had already become a blur beyond the limits of sight.
Not long afterward, what appeared before Reinhard was the White Whale itself.
For the briefest of moments, the Sword Saint could not remember why he had left the White Whale alive despite the suffering it had inflicted upon the world. The, he realized the truth.
His father, who had become depressed after his wife fell into a coma, had feared that Reinhard would one day share the same fate as Theresia, Reinhard’s grandmother.
The colossal Demon Beast drifted above the clouds as though it alone had become the sky, its enormous body still bearing wounds left behind by those who had challenged it before meeting their end.
Whoever they had been...
Reinhard silently prayed that they would finally be allowed to rest.
“…….”
There was no desire to test its strength.
That being the case, there was no reason to grant it even a single additional moment.
What flashed across the heavens was not merely a streak of blue light, but a slash that severed everything lying upon its path. The White Whale released its pale fog in a desperate attempt to erase the approaching Sword Saint from existence, yet before that mist could envelop him, the legendary blade had already divided both the fog and the monster that produced it, essentially splitting it in half.
Blood scattered across the night sky.
And yet, not a single drop reached Reinhard.
As though even the blood of the slain recognized that staining the Sword Saint would be an act of blasphemy, the crimson rain curved around him before falling toward the earth.
Only then did the White Whale begin to fall.
Its colossal corpse descended from the heavens like a collapsing mountain before striking the distant peaks with a thunderous impact that echoed throughout the valley. Shortly afterward, the dense fog that had imprisoned the world for centuries gradually began to disperse, as though reality itself had finally been permitted to breathe once more.
"——Huh?"
Together with the disappearing mist...
The memories returned.
"What did I...?"
Reinhard noticed it first as a subtle sense of wrongness, one that gradually gave way to clarity before finally becoming a flood of memories that had never truly disappeared, merely been buried beneath the White Whale's fog. Wilhelm. His grandfather. The hatred that had burned within those eyes. The accusation that had shattered the Astrea family. Heinkel. His father, who had long since buried himself beneath alcohol after Theresia's death.
Wilhelm. His grandfather. The hatred that had burned in those eyes. The accusation that had shattered their family. The grief that had turned Heinkel into a hollow shell of a man.
Father...
With it came the recollection of the expedition led by Crusch Karsten to subjugate the White Whale. The reason the Demon Beast had been wounded before Reinhard found it was because countless people had already risked their lives fighting it.
In this world, Wilhelm, and everyone else who had stood against the White Whale were erased from existence, leaving behind only Felix so that even his survival could be twisted into another tool.
The fog had not merely erased people. It had erased everything that had accompanied them, the grief, the resentment, the years of suffering, and the countless memories that should have remained. And now that the White Whale had fallen, all of it returned at once. The memory of Heinkel's distant gaze, of the alcohol that had replaced a father's affection, and of the silence that had settled over the Astrea household after Theresia's death came crashing back, sweeping away the comforting lie the White Whale had left behind.
He blamed me. He always blamed me. He simply couldn't remember why.
Standing atop the White Whale's corpse, Reinhard kept his eyes closed, his lips drawn into a thin, solemn line.
He thought of Grandfather. Of the words that had passed between them. Of the hatred that had never been resolved, because the erasure had stolen that too.
I should have been there. I should have saved him. I should have—
He turned back toward the capital, toward the ruins.
Then, he looked at the legendary sword in his grip.
The Dragon Sword Reid. The sword that chooses its opponents. The sword that was drawn against Pride because he was deemed worthy of its edge.
But it had also been drawn against Pride's servant.
That meant something. The sword's selection was not arbitrary. It had deemed Elsa worthy of being slain by its legendary blade because of the nearby presence of Pride.
And yet, I never got the chance to use it against him.
Pride was dead. Killed by Emilia.
Again, his gaze drifted to the Dragon Sword in his hand.
I used the fact that Pride was the candidate for its unsheathing. I forced the sword open. I used it to cut down Elsa, to protect myself from failing, to survive.
The Dragon Sword Reid.
The legendary blade said to sever all things.
This is probably the last time I shall wield you.
Reinhard raised the Dragon Sword above his head. The blade caught the morning light, blazing like a second sun.
If there truly existed nothing that blade could not cut...
Then perhaps it can cut through me.
One smooth motion followed another as Reinhard reversed his grip, the point of the Dragon Sword gradually coming to rest against his own chest.
Julius Juukulius.
Felix Argyle.
The countless knights who had entrusted their lives to the Sword Saint.
I failed.
The burning city.
The children whose cries had never reached him. The mothers who had continued searching through the flames until there was nothing left to search. The comrades who had fallen while believing Reinhard would arrive in time.
I failed them all.
Slowly, Reinhard closed his eyes.
"Forgive me," he whispered.
The Dragon Sword descended.
Its point pierced cloth.
Then flesh.
Then the [heart] that had carried every failure as though each had been his alone…
.
.
.
.
.
The very essence of his being was cleanly cut through.
Reinhard felt it.
The Severing.
The countless threads that had quietly accompanied him since birth, invisible yet ever-present, unraveled one after another. The blessings bestowed upon him by the world, the protection that had always answered before danger could arrive, and the unseen connection that had quietly supported the existence known as Reinhard van Astrea all disappeared beyond the edge of the Dragon Sword.
There was no pain.
It's over.
The burden that had accompanied him for as long as he could remember vanished together with those unseen bonds, leaving behind only a silence so profound that even Reinhard found himself unable to distinguish where his own consciousness ended and the surrounding darkness began.
Finally. I can rest.
It was warm.
Gentle.
Peaceful.
Perhaps...
This was what rest felt like.
Relinquishing even the final remnants of resistance, Reinhard quietly surrendered himself to the welcoming darkness.
.
.
.
.
.
~Ba dump~
Reinhard's eyes snapped open.
No.
~Ba dump~
He could feel it. The unmistakable rhythm of life. The beating of a heart that should have stopped.
~Ba dump~
No. No, no, no.
What spread before him was neither heaven nor earth, but an endless darkness without beginning or end. There was no Dragon Sword. No blood. No wound left upon his chest.
Alive.
"It... should be impossible."
His voice echoed through the emptiness.
One hand slowly rose toward his chest. The warmth spreading through his chest. The sensation he had believed would never return. The familiar, inescapable flame of life.
The Divine Protection of the Phoenix.. The blessing that returned its owner from death.
"...No."
Reinhard's hands began to tremble.
"NO! NO! NO!"
His voice broke, cracked, shattered into a thousand pieces.
He clawed at his chest, at the place where the wound had been, at the heart that refused to stop beating.
This body defied death.
He fell to his knees, his fists pounding against the void.
"There has to be..."
His voice trembled.
"There has to be a mistake."
One fist struck the empty darkness beneath him.
Then another.
Neither produced the slightest sound.
"I..."
The words caught within his throat.
"I don't..."
His breathing faltered.
"I don't want this anymore."
Let me die! Let me die! Let me die! Let me die! Let me die! Let me die! Let me die! Let me die! Let me die!
The phoenix flame burned brighter, warmer, more inescapable.
I don’t want to live! I don’t want to be the Sword Saint! I don’t want to be anything!
His body healed. His heart beat. His lungs filled with air he didn't want.
"PLEASE…"
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Please… just let me die…"
.
.
.
.
.
"DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH HE SUFFERED BECAUSE OF YOU?!"
The voice was not his own. It was ancient. Terrible. Full of rage and grief and something that might have been love.
Reinhard looked up.
Before him stood a presence. A woman? A being? Something that defied description. Shadows wrapped around her form, darker than the void itself. Her eyes gleamed with an intensity that could swallow worlds.
"I'm sorry…" Reinhard could only apologize, too lost to realize who was standing before him in this black void. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"
"DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE!"
The words erupted from her like a torrent of hatred. Reinhard flinched as the shadows around her writhed and twisted, forming grasping hands that reached for him.
"DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE!"
She wants me dead. She wants me dead as much as I want myself dead.
Reinhard couldn't help the bitter laugh that escaped his lips.
Finally. Someone who understands.
"DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE!"
The shadow hands descended upon him. They wrapped around his body, squeezing, crushing, destroying.
"I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!"
Reinhard could only kneel, his head bowed, accepting the hatred that washed over him like a tidal wave.
She's right. I deserve this. I deserve all of this.
"HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU TRY TO ESCAPE WHEN HE COULDN'T! WHEN HE DIED FOR HER! WHEN HE DIED OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER!"
Her form rippled with rage. The shadow hands tightened around him, plunging into his chest, seeking the source of his immortality.
"DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE!"
The hands grasped the essence of the phoenix. The Divine Protection that had kept him alive, that had brought him back from death, that had made him immortal.
The hands squeezed. Crushed. Snuffed out.
Reinhard felt the warmth fading, the flame dying, the protection crumbling to ash. He could easily overwhelm her if only he wished, but what was the point if both of them seek the same thing?
"DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE!"
The hands didn't stop. They ground the phoenix's essence into nothing, scattered its ashes across the void, ensured that it could never rise again.
Again. And again. And again.
Until it stopped.
The Divine Protection of the Phoenix was gone. Destroyed. Erased from existence.
Finally.
Reinhard felt his body growing cold. His heart slowing. His consciousness fading.
Finally, it's over.
The hatred in the voice began to fade. Her form rippled, as if confused by the sudden silence.
"Thank you…"
Reinhard's eyes, still open, still aware, looked up at her through the darkness.
"Thank you…"
The witch’s expression shifted, from rage, to confusion, to something that might have been understanding.
I wanted this. I wanted to die. I wanted to escape.
I’m a coward.
Reinhard smiled. It was the first smile in years that bore neither guilt nor regret.
Free of the pain that had crushed him.
"Thank you… for letting me die…"
.
.
.
.
.
The void swallowed him.
Reinhard felt his body dissolving, his consciousness fragmenting, his soul scattering into the emptiness.
I am nothing.
I am no one.
I am finally free.
His last thought was of his friends and his family
I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I'm sorry I couldn't be the knight everyone deserved.
I’m sorry for killing grandmother. I’m sorry for disappointing you all. I’m sorry for causing so much pain.
But his smile didn't fade.
I'm sorry I couldn't be the Sword Saint.
But I am no longer the Sword Saint.
I am no longer anything.
And for that…
I am grateful.
.
.
.
.
.
Thus ended the story of the Sword Saint, Reinhard van Astrea.
He who was born blessed, who died cursed, and who was finally freed.
He who chose to be nothing.
.
.
.
.
.
And thus began the story of another.