Chapter Text
Archive 1: "The White Crown of Gusteko"
Reinhard van Astrea stood within the palace, escorting Emilia-sama.
It was his natural place.
Behind him, stained-glass windows cast white light across the polished floor. Before him, advisors discussed logistical details regarding the upcoming summit. Everything seemed stable. Ordered. Correct.
Emilia-sama had risen as queen through her own merit.
Not through lineage.
Not through compassion.
But through achievements.
Kararagi had strengthened its ties thanks to her friendship with Anastasia-sama.
Even Vollachia—the eternal rival—had accepted dialogue under Vincent-sama’s mandate.
And now, Gusteko, a nation isolated for decades, had confirmed its attendance at the meeting in Priestella.
Priestella.
The city where they defeated the Witch Cult.
The city where names were devoured.
Reinhard felt a faint pressure in his chest.
The summit had been proposed a month ago by Emilia-sama. To take advantage of this era of apparent peace in order to consolidate agreements, strengthen relations, and prevent future wars.
It was a wise decision.
Everything seemed to be moving in the right direction.
Felt-sama was now working to improve the conditions of the slums.
Crusch-sama’s health had shown improvement after that mysterious visit.
His father had stopped drinking since his mother awakened.
Miracles chained one after another.
Worked by someone whose face and name were unknown.
No one knew their gender.
No one knew their origin.
But the results were there.
And yet…
Reinhard could not avoid feeling that something did not fit.
There was also another matter.
Pride.
When he met him, Reinhard felt he was telling the truth.
That rare and clear sensation.
But an Authority stands above any Divine Protection.
And the Dragon Sword…
Reinhard brushed the hilt.
“The sword considers him worthy… and a danger.”
That was why they detained him.
Three of the five candidates agreed to investigate him.
Crusch-sama’s faction sent Felix as her representative, due to her health condition.
Reinhard believed it was the correct course.
He wanted to believe it.
Months later, the prisoner escaped.
The guards died.
That was what the reports said.
That was what the kingdom accepted.
That was what he accepted.
And yet…
There was something strange.
Because when he met him…
He did not sense malice.
He sensed determination.
A sudden pain pierced his head.
It was not gradual.
It was as if something shattered.
Memories rushed in without order.
Julius.
His name devoured in Priestella.
The emptiness. The recovery. The joy.
Reinhard smiled at the memory.
And then—
Horror.
Because alongside that memory, another emerged.
One that should not exist.
A kneeling figure.
A reckless smile.
A voice that promised to save everyone, even when he could not save himself.
“Subaru…”
The whisper barely escaped his lips.
Natsuki Subaru.
The name that had been devoured.
The name that returned.
And with it…
Guilt.
Because if he now remembered him clearly…
If he could now reconstruct every moment…
Then it meant that, at some point, he had accepted forgetting.
And that possibility…
Was more terrifying than any enemy.
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Priestella had transformed.
The city of water, once marked by invisible scars, now looked like a stage prepared for a historic rite.
For the first time since the founding of the four great nations, their leaders would be present in the same place.
Not representatives. Not emissaries. Themselves.
And the city celebrated it as if it were a spring festival.
The canals were covered in colored ribbons stretching from bridge to bridge. Floating lanterns descended gently onto the water, swaying with the current like small stars trapped upon the surface. Boats adorned with bright fabrics traveled the aquatic passages while musicians played lively melodies with flutes and lutes.
The aroma of freshly baked bread, caramelized fruit, and spiced meat filled the air. Merchants offered commemorative souvenirs of the summit: small emblems bearing the intertwined symbols of the four nations.
Children ran laughing with imperial, royal, and mercantile banners waving in their hands, not fully understanding the weight of the moment.
Elders commented that they had never imagined witnessing something like this in their lifetime.
Guards of different nationalities patrolled in studied harmony. Their differing armors reflected the evening light as if competing in brilliance.
The city that once feared its destruction now offered itself as a symbol of unity.
As if attempting to prove to the world that it could be remembered for something other than tragedy.
While celebration reigned outside, inside the palace the atmosphere was different.
The silence was not diplomatic.
It was accusatory.
Vincent Vollachia occupied his seat without leaning back. Straight. Unmovable. At his side, Medium observed with a mixture of disbelief and discontent. Behind them, the imperial retinue remained firm: Priscilla Barielle with her sharp smile, Aldebaran in apparent indifference, Flop serene, Arakiya motionless.
And Cecilus Segmunt.
He was not smiling. He radiated no enthusiasm.
His gaze was fixed forward, as if analyzing an invisible battlefield. His hand rested near his sword—not in threat… but out of habit. That was enough to tighten the air.
From Kararagi’s side, Anastasia Hoshin held her closed fan. Ricardo, the triplets, and Halibel escorted her. The beastman did not smile.
He had fought alongside Natsuki Subaru during the great calamity.
He had seen his clumsiness.
He had seen his stubbornness.
He had seen his absurd way of winning battles he could not win.
If they accused him without proof…
He hoped Anastasia was not too deeply involved.
Finally, Lugunica’s retinue.
Reinhard van Astrea did not shine.
His clear eyes were dim.
Julius Juukulius kept silent with a rigidity unlike himself. Garfiel clenched his teeth. Otto avoided meeting anyone’s gaze.
And at the center—
Emilia.
She was not alone.
At her side, Puck slept within the collar… but awake at all times.
Beatrice stood with her arms crossed, rigid.
Emilia kept her gaze forward.
But she did not seem to see anyone.
Vincent was the first to speak.
“Well.”
His voice was not raised.
“Do you have nothing to say, Queen of Lugunica?”
The word queen was not honorific.
Emilia took a moment before answering.
Her amethyst eyes were dim. The dark circles beneath them, subtle yet inevitable, revealed sleepless nights.
When she spoke, her voice was steady.
“What happened to Subaru… was the responsibility of my kingdom.”
A faint movement ran through the room.
It was not the answer they expected.
Priscilla tilted her head, amused.
“How interesting. Now that you remember the achievements were not yours, you choose to assume blame. Is it redemption or simple shame?”
The temperature dropped slightly.
Puck emerged, floating before Emilia. His blue eyes lacked warmth.
“I suggest you moderate your words.”
Cecilus did not move.
But his gaze sharpened.
That was enough to make the air heavier.
“Puck!” Emilia’s voice cut through the tension.
It was not a shout. It was authority.
“Do not intervene.”
The great spirit looked at her, surprised.
“But Emilia, they are—”
“Telling the truth.”
Emilia lowered her gaze for a second.
“Subaru was treated as an archbishop. He was detained. He was accused without conclusive proof. And at that time… I accepted that decision.”
There were no excuses. She did not blame the council. She did not blame the chaos of the moment.
Vincent observed her without blinking.
“In Vollachia,” he said at last, “merit receives reward. And incompetence receives punishment. Natsuki Subaru obtained achievements that benefited my nation. In return, he was humiliated by yours.”
There was no anger in his tone.
“Explain to me, Queen. What reward has he received for his feats?”
No one answered.
Because the answer was obvious.
None.
Anastasia decided to intervene.
“It was a joint decision to detain him as a suspect. I will not deny my part in that. But the formal sentence… and the falsification of documents… came from the authorities of Lugunica two years ago. It is worth noting that Emilia-sama, Crusch, and I were not notified of that.”
Reinhard lowered his head.
“My blessings indicated he was telling the truth. I failed to convince everyone. It is my responsibility.”
“I am not interested in lamentations,” Vincent replied without looking at him. “I am interested in results.”
Medium clenched her fists.
“How could you suspect Subaru-chin? It was obvious he was the one fixing everything!”
Otto stepped forward.
“The knights responsible for the interrogation have been arrested. Sentenced to death.”
“Only them?” Priscilla asked disdainfully. “And the council that gave the order?”
Julius tightened his jaw.
Al spoke before him.
“My brother was innocent. And you needed a culprit.”
The word brother fell heavily.
Emilia closed her eyes for a moment.
She remembered.
Now she remembered everything.
Subaru’s desperation.
His insistence.
His gaze when no one believed him.
That memory was worse than any external accusation.
“The council will answer,” she said at last. “I will not allow this to go unpunished.”
Vincent showed no approval.
“It is not enough.”
The sentence was soft.
“Natsuki Subaru is recognized in Vollachia as a hero. Thanks to him, the treaty between our nations was signed. If the nation that produced him treated him like garbage, that treaty lacks foundation.”
Anastasia intervened cautiously.
“With all due respect, Emperor, I doubt Natsuki-san would wish his name to cause a rupture between countries. He always acted for peace.”
“Peace is not charity,” Vincent replied. “It is balance. If one side fails to recognize the value of its own heroes, it demonstrates structural weakness.”
Beatrice clenched her fists.
Since Subaru’s name returned, she had searched for him without rest. With every reserve of mana. With every possible connection.
Nothing.
“I am not interested in your political structures, I suppose,” she said with a trembling voice. “The only important thing is to find him. We do not know in what state he may be. After what you did to him…”
She stopped.
Because she remembered.
She remembered as well.
The miasma. The suspicion. The rejection.
Silence spread.
Even Vincent remained quiet for a second.
Flop spoke gently.
“We will search for him in Vollachia. And I doubt the Emperor will not do the same. But the trust between our nations…”
Otto inhaled deeply.
“We understand our guilt. But breaking the treaty will affect millions. Would we not be betraying Natsuki-san’s legacy?”
Vincent looked at him directly for the first time.
The eyes he had trained to avoid showing emotion contained fury.
“Nonsense, Prime Minister,” he replied. “After all—”
And at that moment, the doors of the hall began to open.
Everyone turned toward the entrance.
Two figures crossed the threshold first.
Their garments were thick, ceremonial, covered in Gusteko’s distinctive embroidery. There was no doubt of their origin. Murmurs immediately arose in the chamber.
And died at once.
It was not because of them.
It was because of the presence walking behind them.
Reinhard. Cecilus. Halibel.
The three turned their heads at the same time.
By instinct.
The air changed.
It was not explosive pressure. It was something finer. Sharper. Like an invisible blade resting against the throat.
“The Mad Prince of Gusteko…” Reinhard murmured.
Adgard Vague.
The man advanced with a crooked smile, enjoying the weight of every gaze. His eyes scanned the room as if counting potential enemies.
But he did not speak.
He stopped.
And stepped aside.
Yielding the center.
The knight leading the delegation advanced. Her armor was sober, her posture impeccable.
Her voice did not tremble.
“We present before this summit our king. Sovereign of our beloved nation.”
Another step echoed across the marble.
He was not alone.
At each side walked two women whose beauty did not seem to belong to the human world.
Julius understood before anyone else; because of his Divine Protection, he could tell.
“Great spirits…” he whispered.
Halibel’s eyes widened.
“It cannot be… Zarestia.”
The woman whose hair moved like contained wind did not smile.
The other was different.
Hair black as moonless night. Blue eyes, deep and cold. Skin pale, almost translucent.
The power emanating from her was not turbulent—if anything, it was contained.
Puck spoke first, almost without realizing.
“Odglass…”
The name fell like a stone into a still lake.
But even that revelation was small.
Because then—
He stepped forward.
Silence fell like a slab of stone.
Hair white as snow.
Longer than before.
Tied back in a low tail.
His bangs partially covered one of his eyes, evoking an image Emilia recognized immediately.
Natsumi Schwarz.
His eyes were not hazel.
They were black.
Not dark.
Black. Bottomless. Without reflection.
His skin was pale. Not from illness. Not from fragility.
But as if time had torn something away from him.
He wore a kimono in shades of white, blue, and green. Embroidered flowers traced the fabric with a delicacy that contrasted with the tension in the room. A black obi tightened at his waist.
At its center, seven yellow stars.
His build was slender.
If someone did not know him, they would doubt his gender.
But everyone knew him.
Or believed they did.
The knight raised her voice.
Each title was pronounced with ceremonial precision.
“Hero who defeated the White Whale.”
The air grew heavier.
“The one who sealed the Great Rabbit.”
Garfiel released the breath he did not know he was holding.
“Executor of the Black Serpent.”
Anastasia closed her fan.
“Hero of Priestella.”
Reinhard felt the weight of memory.
“Hero of Vollachia.”
Vincent did not look away.
“Executor of the Archbishops of Sloth, Wrath, Lust, and Gluttony.”
Julius clenched his fists.
“Architect of the fall of Greed.”
Priscilla curved a smile.
“Contractor of the great wind spirit, Zarestia-sama.”
Zarestia did not react.
“Contractor of the great spirit, protector of the Sacred Lands of Gusteko, Odglass-sama.”
Odglass did not react either.
“Anointed by the spirits.”
A pause.
Long enough for Emilia’s heart to pound violently.
“And King of Gusteko.”
The white-haired man slowly raised his gaze.
His black eyes swept across the room.
There was no hatred. No visible resentment.
“Natsuki Subaru.”