equal measure! Why is it, then, that you cling so steadfastly to your connection with it?!" "No, no... Iâ€”I, you see. I, believed, in God. Believe, in God. Believed, really, reeeeally hard. But ever, since, my legs, were blessed with, these holy wounds, my memories, have, been really, spotty, you see? But, you see. There was someone, who believed, even if salvation wasn't coming. He, I meanâ€”heâ€”" Suddenly, the saint's voice began to tremble. For once, she was whining in a manner befitting a girl her age. Large tears glistened in her eyes. Elisabeth was struck silent. The vast majority of saints had had all but the barest of human emotions stripped from them, but the girl before her was crying in unmistakable grief. "He said it, right through to the end. That God was with him. He said that God was with him!" "...Wait, you know of La Christoph's final moments?" "I do! Iâ€” We, we all do! We're all, the same. We all believe in God, and we all love God, so, so, so why? Why would you take Him away?" The girl shouted as she cried. However, her expression itself never changed. The tears merely streamed down her cheeks. She was heartbroken, just as anyone would be if someone they loved was on the verge of being killed. Whether she wanted to or not, Elisabeth could tell. Compared to the Torture Princess, who was fighting for a brand of justice disconnected from any worldly desires, the girl's stance was almost more respectable. She had faith in God, belief in her compatriots, and sorrow for those she'd lost. In fact, she probably didn't even care. She didn't even care that her prayers were going unheard. She didn't care that God was just a name they'd affixed to an utterly alien entity. She's driven by a simple love of God, so explaining to her that God is unnecessary will never get through. It was as a child loved their parent or as a parent loved their child or as anyone would rail against having someone they needed ripped from their bosom. And because of that, Elisabeth spoke. "See, I can scarce think of anything further beneath my interest." For to her, that was something that didn't matter in the slightest. Nothing in the world was wrong or mistaken anymore. After all, justice, righteousness, and goodness had all been lost. For instance, how could anyone truly come up with answers? Was the mixed-race people's hatred just? Was the beastfolk's fury just? Was the demi-humans' desperate struggle just? If you asked any of them why they did what they did, they'd all give you the same answer. It was the only choice we had. But that wasn't true, now was it? They could have always choked back their hatred and fury. And they could have always just shut up and let themselves be killed. But they rejected that tragedy. Instead of staying silent, they reached for swords. They refused to let themselves fall victim to tyranny. They chose to fight for something. And once that choice was made, they had to see their conviction through to the end. The girl believed that the world needed God. Elisabeth had decreed that it didn't. That was all. There was no good there, nor was there evil. And right and wrong didn't even begin to factor in. "As such..." *** "...I shall cut you down. Go now to your end, with belief in your heart and hatred for me on your lips." Having already stepped forward, Elisabeth held the Executioner's Sword of Frankenthal aloft. But the moment before the blade met its target, the wounds on the girl's legs loudly opened up. Inside, hundreds of teeth sat in shiny rows, like she had undergone some sort of macabre surgery. The mouths laughed as one. Then light gushed from their throats like vomit. A massive serpent wrapped itself around the girl, so large it seemed almost to be strangling her. Elisabeth carefully adjusted the tip of her blade to aim at a gap between its coils. The serpent writhed and it reared its many heads. Then, all at once the deadly balance was broken. "The thing is, people's worth lies solely in their value as playthings. And your faith is uninteresting to me. Begone from my sight." A voice boomed out that sounded almost human, and a presence of overwhelming darkness made its appearance. Sensing imminent danger, Elisabeth stopped in her tracks, then quickly leaped backward. And with a single sweep of the Kaiser's mighty tail the frail young saint was sent flying. 12 The Lovers' Oath There was no change to the chessboard in that red room. Just a bestial piece that should have vanished, still moving around. And another piece, one that was covered in blood. The second piece had no effect on the board as a whole. And yet even so, someone was crying. "You're so important to me," they were saying. "I want you by my side. Even if the world doesn't need you there. "Please. "I'm begging you." "...Kaiser?" "Ha, and what a sorry state you're in. To think that the self-proclaimed Torture Princess would nearly let herself get eaten by a divine beast." The Kaiser laughed, mocking her from the bottom of his heart. Elisabeth frowned. The question was, why was he there? Behind him, the saint's limbs lay broken and twisted in all the wrong directions, and the wounds on her legs were closed up so tight it was like they weren't even there. She clearly wasn't getting back up any time soon. Elisabeth had been saved. However, the Kaiser's very existence was a mystery. Vlad is dead. By all rights, his contract should have died with him. Elisabeth started to ask for an explanation, but the Kaiser shook his jaw at her in preemptive annoyance. "Now, it seems to have slipped your mind, but...do you not care what happens to the other girl?" "...Ah! Jeanne!" Elisabeth whirled around. He was rightâ€”now was no time for questions. Jeanne had just had her neck torn open. And given how deep the wound was, it was doubtful she'd be able to close it properly. Elisabeth rushed over to the golden girl. Izabella was cradling her. It was like a scene straight out of a fairy tale. The golden princess was in the knight's arms, eyes closed as though sleeping. Her luxurious honey-blond hair was splayed out and reached all the way to the ground. However, much of it was stained a grim shade of crimson. Izabella desperately tried to maintain pressure on the neck wound. "Elisabeth, the blood... There's so much blood! What do we do? Oh, Jeanne..." "There's no need to cry like that, my lady... It's a damn waste of that pretty li'l face of yours." Jeanne opened her eyes and reached out with her bloodstained hand. She made to stroke Izabella's cheek but stopped at the last moment. Not wanting to soil what little skin Izabella's face had left, she slowly returned her arm to her side. Then it was Izabella who reached out. She grabbed Jeanne's hand and pressed it against her cheek. Large tears rolled down over Jeanne's tiny palm. One after another, the clear drops cascaded to the ground. Jeanne's eyes widened a little. She spoke in an unhurried tone. "How very sweet of you. Heh, I wouldn't mind droppin' dead right here and now." "Please, you mustn't say things like that. I'm begging you." "This place...really does bring back memories. Both then and now, ain't never been nothin' but death here." Upon hearing that, Elisabeth took another look around. Jeanne had a point. This was Jeanne de Rais's birthplace, a cradle built specifically to raise her. And so, too, was it the graveyard where the alchemists had sacrificed themselves. Jeanne's rose-red gaze flitted about their surroundings. The crucified corpses that had once decorated the area were no longer anywhere to be seen. She looked back at Izabella and let out a small breath. "Everyone lives knowing that death will someday take them. To the people here, I was nothing but a puppet meant to massacre them all. 'Grant us our wish, O Torture Princess,' they said. 'Send us to our eternal rest.' That's so messed up! I mean, if you're dying, your dreams ain't worth shit. They're just a burden, weighing down the livin'... I won't speak ill of their pride itself, but they could have stood showing their emotions a little more. But now there's nothing but death here, andâ€”" "Jeanne, that's enough! Please don't say any more. You're making your wound worse. Youâ€”" "But you...you were always so warm." Jeanne slowly closed her eyes. Her lips curled into a smile. Elisabeth thought back. Jeanne's crass manner of speaking was something she'd picked up from a group of bandits she went and captured, but the alchemists themselves hadn't taught her a thing about how to express emotions. And yet in spite of that, and in spite of the blood she was drenched in, she was looking up at Izabella with a gaze full of heartfelt adoration. As Izabella's tears rolled over her palms, Jeanne thoroughly mulled over every word as she spoke. "Even with so much machinery in you... Even after what I did to you, you're still so warm." "Don't say it like thatâ€”you saved me. I, you...you bring so much warmth into my life as well... Please, you can't die on me. Don't die. I'm begging you!" Izabella squeezed Jeanne's hand even tighter than before. She was crying like a child, tears gushing from her blue and purple eyes. The way she embraced Jeanne, it was like she was desperately trying to pin her to the mortal coil. She buried her face in Jeanne's honey-blond hair and whispered. "I'm begging you, my love." "...Say what?" And for her troubles she got back an incredulous cry. "O-oh, goodness." Elisabeth reflexively stepped back. Now she was worried about what was to come for a completely different reason than she had been before. Jeanne jerked her torso all the way vertical in a highly inadvisable maneuver for someone on death's door. Elisabeth took another step back. Her intuition had been right on the mark. As for Jeanne herself, though, Izabella commanded the sum total of her attention. Jeanne's rose-red eyes were as wide as dinner plates. She spoke in an unnervingly serious tone. "Again." "J-Jeanne, that's not important, your woundâ€”" "Please repeat what you just said." "Wh-which part?" "'My...'" "...My love?" And with that, Jeanne died. No, wait, she just toppled over backward. Izabella cried out, frantically supporting her back and embracing her. Her tone rang with desperation. "Please, my love, you have to stay with me!" As Elisabeth listened to the dead-serious plea, she gave the two of them an askance look. Despite being a dog, the Kaiser's expression was much the same as hers. Then Jeanne abruptly sat up again. She, too, sounded scarily serious, but her tone was bewildered in equal measure. "My lady, might it be the case that you, um, well, perhaps think of me...in that light? Y'know, kinda sorta maybe like lovers?" "...Forget what I thinkâ€”I already am your lover, am I not?" Jeanne died. Oh, enough of that already, Elisabeth silently retorted. "Ah," Jeanne said, then rose with surprising ease. However, she gave that no follow-up. Her mouth flapped open and closed, but her voice refused to come out. However, the cause wasn't exactly medical in nature. She then repeated the whole process several times, making it look like she was performing some sort of heretical ritual dance. A moment after she finished, she launched into a barrage of questions. "But then why do you never act like it? One day you're kind to me, the next you seem wholly uninterested, and some days you barely even greet me. How many fuckin' beastfolk doors do you think I've had to smash down just so I could