still just as pronounced as it had been back then. After the demons and the end of days, it was only natural that some people would seek refuge in death rather than endure a third such calamity. Elisabeth nodded deeply. The mob was making an understandable decision. An understandable, irredeemable, and utterly asinine decision. "Dullards, the lot of them. They think they can outmaneuver their foes without even understanding the basic situation they're in? Simply relinquishing something when told to hand it over is naught but folly and intellectual sloth. They can flee punishment for their crimes, aye, but all they will find is another brand of pain waiting just around the corner." "Oh, I agree wholeheartedly, my precious. Hope is a thing more brittle than glass. You only ever give it to people so you can crush it laterâ€”and oh, how sublime it is to watch that light fade from their eyes." Vlad smiled sweetly. Not only was his remark in poor taste, but it also applied to the wrong side of their particular conflict. Elisabeth decided to start ignoring him again, and as she did, she realized something. ...Hope, eh? 'Tis much the same arrangement as the Mixed-Race Massacre. How ironic. During the end of days, the devout killed those of mixed race in hopes that it would lead to their salvation, and now the stupid sheep were trying to offer up yet another sacrifice. It was an act with no creed behind it, no devotion. It was just an intense, desperate screamâ€”I don't want to die. I don't want to die So you should die instead You should die in my place Someone other than me should die. It was all so irrational it defied belief. However, fear of death was a powerful enough motivator to render morality impotent. Who could cast judgment on a man who pushed another off a raft to save himself? With the avengers preceding over the trial, however, there could only ever be one verdict. "Why's it wrong to do unto others as I had done unto me?" "...What a pain they all are. And how utterly vexing." Sighing yet again, Elisabeth leaned forward from the wall. Her black hair fluttered around her as she strode forward and made for the room's sole door. Vlad called out from behind her. "Oh my, you're leaving? When you haven't even been called for yet?" "Ha, 'tis odd in and of itself it would take them so long. 'Twould be faster if I simply went there myself, no?" "True enough. I can't say I don't have concerns about your ability to resolve things peacefully, mind you... Come now, my precious. Firing off stakes without so much as turning around? Why, if it wasn't me you were dealing with, you might well have killed someone there." A stake had appeared out of nowhere and come hurtling toward him, but Vlad snatched it out of the air with ease. He squeezed his slender fingers together. Cracks ran across the length of the hard stake, and it soon shattered and dissolved into crimson flower petals. Vlad grabbed one of them out of the air and raised it to his lips. Even without stopping or turning around, Elisabeth could tell full well what had happened. Still facing forward, she gave him a light wave. "Worry notâ€”I launched that with every intention of it being lethal. Go on and let it run you through for all I care." "Goodness gracious. Your brutality is beautiful enough to be worthy of admiration, but you really ought to tone down the rudeness. It makes me want to have words with your parents, but I suppose now that would just entail talking to myself... Oh, come now!" "Louisette." Elisabeth whirled back as though performing a pirouette. She then lashed out, launching a blade at him as though drawing a sword from its scabbard at point-blank range. Vlad blocked it with his palm, but even so, it gouged deep into his flesh and cast a magnificent spray of blood through the air. The Torture Princess had nearly cleaved his hand in two. Elisabeth gave Vlad a steely, crimson glare. "You're no father of mine. Hold your tongue unless you wish to see it sewn to your jawbone." The message was clearâ€”that would be his last warning. Vlad shrugged, rivulets of blood gushing from his hand as he casually plucked the blade out. His arm sagged lifelessly to his side. A few drops of blood had landed on his cheek, and he licked them off with great fervor. For some reason, his newly reddened lips were curled into a smile. However, it was different from his usual sinister smirk. It was the sort of expression a parent wore when admiring their child. Elisabeth scoffed, then set off once more. She strode quickly toward the door and reached for the handle. Behind her, Vlad spoke through a mouthful of blood. "Ta-ta. Oh, and do give my best to the Suffering Woman." Elisabeth opened the door, then headed into the hallway alone and slammed it shut behind her. She was off to see a proud, solitary woman who bore a heavy burden. Normally, the Suffering Woman was a term that referred to the Saint. However, the Saint wasn't in the World Tree at the moment. In fact, her current whereabouts were a mystery. After her chance encounter with the Mad King, she had gone missing. The current Church and reconstruction sect alike had devoted no small amount of effort toward trying to find her but had come up empty-handed time and again. As long as she wanted nothing to do with the world, finding her would be impossible. She may have long since lost the boundless fonts of mana that were God and Diablo, but that didn't change the fact that her magical prowess was as yet unequaled. As far as the world was concerned, though, her decision was a rather fortunate one. After all, there were no shortage of things she knew that could easily set off society's current powder keg. With the exception of the Church, most powerful mages shared the sentiment. She should go live somewhere else, and someday, she should die there. Just so long as it isn't here. As such, the "Suffering Woman" Vlad had referred to wasn't the Saint. But if she wasn't the Saint then who was she? Elisabeth headed deeper and deeper into the World Tree's interior. The farther down she went, the fewer people she passed by. Eventually, she made her way to the very bottom of a spiral-shaped stairwell and made her way to the left. She was told that the path before her had once been blocked by tough roots, but at the moment, it was wide open. A pair of guards, one human and one beastfolk, were standing watch by the entrance. Ever since the demi-humans' betrayal, they'd been excluded from such roles. Both guards were clearly exhausted, and Elisabeth's arrival caused them to become visibly alarmed. The eagle-headed soldier nervously spoke up. "Forgive me, Madam Elisabeth, but I don't believe we've called for you yet. Even as captain of our late Lady Valisisa Ula Forstlast's Peace Brigade, I'm afraid I cannot let you through." "'Tis taking too long, and I've grown weary of waiting. Stand down." "...I understand how you feel. However, there's a danger this could give rise to a serious interracial issue, so I must ask that youâ€”" "Oh, enough with the blathering. As I'm sure you're aware, we've long since passed that point." Elisabeth looked to the side, focusing her bloodred eyes on the beastfolk man. He gulped. Even with his tail curled up into a ball, though, he was clearly about to continue making his diligent plea. Elisabeth chose to beat him to the punch. "I shan't kill her." She knew, as did they, that her word would be sufficient for now. The time to carefully consider what to do with the prisoner they were guarding had long since passed them by. Now it was time to let the Torture Princess do her work. The two soldiers looked at each other, then silently stood aside. "Much obliged." With that, Elisabeth took off down the straight path. The entire corridor was made of unseasoned wood so white it threatened to throw her sense of time out of whack. Eventually, at its end, a boy wearing a scarlet outfit came into view. It was La Christoph's attendant. With his master now dead, he was serving in a similar function to the one he had before. Elisabeth stopped in front of him. He looked up at her, then abruptly spoke. "You...remind me of him." "Hmm? What's this now? Who is it I remind you of?" Elisabeth frowned at the sudden assertion. Those in the boy's role normally placed great value on silence, so she hadn't expected him to speak up like that. He continued on in a faltering murmur. "You remind me of the Mad King... So tense and so sad. My master... La Christoph was the same way. People who bear such burdens seem so sad, each and every one of them." After hoarsely inflecting the end of his statement, the boy went quiet again. Elisabeth wasn't sure how to respond. There were any number of truths she could offer him, but each one seemed a mistake to voice aloud. In the end, she decided to act as if she hadn't heard anything. As for the boy, it would seem that his comment had been nothing more than a slip of the tongue, likely from the shock of having lost his master. He stepped to the side without waiting for the Torture Princess's response. When he did, the door carved with the Three Kings of the Forest's coat of arms came into view. Elisabeth pressed her finger against its engraved surface. When she pushed, the door readily swung open. Just like the corridor, the room within was completely white. A heavy silence rose up to greet her. The Mad King's window had long since vanished, and the only furniture within was a modest bed. It was like a hospital or perhaps a prison. Atop the bed's clean sheets sat a thin woman. She must have been able to hear the door opening, but she sat motionlessly, her gaze fixed on the wall. She was staring at a single point, as if there was genuinely something there. Elisabeth spoke. "Now, I hear you've been adamant in your refusal to be questioned. I must ask, are you feeling all right?" Even she was surprised at how gentle her own voice came out. And the woman must have known that her question was free of sarcasm. However, that wasn't to say she didn't take it as a death sentence. She slowly turned around. Golden light burned in her reptilian eyes. "I have been much better, but I have also been much worse, Torture Princess." "Well, that's good to hear, Suffering Woman." Aguina Elephabred's wife? Thus began a meeting between two women both of whom bore terrible burdens and each of whom was held dear by an enemy of the world. 3 Those Who Loved The room was red. It was dyed all over with the color of fresh blood, and it was the kind of room that burrowed its way into your eyeballs and chipped away at your brain. A chessboard sat atop its plain desk. Of its pieces, several were wriggling and squirming in a most peculiar way. Not only was the horrible process of death and birth from before continuing to take place, several groups of pawns were also beginning to march. In the remote corners of the board, some of them were even rioting. However, there were also two pieces holding the board in check. Each belonged to a different side, and the two were standing face-to-face. Both were women. One's head was human; the other had the head of a lizard. Kaito