...
{3rd Pov}
Garfiel's hands twisted and morphed into feral beast claws, each finger tipped with razor-sharp nails as he drove his fist forward with unrelenting force.
When his strike collided against Kurgan's counterattack, the impact rang out like steel clashing against steel, sending rippling shockwaves through the air.
Each exchange between the two warriors was brutal, raw, and violent enough that the ground beneath them quivered as if it could barely withstand the pressure of their blows.
Sparks of energy and displaced wind bursts spread outward with every collision, making it clear that their battle was one fought not only with strength but also with sheer fucking will.
The others, unwilling to hesitate for even a second, quickly set their sights on their chosen enemies. Julius, stepping forward with calm confidence and sharp precision, launched an attack directly at the Sin Archbishop of Lust.
However, his target responded imdiately, her body twisting and reshaping in a disturbing, unnatural manner.
In an instant, she transford into a monstrous beast-like figure—her legs replaced by vicious talons capable of tearing through stone, her upper body growing two enormous, powerful arms, and vast wings erupting from her back.
With that grotesque form, she evaded his initial strike with chanical swiftness, her movents as unnerving as they were efficient.
As Julius and Lust began their deadly clash, the others also engaged without delay, each already having determined their opponents beforehand.
Emilia, standing resolute with her icy determination, confronted the Sin Archbishop of Wrath directly.
She had not forgotten the nature of Wrath's Authority, nor the devastating influence it could exert on her mind and body.
Though she knew she could not completely resist the effect of that overwhelming power, she had prepared for the encounter.
Emilia believed that if her opponent's concentration could be disrupted, even for brief monts, she would be able to withstand the Authority just as she had managed in their previous confrontation.
(A/N: No wonder she is so stupid)
That was where Felt ca in.
The fiery and quick-thinking Royal Candidate had taken up the critical role of distraction, working seamlessly in tandem with Emilia.
Together, the two ford a deliberate partnership, their teamwork designed not to defeat Wrath instantly but to keep her contained and restrained long enough to exploit openings.
Their coordination was sharp and calculated, showing the trust both candidates had in each other despite their differences.
Elsewhere on the battlefield, Wilhelm, the veteran swordsman whose experience in combat was nearly unmatched, had already crossed blades with an enemy who clearly specialized in swordsmanship.
This opponent, clad in the uniform of a Witch Cultist, moved with expert precision, eting Wilhelm strike for strike in a deadly duel.
The eerie part was that the true identity of this so-called corpse soldier remained entirely hidden beneath the cultist's robes.
Their movents carried the weight of a seasoned warrior, soone who had trained and fought endlessly, yet their face and na remained obscured, leaving only their skill as proof of their existence.
With every swing of their weapons, sparks scattered through the air as the clash between the master swordsman and the mysterious enemy grew more and more intense.
Ricardo and Aldebaran, standing shoulder to shoulder, turned their attention toward the twin threats that were the two Sin Archbishops of Gluttony.
Without wasting ti, they charged forward and initiated battle, steel clashing against the overwhelming hunger-fueled power of their foes.
At the sa ti, Crusch and Felix, moving with coordination born from years of trust and experience, confronted the Sin Archbishop of Greed directly.
Their target radiated an aura of suffocating arrogance despite being reduced to a corpse solder, and both of them knew they had to strike together to withstand his overwhelming presence.
anwhile, Heinkel, ard with nothing but the weight of his family na and the Dragon Sword's sheath, and Priscilla, proud and unflinching as always, advanced straight toward the embodint of Pride.
Zero, watching the battlefield unfold before him, could not help but feel a twisted sense of amusent at the arrangent.
To his eyes, this distribution of fighters seed peculiar, almost comically mismatched, and certainly not the kind of line-up that conventional strategy would have produced. It was as though none of them were properly suited to their opponents.
Yet, despite how unusual and illogical it appeared, there was no denying that the arrangent worked.
Each group pressed their enemies with persistence, determination, and strength.
For all its irregularity, the lineup forced the Archbishops to remain occupied and under pressure.
As Heinkel, posturing in Reinhardt's place, and Priscilla, radiating her haughty aura, ca to a stop in front of their chosen enemy, another figure entered the stage.
Gloria, wearing her wicked confidence like armor, stepped forward to et them.
A malicious grin spread across her face as she raised her voice.
"Amuse , mongrels!" she declared with theatrical delight.
The effect of her words was imdiate and terrifying. In the blink of an eye, the entire atmosphere shifted.
The air grew heavier, suffused with tension so thick it was difficult to breathe.
High above, the skies rippled with golden distortions, as though reality itself had been pierced.
First, only a few shimring rings appeared, but soon dozens filled the heavens, and then hundreds, each one glowing ominously.
Their sudden manifestation stole the attention of everyone on the battlefield, forcing even the fiercest fighters to montarily struggle between fending off their own opponents and watching this new threat that lood overhead.
But neither Heinkel nor Priscilla were fools.
They weren't about to stand idly by and allow their opponent to complete so grand spell or unleash unchecked destruction.
Priscilla, her movents radiating supre confidence, imdiately summoned her Yang Sword.
With a precise, powerful swing, she cut through the air toward Gloria, flas of scorching brilliance trailing in the weapon's path.
Gloria only smirked in response, her expression mocking, and in the very next second her body blurred.
She moved with frightening speed, blitzing backwards in a flash, leaving nothing but empty space where she had been standing.
Priscilla's blade cut deeply into the air, striking nothing, its power wasted on emptiness.
At the sa ti, Heinkel made his move.
With all his strength, he swung the indestructible Dragon Sword's sheath directly toward Zero, aiming to crush him with sheer force.
However, his attack did not land as he expected. Before his strike could connect, another figure intercepted him.
Frill stepped forward casually and, to his shock, raised her weapon—or rather, what she called a weapon.
The clash rang out, but instead of the satisfying impact of steel against steel, Heinkel was t with resistance that shouldn't have existed.
His eyes widened in disbelief as he registered what stood in his way. Frill was holding nothing more than a simple wooden stick.
It wasn't even a refined weapon or anything resembling proper equipnt.
It looked like an ordinary branch torn straight off a random tree, raw and unshaped.
Yet impossibly, that pitiful branch held firm under the crushing force of his attack.
The sheath of the Dragon Sword was fad for its indestructible might, its weight and strength capable of smashing through anything in its path.
And yet, this makeshift weapon—this ridiculous, fragile-looking branch—had stopped it completely.
Even worse, Frill did not rely block his strike.
With a deliberate motion, she pushed back against him, and to his disbelief, Heinkel felt himself being forced a step backward.
The power behind her casual push was enough to unsettle him.
The impossible had just happened before his eyes, and the sight left him rattled more than he cared to admit.
"What is with that ridiculous sword stick?!" Heinkel shouted in frustration, his voice trembling with both anger and disbelief.
At this mont, he still wore the guise of Reinhardt, the Sword Saint, but his reaction betrayed his slipping composure.
His eyes were locked on the black-haired girl standing before him, her strange yellow-green eyes gleaming unnaturally, pupils narrowed into sharp catlike slits that seed to pierce directly into him.
Frill, the girl in question, didn't flinch at his outburst. Instead, she t his gaze with unnerving calmness, her expression unreadable, as though his disbelief didn't matter in the slightest.
When she finally spoke, her words carried an unshakable certainty, as though they were absolute truth rather than re claims.
"I am the Sword God," she said with composure, her tone steady and unwavering.
"I decide what a sword is. Anything that my hands touch becos the mightiest sword."
The audacity of her declaration hit Heinkel like a slap in the face.
His eyes widened in outrage at the absurdity, and his teeth ground together audibly as he spat back.
"That is complete bullshit, and you know it!" he barked, his voice thick with anger.
Frill, however, remained utterly unfazed.
Instead of answering his insult, she simply tilted her head slightly to the side, her sharp gaze narrowing as she studied him with unnerving curiosity.
Then, in a soft but pointed tone, she asked, "Why does your voice sound… so aged?"
That single question cut through his disguise like a blade.
Heinkel froze in place for the briefest mont, his confidence faltering.
A flicker of panic crossed his face, and a pale shade washed over his features.
He scrambled to regain control of the situation, forcing his words out loudly in a desperate attempt to draw her attention away from the suspicion she had voiced.
"I am the Sword Saint!" Heinkel declared, trying to sound authoritative despite his cracking composure.
"Reinhardt van Astrea! And I challenge you to a duel!" His announcent carried volu, but anyone watching closely could see it for what it truly was—an obvious attempt to divert her focus, a clumsy effort to hide the truth by doubling down on his act.
Frill's expression did not change.
She regarded him coolly, her eyes boring into him as though she could see straight through every layer of his disguise.
Then, in a voice as calm as still water, she answered, "A duel, you say? Then unsheathe your sword."
At those words, Heinkel's body stiffened.
His eyes narrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin line.
The demand was simple, but it struck directly at his weakest point.
He knew full well he could not comply.
The Dragon Sword Reid was no ordinary blade.
It was a weapon that chose its master and refused to be wielded by anyone it deed unworthy and to be used on soone which it deed unworthy as well.
The sword itself had a will, one that could almost be called temperantal, and in his hands it was nothing more than a ceremonial relic.
He could swing the sheath with all his strength, but he could never unsheathe the blade.
Not now. Not ever.
The truth gnawed at him in silence.
The Dragon Sword was, at best, a mockery of power in his grasp, a tool to pretend with, never a true weapon of his own.
To reveal this would destroy his facade, so instead, Heinkel refused to answer.
He clenched his jaw tightly and chose action over words.
With a frustrated growl, he lunged forward, drawing the indestructible dragon sheath in a wide, forceful arc.
Even if he could not wield the blade itself, the sheath was still unbreakable, still capable of serving as a devastating weapon in its own right.
Frill did not move an inch.
Her stance remained casual, her grip on the ordinary wooden stick completely steady.
As Heinkel's attack ca crashing down with imnse force, she raised the branch almost lazily and t his strike head-on.
To his utter disbelief, the stick not only stopped his swing but deflected it with effortless precision.
Her arms did not even shake from the impact.
Every follow-up attack he unleashed, fueled by frustration and the desire to prove her wrong, was swatted aside in the sa casual manner.
The clash of the indestructible dragon sheath against what looked like nothing more than a random branch from a tree should have been laughable.
Yet, reality mocked him.
Each ti he struck, she deflected.
Each ti he pressed forward, she denied him without even stepping back.
And through it all, Frill's expression remained calm, composed, and dismissive, as though she were barely paying attention to his desperate attempts.
anwhile, Gloria threw back her head and laughed, a sound full of malice and theatrical cruelty. "Dance for , mongrels!" she shouted, her voice echoing across the battlefield.
In an instant, she launched an array of weapons ford entirely from radiant, crackling light.
While these constructs were not technically moving at the speed of light, their velocity was still astonishing, fast enough to force everyone on the field to imdiately halt their own attacks and scramble to evade them.
The sudden onslaught created a chaotic atmosphere, forcing allies and enemies alike to dodge with split-second timing.
Yet, these weapons were indiscriminate, showing no distinction between friend or foe, striking anyone in their path except for two individuals—Pride and Frill.
For reasons that could only be described as extraordinary, the trajectories of the luminous weapons bent mid-air to avoid them entirely.
The precision of the magic seed almost conscious, leaving them unhard while those around them scrambled to avoid the barrage.
Regulus, standing stoically in the middle of the fray, remained completely unhard.
His Authority of Stillness rendered him immune to the sudden assault, a perfect demonstration of the defensive power at his disposal.
Wrath and Gluttony, reacting swiftly, managed to dodge the deadly beams of light with agility born of instinct and experience.
Lust, however, was not so fortunate.
Several of the weapons pierced her flesh, impaling her in multiple places.
Though the attack was nowhere near fatal, it severely hampered her mobility, leaving her struggling to maintain balance and movent under the barrage.
Julius, spotting the opening Gloria's attack had created, seized the opportunity without hesitation. With a swift movent, he called upon his most powerful long-range technique.
"Al Clauzeria!" he shouted, his voice carrying both command and authority across the battlefield.
The mont he spoke, his sword beca instantly imbued with the combined energy of his six quasi-spirits, each of them channeling elental power.
A brilliant, shimring rainbow hue enveloped his blade, and he released it in a concentrated energy attack that carried the destructive force of all six elents at once.
The attack struck Lust while she was still in her beast form, a smaller and less terrifying version compared to the massive Dragon she could beco.
The energy impacted her body directly, and the rainbow light cascaded over her in a blinding explosion of power.
The intensity of the attack was enough to completely vaporize her, leaving no trace behind—at least, that was what it seed at first.
"Julius! Way to go!" Subaru cheered loudly, his voice full of relief and admiration.
Behind the cheers, however, there was a thod to their task.
Subaru and Beatrice had been assigned the crucial role of detecting weaknesses in their opponents and signaling when and how others could exploit those vulnerabilities.
At this level of battle, Subaru's own combat skills were insufficient to directly engage the powerful enemies, but his strategic role and sharp observation were invaluable.
Beside him, Beatrice acted as both his shield and weapon, ready to defend him or attack at his command, maintaining the delicate balance of safety and offense required in the heat of battle.
However, the montary celebration was cut brutally short.
Lust's body, which had been obliterated re seconds before, began to regenerate from almost nothing.
The sheer speed and intensity of the regeneration was terrifying.
As the flesh and form reconstituted, she did not return to her smaller beast form.
Instead, she grew exponentially, her body enlarging until it dwarfed all of the combatants on the battlefield.
The transformation was both rapid and horrifying, as she took on the form of a massive, nacing dragon.
Her scales shimred with a deep purple hue, and every movent exuded raw, destructive power.
Without a second's hesitation, she opened her mouth and unleashed a torrent of black flas, an inferno capable of consuming everything in its path.
The sheer intensity of the attack radiated a heat and darkness that forced everyone nearby to brace themselves against the destructive force of her dragon form.
"Everyone, dodge!" Subaru shouted urgently, his voice cutting through the chaos as the battlefield erupted once again in violent movent.
The Sin Archbishop's dragon flas were monstrously destructive, their heat radiating even from several ters away.
The sheer intensity of the inferno was enough to singe skin and scorch clothing, forcing even the most confident fighters into imdiate evasive action.
Proud as she was, Priscilla found herself forced to leap to the side, narrowly avoiding the devastating flas that roared past her.
Heinkel, still disguised as Reinhardt, cursed under his breath, the sound rough with disbelief.
"The fuck is this?!" he shouted, his voice tinged with both anger and the unmistakable edge of fear, as he scrambled to maintain control over his own movents.
As Lust's attack finally subsided, leaving a scorched mark on the battlefield in its wake, Subaru quickly swept his gaze over his allies.
Relief washed over him montarily as he confird that none of them had been directly hard by the searing black flas.
His chest rose and fell in a heavy breath, the tension of the past monts finally easing just enough for him to think clearly.
But there was no ti to linger in relief.
Subaru's eyes imdiately shifted toward the towering purple dragon Lust had transford into, her size and presence alone dominating the battlefield.
From there, his gaze moved to the other Sin Archbishops and the Witch Cultists scattered around the field, each of them poised and ready for carnage.
The grim realization hit him like a physical blow—there was no denying it anymore.
They were utterly outmatched.
The Sin Archbishops' strength was overwhelming.
Their power far exceeded anything Subaru and the others could reasonably hope to contend with, and to make matters worse, the advantage of numbers was nonexistent.
They were sowhat outnumbered, and even surviving under such conditions required near-perfect coordination, skill, and a bit of luck.
To think of actually defeating these enemies under such circumstances seed almost impossible, a distant and hopeless goal.
Pride, observing Subaru's expression of dawning despair, let out a low, mocking chuckle. It was a sound that carried both amusent and a cruel sense of superiority.
At his signal—or perhaps simply by the force of his will—all of the Sin Archbishops instantly froze mid-action, their maniacal movents halting in unison.
It was clear to anyone paying attention that they possessed no independent will of their own.
Pride was in full control, manipulating them like puppets through so unseen technique, whether it was a corpse technique or so other thod that bound them entirely to his authority.
"Have you realized your place?" Zero's voice rang out, sharp and commanding, cutting through the chaotic silence like a blade.
"Do you now understand how futile your resistance truly is?"
Subaru, however, did not hesitate, nor did he allow fear to dominate his response.
His voice rang out, loud and full of defiance, carrying both anger and determination.
"Shut up! If it weren't for your overpowered Authority, what are you? I bet you're just a pathetic weakling who is nothing without that Authority of yours!"
(A/N: LMAO)
The force and boldness of Subaru's words sent shockwaves across the battlefield.
Eyes turned toward him in disbelief, allies and enemies alike taken aback by the sheer audacity of his statent.
Emilia's voice pierced the tension, sharp and trembling with worry."Subaru!" she shouted, panic threading her tone.
Her mind raced in alarm, realizing the danger he had just placed himself in.
Had he lost his mind?
Pride was more than capable of ending him in an instant.
A single snap of his fingers could kill Subaru from where he stood.
Their carefully crafted plan had been to divert Pride's attention, to buy ti and create openings—but provoking him so directly could unravel everything, turning strategy into sheer catastrophe.
Subaru's defiance, however, was deliberate, fueled by courage, desperation, and the unyielding resolve that had carried him through countless deaths before.
But even he could feel the weight of the risk he had taken, the precarious line between daring and foolhardy, as the Sin Archbishop's eyes—or perhaps Pride's controlling presence—fixed squarely upon him.
Pride's lips curled into a cruel, calculating grin as he surveyed the group, his golden eyes glinting with amusent and malice.
"How ironic, Natsuki Subaru," he said, his voice sharp and deliberate, carrying the weight of absolute authority.
"You are, in fact, correct. Without my Authorities, I am indeed a weakling. But consider this… so are all of you. What are you without your magic? Without the physical prowess you rely upon? Without your Divine Protections? Without the legendary weapons you so proudly wield? Without those crutches, without those artificial aids, what are you truly?"
He paused, letting the question linger in the air, forcing them to reflect on their own vulnerabilities.
"In reality, you are all even weaker than I am, stripped of your powers, because your strength has always been borrowed. Mine is the power of the Witch Authorities, but yours… yours is nothing without the tools you depend on."
His words struck like a blow to the chest of every combatant present.
The weight of his argunt, the cold logic behind it, pressed on their minds.
For a mont, doubt and unease flickered across their faces, the kind of unease that gnawed at one's confidence in the midst of a battle where every second counted.
Julius, however, was not one to be cowed by verbal intimidation. His blue eyes blazed with determination, and he stepped forward slightly, his voice ringing with righteous defiance.
"We didn't acquire our abilities by re chance!" Julius retorted, his tone firm and unwavering.
"We trained relentlessly to reach the strength we possess today. Every drop of sweat, every wound, every sleepless night was a step toward what we are now. Unlike you Sin Archbishops, who rely entirely on the power of the Witch Authorities, we earned our strength through toil, perseverance, and determination!"
His words resonated deeply with his allies.
Approving glances flicked between them, brief nods of agreent passing silently through the group.
Subaru felt a spark of pride at their unspoken acknowledgnt, and Emilia's eyes shone with determination as she drew strength from the shared resolve of their team.
For a mont, it seed that Julius's declaration had created a small ripple of confidence amidst the looming despair.
Pride, however, responded not with anger, but with a deep, mirthless laugh that echoed across the battlefield, carrying a tone both mocking and threatening.
The sound was joined by the quiet, sinister laughter of Gloria and Frill, who seed to find Julius's words simultaneously amusing and naïve.
Gloria's smirk widened as she leaned slightly forward, her voice dripping with derision.
"Is that serious, mongrel?" she taunted.
"Do you really believe your strength will an anything in a world where there is no magic? Or if all of your Divine Protections were stripped away? Do you truly believe that your precious training, your so-called power, would allow you to survive in a situation where none of it exists?"
Her laughter lingered, sharp and cutting, as though it were ant to pierce every shred of confidence Julius had just tried to rally.
Frill, standing silently beside her, added her own quiet but devastating observation, her tone calm yet carrying an unshakeable weight of experience.
"Indeed," she said, her eyes fixed on the group as she nodded slightly, acknowledging the truth of her own words.
"They do not realize how heavily borrowed their power is. The strength they so proudly display, the abilities they cling to, all of it is borrowed from external sources. And such borrowed power, no matter how potent it may seem, always fails when it matters most."
Her gaze flickered montarily, and for a brief instant, the mory of her own past struggles surfaced.
She had faced the Great Rabbit, the embodint of chaos and overwhelming power, and despite being the strongest, she had ultimately failed to resolve the threat due to her power being borrowed.
The bitter lesson of that experience was etched into her expression, and now she saw the sa vulnerability mirrored in these counterparts of their world.
anwhile, the others on the battlefield were struggling to fully comprehend the aning behind Pride and his subordinates' words.
A world without magic?
What kind of nonsense was that?
Even for those who were naturally unable to use magic, Mana was an essential component of existence itself.
It was the very foundation that allowed humans and other beings to achieve feats far beyond ordinary limits, feats that would be otherwise impossible.
Superhuman strength, speed, and abilities—all of these were tied intrinsically to the presence of Mana and divine protections.
To suggest a world without such forces was, to them, almost incomprehensible.
For those who had lived entirely within the confines of one familiar world, the concept of a realm entirely devoid of magic and Divine Protections was absurd, bordering on fantasy.
Yet, for Alderban and Subaru, who had co from entirely different worlds or atleast had the knowledge of it, the statent struck a chord of uneasy recognition.
A thought began to form in their minds, tentative but growing stronger with each passing second.
Could it be that Pride—like them—originated from another world?
It was a possibility that made sense, one that began to solidify in their hearts.
After all, Subaru himself possessed a singular, reality-defying ability: the power to return to the past upon dying, a secret he had kept hidden from almost everyone.
Alderban too had his own unique abilities that defied conventional understanding.
In that context, it was not difficult to imagine that Pride might also wield an extraordinarily broken and abnormal power, one that could explain his seemingly impossible feats.
Priscilla, however, was less concerned with philosophical speculation and more focused on the absurdity of the statent itself.
Her eyes narrowed, and she snorted in disbelief, her tone sharp and cutting.
"I do not like the nonsense you are speaking," she said, her voice dripping with scorn.
"Are you so utterly foolish as to claim a world without magic could exist? Even across the countless dinsions, magic is always present. What kind of pathetic, weak excuse is that? All you're doing is disguising your weakness and trying to distract us with aningless words."
Her words struck a chord with those around her, making most of the others pause and reconsider Pride's claims.
Yet Subaru and Alderban perceived sothing deeper, a far more nuanced and accurate understanding of the true aning hidden behind the words of Pride's subordinate.
Where others heard only bravado and bluster, they understood perhaps Pride had more to his identity than it seed on surface.
anwhile, Garfiel's attention was entirely focused on a different target: the corpse soldier of Kurgan.
His eyes blazed with fury as he gritted his teeth, his voice roaring across the battlefield like a feral beast.
"Indeed! Trying to confuse my amazing self, are you? You bastards!" he shouted, each word carrying the weight of his raw anger and unyielding determination.
"I am going to smash you to pulp and take my revenge for Mimi!"
"Oh? Revenge, is it?" Pride said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned back slightly in his seat, his posture casual yet exuding authority and nace.
"I see… that girl was hard by one of my corpse soldiers, though he acted without my orders at the ti. Still, it amuses that you seek revenge. Such determination… such blind loyalty. Look at us now, and tell —do you truly believe you have the strength to achieve revenge? Do you think you can possibly accomplish what you aim for?"
He spread his arms slowly, as if to encompass everyone present, his calm deanor belying the overwhelming power he radiated.
Priscilla, her eyes narrowing in fury and determination, swung her sword with lethal precision and threw it directly toward Pride.
The blade cut through the air with incredible speed, moving so fast that it seed to break the sound barrier, leaving a trail of sharp energy in its wake.
Everyone on the battlefield tensed, bracing for the impact, when suddenly, in a display that shocked all onlookers, Gloria calmly raised her hand and stopped the sword mid-air with nothing more than the tips of her two fingers.
Pride remained entirely shielded behind her, completely unhard.
The sheer audacity and precision of the act left everyone montarily speechless.
Then, with deliberate and almost casual movents, Gloria grabbed the sword's hilt and tested her grip, turning it over in her hands as if weighing its potential.
A small, approving smile played across her lips as she finally spoke aloud.
"Not bad… I will use this sword from now onwards," she declared, her voice calm but carrying an unyielding authority that demanded attention.
Alderban's eyes widened, disbelief coloring his tone as he muttered aloud, unable to hide his astonishnt.
"Impossible… How can she wield the Yang Sword… unless she is from the Royal Family?" The observation was not lost on anyone.
Even Priscilla, who was normally composed and haughty, montarily displayed a rare expression of surprise, her usual confidence shaken by the revelation.
Priscilla's gaze lingered on Gloria, her eyes narrowing as a mixture of recognition and revulsion crossed her face.
"Now that I see her clearly… this vermin truly has the sa charisma as I do," she said, her voice tight with conflicted emotion.
Her aura, unmistakably radiant and powerful, emanated the essence of the Sun itself, a signature that left no doubt in her mind.
For a brief mont, it seed she was evaluating Gloria, asuring her similarity to herself with sothing approaching shock.
Then, her expression twisted into pure disdain, her voice dripping with contempt.
"To think… soone so similar to could end up a vermin."
Heinkel, still disguised as Reinhardt, stepped forward cautiously.
Inside his mind, he was cursing and questioning where the real Reinhardt might be, and when the legendary Sword Saint would finally intervene.
Despite the uncertainty, he made a calculated decision: he would risk drawing Pride's attention.
By doing so, he hoped his allies could exploit the distraction and separate the Sin Archbishops, allowing them to be taken down one by one.
Summoning all the authority and resolve he could muster, Heinkel gripped the hilt of his weapon and spoke, his voice carrying both determination and defiance.
"I… Reinhardt van Astrea, will vanquish you, Pride…" He pulled at the hilt with force, attempting to draw the Dragon Sword.
Yet, true to its sentient nature, the blade refused to respond.
It remained sheathed, ignoring his command entirely.
Heinkel grinned, a mix of frustration and dark amusent crossing his features.
"How amusing… the sword considers you all unworthy of being wielded," he muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing in determination despite the setback.
Pride, in response, tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes glinting from beneath the shadow of his hood.
The smirk on his face widened, the faintest shimr of amusent reflecting in the depths of his gaze, as though he found the entire situation highly entertaining.
"Really? Does it consider… her unworthy as well?"
Zero muttered under his breath, his voice tight with tension as he pointed toward the mysterious corpse soldier.
She was the only enemy whose identity remained a complete mystery to them, her entire body obscured beneath the full robes of the Witch Cult, covering her from head to toe.
Every movent she made had been deliberate, precise, and unsettlingly chanical, offering no clues about her true nature.
Wilhelm, hearing Pride's words, felt an imdiate, cold dread settle in his chest.
He had already harbored suspicions about the identity of the figure beneath the robes.
From the mont she had displayed a command of Astrea swordsmanship so precise it could only belong to soone highly trained in their family's style, he had sensed a familiar aura.
Under different circumstances, with more ti and less urgency, Wilhelm would have investigated imdiately, determined to uncover the truth.
But the pressing danger and the ongoing plan—designed to keep the Sin Archbishops occupied—had forced him to delay.
Now, however, the weight of possibility pressed down on him like a physical blow.
Without warning, the corpse soldier lifted her mask in one chanical, deliberate motion. Her hands moved with precision, as if every gesture had been rehearsed a thousand tis, and then, in one dramatic flourish, she threw the mask away.
The motion was theatrical, almost mocking, and the revelation that followed hit everyone present with staggering force.
The figure beneath the robes was unmistakable.
As the mask clattered to the ground, her identity beca horrifyingly clear.
Wilhelm's eyes narrowed sharply, his jaw tightening as shock and disbelief coursed through him.
Heinkel, still disguised as Reinhardt, mirrored the sa reaction, his body trembling as he struggled to process the revelation.
Their hearts pounded in unison, fear and horror intertwining with disbelief.
Even among the other combatants, there was a mont of stunned silence.
So of them, noticing subtle similarities in the figure's features—the hair, the eyes, the way she carried herself—began to form tentative conclusions.
Whispers spread through the group as realization crept into their minds.
"Theresia!" Wilhelm finally shouted, his voice cracking with emotion.
The single word carried the full weight of recognition, clearing all doubts at once.
The na reverberated across the battlefield, sending a shiver through everyone present, even those who did not fully understand the connection before.
"Mother!" Heinkel cried out, his tone raw with anger, disbelief, and horror.
His emotions were unrestrained, breaking through the façade of Reinhardt's persona.
There could be no doubt—this corpse soldier was intimately familiar to both of them, soone whose very presence stirred the deepest corners of their hearts with fear and grief.
The figure before them had striking red hair that shone even under the dim battlefield light.
Her eyes, an icy and emotionless blue, t theirs without a hint of recognition or emotion, yet the truth was undeniable.
There was no mistaking it—this was the wife of Wilhelm Van Astrea, the mother of Heinkel, and the grandmother of Reinhardt.
The revelation landed like a hamr blow.
Every muscle in their bodies tensed, their minds racing to comprehend the impossible reality.
Shock, grief, and horror mingled together, leaving them montarily paralyzed.
For Wilhelm and Heinkel, the world had narrowed to the impossibly familiar figure standing before them, her presence a nightmare brought to life.
The gravity of the situation weighed on everyone present.
The implications of what they had just discovered were unfathomable.
The revelation had shaken them to their very core, leaving an indelible mark on their resolve, their hearts, and the course of the battle that lay ahead.
To be continued...
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