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The room remained quiet after the brief clash, but it was not the kind of silence that brought comfort. It was heavy, filled with tension that had yet to settle. Ewald Cristaldi stood still, his sword lowered slightly, not out of carelessness but caution. His eyes moved across the room again, slower this time, carefully observing everyone present.
He had already realized something important.
This was not a fight he could win.
That conclusion did not come from fear, but from experience. Ewald had faced countless opponents throughout his life. He had fought devils, fallen angels, rogue exorcists, and beings far beyond what ordinary humans could handle. He knew how to judge strength, and what he saw here was far beyond anything he had prepared for.
His gaze first settled on Valerie.
Earlier, he had almost killed her.
Almost.
At the time, he had relied on surprise and speed, taking advantage of the situation before she could react properly. But now, standing here with full awareness, he could clearly feel the power radiating from her. Even though she wasn't releasing it intentionally, it was enough for him to understand.
She was at least Ultimate-class.
If they had fought properly from the beginning, the result might have been very different.
His attention shifted to Mordred.
This time, his expression changed slightly.
Her presence was overwhelming, far more than Valerie's. It wasn't chaotic or uncontrolled. Instead, it was dense and heavy, like something that simply crushed everything beneath it. Even without trying, she exerted pressure that made it difficult to ignore her strength.
What unsettled him the most was the fact that she was not at full strength.
He could tell from the slight imbalance in her stance and the faint traces of injury that still lingered. And yet, even in this condition, she was stronger than him.
That wasn't speculation.
It was certainty.
If she chose to, she could destroy his Excalibur fragment without much effort.
The realization made his grip tighten.
Then his eyes moved again.
To Enkidu.
And for the first time since entering this house, Ewald felt something he rarely experienced.
Helplessness.
There was no hostility coming from Enkidu, no oppressive aura meant to intimidate. Instead, the presence felt calm, almost gentle, like standing before nature itself. It was balanced, controlled, and completely stable.
But that made it worse.
Because beneath that calm surface was power on an entirely different level.
God-class.
Ewald did not need confirmation. He knew it instinctively. If Enkidu chose to act seriously, there would be nothing left of him.
Finally, his gaze shifted to the man standing quietly behind.
Sebas.
And this time, his breath caught.
Unlike Enkidu's calm presence, this was something entirely different. It was not gentle. It was not controlled in a comforting way. It was overwhelming, destructive, like something that existed purely to erase everything in its path.
For a brief moment, Ewald felt as if he had seen something behind him—a massive dragon-like figure, flickering for an instant before disappearing.
But the feeling remained.
If Enkidu represented nature, then Sebas represented destruction itself.
Even comparing him to Sirzechs Lucifer did not feel like an exaggeration.
And then—
his eyes returned to Gilgamesh.
Gilgamesh stood calmly, showing no signs of tension, no concern, no need to prove anything. But the power Ewald felt from him made everything else seem insignificant.
The last time they had met, Gilgamesh had already been extraordinary. Even without a Sacred Gear, he had reached a level that most could never hope to achieve. He had defeated Vasco Strada at an age when others were still learning the basics.
Back then, he had been a prodigy.
Now—
he was something else entirely.
The difference was not small. It was overwhelming. Ewald could not measure it, could not compare it, could not even properly understand it.
And that was what frightened him the most.
His thoughts drifted back to the Church.
He remembered clearly the day Gabriel had introduced Gilgamesh. A Longinus wielder. A descendant of the King of Heroes. Someone who carried both divine and legendary blood.
The Church had been filled with excitement.
Hope.
Expectation.
They had believed he would become a pillar of their future.
And for a time, he had lived up to that belief.
Gilgamesh had grown at a rate that defied logic. In just a few months, he had reached the level of a high-class exorcist, surpassing people who had trained for years. He completed missions efficiently, often working alone, relying on no one but himself.
He was not distant.
But he was independent.
Even so, there had been connections.
Griselda Quarta had trained him personally, treating him almost like family. Xenovia Quarta and Irina Shidou had been close to him as well. There had been others too—people who had worked alongside him before everything changed.
And then—
he left.
The Church had been shaken by that decision. Even now, Ewald could not fully understand it. There had been disappointment, confusion, and perhaps even a sense of betrayal among those who had trusted him.
But none of that mattered anymore.
Because the reality in front of him was simple.
If he chose to fight—
he would die.
Not after a struggle.
Not after resistance.
Immediately.
Ewald exhaled slowly, accepting that truth.
Gilgamesh, meanwhile, shifted his attention slightly, his gaze falling not on Ewald himself, but on the sword in his hand.
"One of the Excalibur fragments," he said calmly.
There was no admiration in his tone.
Only disinterest.
"That thing doesn't deserve to be called Excalibur."
Ewald's grip tightened instinctively, but he did not interrupt.
Gilgamesh continued, his voice steady. "It's incomplete. Broken. A pale imitation of what it was meant to be."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"In my world, Excalibur is something far greater."
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"That?"
He glanced at the blade again.
"I could break it with my bare hands."
No one doubted him.
The statement wasn't arrogance.
It was fact.
The room fell silent again, but this time, it felt different.
More grounded.
More certain.
Behind him, a softer voice broke the tension.
"Thank you, Asia-chan."
Mordred spoke as Asia Argento finished healing her.
Asia smiled gently. "It's nothing."
The contrast was almost surreal. While Ewald stood there calculating his survival, they spoke casually, as if nothing significant had happened.
And perhaps, for them—
it hadn't.
Ewald lowered his sword slightly, not as a sign of surrender, but as an acknowledgment of reality.
This was not a battle.
It was a difference in existence.
And he had already lost before it began.