Chapter 86: Emilia Wants to Do Something Big (Patreon)

Morning came to the royal capital. After days of intense crackdowns, the streets had long since lost their old bustle — only a scattering of guards patrolled, their figures thin against the quiet.

The bomber incidents of the past two days had been horrifying enough that every merchant in the commercial district now lived in fear — worried on one hand that they'd be suspected as Witch Cult spies, and on the other that they'd be caught in the blast radius of some real Witch Cult fanatic's self-destruction.

In a luxurious inn within that same commercial district, Roswaal — who had come to the royal capital as Emilia's declared supporter — had kept himself shut away ever since checking in. Aside from his one appearance at the throne hall a few days prior, he hadn't left his room once, leaving people to wonder just what this Margrave who'd endorsed a half-elf candidate was really planning.

In truth, he was simply watching — quietly observing which direction fate would drift now that it had slipped free of the Gospel's guidance.

Now that he'd stopped trying to force destiny down the path the Gospel had recorded, Roswaal found himself feeling remarkably lighter.

He honestly couldn't say whether the arrival of that fate-shredding "Dragon of Finality" was a blessing or a curse. But one thing was certain — with that power's help, he was closer than ever to the wish he'd carried for four hundred years.

Roswaal had heard from Russell that Emilia had already made contact with the Six Tongues. That was quite the surprise. He'd originally written to Russell hoping the man would lend Natsuki Subaru some support, yet somehow it was Emilia who'd shown up instead. When had that innocent, gentle half-elf girl developed this kind of nerve?

Perhaps this, too, was one of Subaru's ripples on fate.

In Roswaal's original plan, Emilia would have needed to pass the trial of the Sin Archbishop of Sloth at minimum before she could muster the resolve and courage to survive the Sanctuary's trials. But now, before the Archbishop had even shown up, Emilia had gone and confronted the Witch Cult directly, laying out the stakes herself. Taking the initiative — how about that.

All he could say was: progress looked promising.

He didn't even need to push things along behind the scenes anymore. In four hundred years of scheming toward his wish, this was the first time Roswaal had ever tasted the particular thrill of slacking off and winning anyway.

If things naturally turned out well without him lifting a finger, why bother gilding the lily? In four hundred years of laying his plans, Roswaal had learned one lesson well: the more you do, the more mistakes you make.

Since that was so, better to spare himself the trouble and simply wait. If there was one thing Roswaal never lacked, it was time.

He looked down at his Gospel — the one that now showed him nothing at all — and closed it, a complicated smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Buddy, why didn't you show up sooner? If you'd come four hundred years earlier, maybe this world wouldn't have so many headaches to deal with.

Buddy, why didn't you show up sooner? Four hundred years earlier, and maybe this world wouldn't be such a mess!

Just as he sat down at his desk to think through his next move, Ram knocked lightly at the door and reported:

"Lord Roswaal, Lady Emilia wishes to see you."

"Oh?"

A light flickered in Roswaal's eyes.

"Please ask her to wait just a moment. I have so, so much I'd like to discuss with Lady Emilia!"

Emilia stood alone by the window, morning light filtering through the mist and settling over her signature silver hair, refracting into an almost unreal, icy sheen.

Her hands were folded over her chest, her expression calm. Those eyes that had once carried a trace of confusion and unease now looked like a pool of frozen water — carrying, at last, the bearing of someone born to stand above others.

"Lady Emilia, paying a visit so early in the morning — now that really is a surprise—"

Accompanied by that odd, comical voice with its distinctive drawl, Roswaal L Mathers pushed open the door and stepped out.

Though he'd taken Subaru's advice and stopped playing the clown in the style of the Melancholy Demon, four hundred years of habitual speech patterns weren't something he could shake so easily.

"Roswaal." Emilia nodded solemnly in greeting. "I want to know about the Witch Cult. Everything."

At that, the smile at the corner of Roswaal's mouth faltered slightly, a sharp, unreadable cunning flashing in his eyes. He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and let out an exaggerated, hollow laugh.

"Ohh my, the Witch Cult? That pack of lunatics squirming in the dark like rats in a sewer? Whatever could have Lady Emilia suddenly so curious about them—?"

"Don't play dumb, Lord Roswaal. The Witch Cult has already reached into the royal capital, and I trust you know that better than anyone."

Emilia cut off his mock-innocent question and went straight to the point.

"Even I, in these few days at the royal capital, have uncovered a great deal about the Witch Cult together with Mr. Russell. And I have a feeling... that my past is tied to them in ways that can't be cut."

"Mr. Roswaal, Puck told me you know far more than I ever imagined. As my nominal supporter, I need your help."

Roswaal's exaggerated expression settled. He walked over to the desk, his long fingers tapping a rhythmic beat against its surface.

"The Witch Cult... a pack of zealots devoted entirely to the will of the Witch of Envy."

"They act with no logic whatsoever — the functional share of their brains devoted to reason is appallingly low. Their entire code of conduct for a lifetime is written in what they call the Gospel."

Roswaal said this without a shred of mercy, as if he himself hadn't spent the last four hundred years being exactly the sort of person with an "appallingly low functional brain share."

"My guess is that for nearly a century now, their goal has been to find the Witch's Vessel, hoping to resurrect the Witch of Envy who fell four hundred years ago."

"And you, Lady Emilia — with that silver hair and half-elf appearance identical to the Witch of Envy's — are, in their eyes, the perfect vessel. It's recorded in their Gospel as well."

"The Witch's Vessel..."

Emilia repeated the phrase under her breath, her fingers unconsciously tightening around the hem of her cloak.

Just then, the green crystal at her chest gave off a faint glow, and a cat-shaped spirit drifted lightly out of it, settling onto her shoulder.

"Lia, Roswaal isn't lying this time."

Puck rubbed his face with a paw pad, his tone unusually serious.

"Those Witch Cult people are unreasoning lunatics, every one of them. And... about your past, about the Sanctuary — there are things I can't tell you fully because of the contract, but I can give you some hints."

"The Sanctuary?" Emilia turned to look at Puck.

"It's the burial ground of the Witch of Greed, Echidna. A hidden place wrapped in a barrier, sheltering a great many mixed-blood demi-humans."

Puck sighed, exchanging a somewhat helpless glance with Roswaal, a flicker of conflict in his eyes.

"Lia, part of your memory has been sealed. If you want to reclaim it, the only way is through the Sanctuary's trial. That was also Roswaal's original reason for supporting you in the first place, wasn't it? That old pervert over there who likes playing clown."

"Correct," Roswaal admitted without hesitation. "From the very start, my goal was to use Lady Emilia's power to break the Sanctuary's seal. But now, the man's already given up playing the clown — Lord Puck, must you keep clinging to that old title? It rather breaks my heart—"

"But I'd wager your goal hasn't changed one bit, has it? Whether you want to bring back the Witch of Greed isn't my concern, but I have to say — you're just as annoying as ever."

Puck glared at him irritably.

"No wonder Betty can't stand you. If the Forbidden Library weren't anchored by Echidna to your mansion, she'd have packed up and left ages ago. Then again — she has left now, hasn't she."

Mentioning his sister who'd finally let go of her obsession, Puck wore a faint, satisfied smirk, as if to say: mocking you, still stuck on the past, aren't you? Go find yourself some dusty corner and self-destruct with that old book of yours already.

"Look at Beatrice. Facing this new situation, she's already carved out a new path, laid out new strategies for herself. And here you are, you damp little clown, still drowning in the past — not even noticing the feelings right in front of your own nose."

Puck glanced quietly toward Ram, standing by the door. He'd always known full well what feelings the little maid from the oni race had developed for Roswaal after being taken in by him — something like the reverence one has for a father, but clearly trending toward something deeper.

As for Roswaal — the old fool remained utterly blind to the girl's feelings, his mind full of nothing but Echidna, never once considering that he himself now had Emilia, and Beatrice now had Natsuki Subaru — everyone had found new purpose, everyone had a bright future ahead. Only Roswaal was left behind.

All of them had once served Echidna — so why was he the only one still so hopelessly obsessed?

The thought only deepened Puck's disdain for Roswaal.

At this, Roswaal looked utterly innocent. Faced with the contempt in Puck's eyes, an expression of baffled astonishment crossed his handsome, clown-paint-free face, and he spread his hands in protest.

"Ohh my, now that's unfair. Look how much I've changed! Not only have I washed off the makeup, I've given up scheming too. For the sake of Lady Emilia, whom I support, I'm doing everything I possibly can!"

"See — I've even given up the Gospel. What more do you want from me?"

Clearly, Puck didn't believe a word of Roswaal's nonsense. Even if he'd stopped playing the clown, old habits died hard, and who knew what scheme the man might be cooking up next.

Roswaal only smiled and said nothing. Puck made a "big brother's watching you" gesture, baring his teeth in a small threat, then turned to Emilia with a word of caution.

"Lia, my daughter — before you head to the Sanctuary, I want you to be prepared. Some things might be better left buried... but whatever you decide, I'll respect it."

"The Sanctuary, huh..."

Emilia closed her eyes.

Countless broken fragments seemed to flash through her mind — endless snow, a fallen woman, a weeping man, and a blurred, small figure. Those memories were hidden behind a thick fog, and every time she tried to see clearly, a needle-sharp pain shot through her head.

But this time, she didn't flinch. She didn't even furrow her brow.

"Roswaal."

Emilia opened her eyes.

"Let's work together. Truly together."

"Oh—? Together?" Roswaal raised an eyebrow, as if the word struck him as oddly novel. "Lady Emilia, weren't we already allies?"

"No. Before, it was only me depending on you one-sidedly, while you saw me as nothing more than a puppet to prop up on the throne. Am I wrong?"

Emilia tore away the veil of warm pretense without mercy, her gaze sharp as an unsheathed ice blade, cutting straight to Roswaal's heart.

"This time, our cooperation will be equal. I'll use your strength and your information to reach out to the Witch Cult. In exchange, I'll do as you hope — I'll go to the Sanctuary and break the barrier, and even... become the role your plan needs me to be."

Roswaal watched Emilia in silence.

In that moment, in the girl he'd always thought of as a hothouse flower, he glimpsed something close to a mad, unshakable resolve.

It was like watching a witch in the act of awakening.

"Ha ha... ha ha ha ha!"

Roswaal burst into sudden laughter, laughing so hard tears welled at the corners of his eyes. As he laughed, he drew a thick, black-covered book from inside his coat — plain in appearance, yet exuding a nauseating stench of Witch's miasma.

"How utterly delightful! An outcome I never could have imagined. Very well then... let me see the measure of you, Lady Emilia."

As he spoke, he tossed the book carelessly onto the desk, his tone carrying a self-mocking contempt, yet also a kind of liberated delight.

"This is my Gospel — like those of the Witch Cult, an inferior copy of Echidna's Book of Wisdom, though mine is a somewhat more refined version. In theory, this book records the fate of this world — past, present, and future — all of it contained within these pages."

"Heh. At least, that's what I believed, right up until your beloved appeared. Now the thread of fate has been shattered, drifting into unpredictable chaos. This book holds no value for me anymore. But to those Witch Cult fanatics, it remains a sacred, supreme relic."

"Take it. With that alongside your silver hair and half-elf appearance, there's no way those Witch Cult zealots could ever doubt who you are."

Emilia looked at the Gospel on the desk. Without so much as a moment's hesitation, she reached out her pale hand and seized it firmly.

Puck watched the whole scene unfold. His mouth opened once, but in the end all he managed was a helpless sigh before he quietly retreated back into the crystal.

He knew Lia had made her choice.

And that choice would push her onto a road thick with thorns and darkness.

But since it was Emilia's own choice to make, Puck — as her "father" — had no right to interfere. He knew he could never keep her wrapped in swaddling clothes forever, a baby to be protected for life.

The only thing left for him to do, in the days ahead, was to become the sharpest claw he could be, clearing away whatever obstacles lay in her path.

"Thank you, Roswaal."

Emilia tucked the Gospel into her cloak and turned to walk out the door.

"You're welcome, Lady Emilia—"

Roswaal bowed slightly behind her, retreating into the shadow cast by the bookshelf. His smile looked strangely eerie in the darkness, yet also carried a lightness he'd never felt before.

"Have... a pleasant journey."