"Twelve, thirteen… phew!"
Subaru released the hand he'd been clenching and unclenching over and over.
"Subaru, what are you doing?"
"Looks like I can just barely control the Stillness now." Subaru rubbed his stomach, not quite understanding it.
After killing Regulus, the Witch Factor of Greed had flowed into his body, and things had grown a little more controllable—his limit was thirteen seconds. Because he'd already had the Stillness beforehand, it was quite a bit stronger than Regulus's five-second limit.
Compared to the several whole minutes he'd managed while pummeling Regulus, it was terribly short—but being able to control it at will made him feel much safer.
"Mm?"
In the other Dragon Carriage, Yimi looked down at Beatrice holding her hand, gave it a couple of light tugs without managing to pull free—and on top of that, Beatrice kept checking her over for any sign of a curse.
"Why aren't you sleeping anymore? Are you feeling unwell?" Beatrice asked.
Later, when they stopped a while because Subaru needed to relieve himself, Yimi got down from the carriage to stretch her legs too—and Beatrice still wouldn't let go of her hand.
"How come I've never once seen you use the toilet? Are you feeling unwell?"
When they reached the Sanctuary, Beatrice was still gripping her, refusing to let go.
"How come you haven't chewed any catnip today? Are you feeling unwell?"
Yimi turned her head to look at her. "I'm going to fight, Diego now."
"Oh." Beatrice held on all the same and wouldn't release her.
A place like the Sanctuary might have been built four hundred years ago to ward off the Warlock of Melancholy, but four hundred years had passed, and the essence of certain things had long since changed.
Because of the Sanctuary's barrier, the half-blood demi-humans within it could not leave. Even if someone hauled them out by force, only the flesh could be carried off; the soul would stay imprisoned inside.
Handed down over generations, cut off from the outside world for a full four hundred years, the place now held some who feared the world beyond—but far more who, unsurprisingly, wanted to break the Sanctuary open and walk out again.
And the only way to unlock the Sanctuary was the Trial laid down by its creator: Beatrice's mother, the Witch of Greed, Echidna.
That said, people of unmixed blood who had permission could come and go freely, so the Trial was open only to half-blood demi-humans, or to those she recognized. Anyone unqualified who forced their way in would take continuous harm—the stronger their magic, the graver the injury.
And so Roswaal, the Sanctuary's administrator, had come here and promptly been detained—told that until he freed the Sanctuary, he would not be allowed to leave.
"Lord Roswaal?"
"Yo."
In a certain room within the Sanctuary, Roswaal—swathed in bandages, lying in bed—greeted Rem and Ram. This was the price of forcing his way into the Trial.
Subaru had pictured countless versions of their reunion, but never once one in which the man was in such a sorry state.
He drew a deep breath and stepped forward. "You don't seem the least bit surprised we chased you all the way out here."
And then the very Roswaal he'd just described as "not the least bit surprised" stared at his face, his expression shifting ever so slightly.
"…"
You couldn't really blame him. Subaru had even tried scrubbing with the oil Otto had hauled over, and still couldn't get the face paint off—he honestly didn't know whether to praise its quality or curse it as shoddy.
And Roswaal, who normally liked to paint clownish makeup on his own face, felt a whole jumble of emotions inside.
It was true he'd wanted to mold Subaru into a worthy accomplice—but he'd never expected the results to be this extreme: the boy had not only started imitating his makeup, he'd painted it even bolder and wilder than the original.
Subaru had no idea what wild notions were running through the man's head, but knowing his fondness for clown makeup he could guess at a little—and, strangely, the sorry sight before him actually set his own mind more at ease.
But when he turned to sneak a glance at the little cat who most bolstered his nerve, he found her quietly tucked behind the door, only a single cat ear poking out as she eavesdropped.
The courage he'd built up over the journey nearly evaporated—but if he didn't dare pull the curtain back even while the man lay injured, would there ever be a better moment?
Subaru silently switched on his Stillness to steel himself. "Now's as good a time as any, with everyone here—shall we lay it all out in the open? Or would you rather the others step aside, and you talk to me alone?"
Roswaal regarded his face with keen interest. "Whatever do you~ mean?"
"I heard about you, you know—you're the Kingdom's Greatest Mage, aren't you? And yet it just so happens the Witch Cult came invading precisely while you were away. And more than once, at that…"
"I see. The Witch Cult attacked you, and on that basis alone you presume to brand me the mastermind behind it all?"
"That's…"
The more solid proof was that the man had killed him once before—but how was he supposed to say a thing like that?
"Barusu, that's terribly rude." Ram came over and tucked Roswaal's blanket in for him.
"Then how about the name 'Diego'—does hearing it stir anything in you?" Subaru watched Roswaal's reaction closely, even though he was, in truth, no good at reading faces.
Beyond a confusion that didn't look feigned, Roswaal betrayed nothing at all.
"Subaru."
Even Emilia, who'd only just made up with him, was a little puzzled. "We all know 'Diego' is just something Yimi made up. Little kids are always sure there's something under their bed, and so on, aren't they…"
"This is different, Emilia. I tested it out myself—this guy is no ordinary man."
The man's flat refusal to concede anything actually left Subaru a little rattled.
"Tested it out, you say?" Roswaal stroked his chin, thoughtful.
"Quit playing dumb, you. I already know—the truth is, you can keep swapping out your own body, can't you?"
"Oh?" Roswaal's expression shifted ever so slightly. "And where did you hear a thing like that?"
"Lord Roswaal?"
"Swap out his body?"
Beatrice, who'd been clutching Yimi's hand this whole time, suddenly stirred—towing Yimi along as she stepped inside, staring at him in disbelief. "Roswaal—you can't possibly be the Roswaal, can you?"
"Whatever are you talking about? I've always been Roswaal~, you know." Roswaal recovered his earlier smile and looked at Beatrice.
"That's not what I mean…"
Beatrice had always assumed the Roswaal she'd known had long since died of old age, and that the ones she'd met across the centuries were all his descendants…
Come to think of it, her mother had once researched a certain project—Soul Transcription, transferring the soul into another body to achieve the effect of undying life. But it had been a failed project.
"That's impossible—the matching of soul to flesh…"
"It's possible, though."
His secret laid bare, Roswaal no longer had any intention of keeping up the act.
"An ordinary unrelated body can't be matched to a soul, of course—but with a descendant of one's own bloodline, everything is different. You've dug up quite a lot, Mister Natsuki Subaru."
"You…" Beatrice bit down hard on her lip.
So it had been the first-generation Roswaal all along?
"So you really are Diego after all!"
"?"
So what in the world was Diego?