Translator: KJ

The atmosphere in Robrus was bleak. The entire nation, most likely, felt as if it were walking on thin ice.

For the storm of blood begun on Varmil's orders and under Zerov's leadership— the Great Purge was still very much in progress.

Army generals who had been barking commands only yesterday, skilled technicians, scholars, and even farmers and students simply living their daily lives were all branded reactionaries without ever knowing why, dragged off to the Labor Reeducation Camps to dig tunnels.

The man leading that absurd purge was none other than Zerov.

The man who had tripped while walking and gone face-first into the train tracks.

“.......”

Zerov, who had gone sprawling, quietly picked himself up and looked back at me. Or seemed to. I didn't see it. I was busy turning away, pretending to admire the sky.

“......Sir Knight.”

Zerov called out to me.

“Ah.”

Only then did I turn to Zerov and smile.

“My apologies. The scenery is simply lovely. The moon is bright tonight.”

“......I have heard the moon is the symbol of Ebenholtz.”

“Yes, that's right. With a full moon like tonight's, one can't help but be captivated.”

Zerov, doing his best to hide the blood on his lips, threw open the door of the train.

“Sir Knight. Watch, if you would.”

Pressing the muzzle of his pistol to the temple of a prisoner dragged out before him.

Bang!

He pulled the trigger without hesitation.

“Next!”

Zerov shouted, and I whispered quietly to his adjutants.

Bang!

The gunshot rang out. The adjutants' shoulders flinched along with it.

“Commissar Zerov will most likely ask you as well whether you 'saw'.”

Whether you saw him trip and fall on the tracks.

Zerov is a man riddled with inferiority. He will not leave alive anyone who witnessed even the smallest of his flaws, his slip-ups.

“So answer that you saw. That the sight of him striking down traitors to the nation was so very.......”

Bang!

For every prisoner dragged out, the pistol fired.

“Graceful.”

Bang!

“And if he happens to ask exactly what it looked like.”

Bang!

“Tell him that the whole sequence leading up to the shot was like a scene from a ballet.”

Zerov was a ballet enthusiast. In my head, too, there was a passage from a biography I had once read.

[ Zerov. He was a man of no learning. His formal education amounted to three years in total, and to his dying day he misspelled words in official documents.......

Ballet was the one art in which he could feel no inferiority. A body on the stage quotes no foreign languages. It appends no footnotes. It is simply beautiful, or it is not....... ]

──Excerpted from「The Other Side of the Monster」, a chronicle of the Robrus Great Purge.

Bang!

A prisoner's head burst.

“Answer that way, and he'll let it pass.”

I gave the adjutants' shoulders a light pat.

These men are not Ezenheim, so they deserve at least this much mercy.

Bang!

No, seriously, how many people is this bastard going to kill

Bang!

They said his nickname was the Blood Goblin or something.

Bang!

“Whew.......”

Only after emptying his magazine did his anger seem to lift.

“Haah!”

Zerov let out a ragged breath and lowered his pistol. His blood-drenched brow twitched with euphoria and madness.

This man isn't normal either.

“What did you think?”

At the crazy bastard's question, I clapped my hands, feigning admiration.

“As expected, it seems your resolve and your will have been firmly tempered.”

Zerov is living on borrowed time anyway; his days are numbered.

A hunting dog raised by its master's hand deludes itself into believing it will bask in that master's favor and live forever, but once the hunt is over, it is the first to be boiled.

“Haha. Yes. I thought long and hard about what you told me that day, Sir Knight. I too, in my own way, sought change, a new dawn.......”

Zerov dragged his words out at length, but I let them go in one ear and out the other.

“Ah, that's right. The Imperial terrorist you mentioned before, 'Nigelsmann'.”

This time, the news was at least somewhat worth hearing.

“He is aboard the train as well.”

The smile in Zerov's eyes gestured toward the train.

* * *

Clatter. Clatter.

The military train, packed full of prisoners, raced down the rail line leading to the heart of the Empire.

Clatter. Clatter.

In one car of the train, I sat facing a single man.

“Why don't we start with the meal.”

Nigelsmann. The man who bombed the Imperial Guard headquarters six years ago, killing a Brigadier General.

He gave no answer to my words.

“Are you not hungry?”

Between us stood a table. A proper dinner of steak, salad, and the like.

“......Did you know it would come to this, when you fled?”

A face that had already endured countless tortures. Withered dry, he said nothing.

Thump─

My heart pounded heavily.

Thump─

He is Ezenheim.

“Well.......”

Watching the man who made no move to even pick up his fork, I opened my mouth.

【You really didn't see this coming, did you?】

A language that was neither the Imperial Language nor the Robrus Language, but one of an entirely different origin.

My mouth moved and produced sound, but the moment it let out a waveform far too eerie to be called human speech.

“......!”

Nigelsmann's dead-fish eyes shot wide open. A clearly different reaction from before.

“I know what your kind wants.”

Peering into the depths of his pupils, I continued in the otherworldly tongue.

【The end of the world.】

Thump—

The Virus surged. Hard enough to rattle my ribs.

A smile spread across my lips.

“But I promise you, on my soul. Your kind, who seek to shatter us, I will, without fail.......”

【Extermi⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠nate.】

One of Nigelsmann's eyes twisted grotesquely. A blackness dark as the cosmos settled into his retina, but only for a moment. It faded back into an ordinary pupil.

“......”

Was it rage? Or a reaction born of his frail body?

They imitate everything about humans. Which means the negative parts, too, are unavoidably built into them.

That 'negative part', as I see it, is 'emotion'.

Thanks to that, I established my seventh hypothesis.

７. They definitively possess emotions, and at times grow weak against pain.

“......We are guilty of no crime.”

“Oh. Is that so?”

“We are guilty of no crime.”

We are guilty of no crime. We are guilty of no crime. We are guilty of no crime.

As if he had already given up on his own life, he repeated only those words. I watched him impassively, and then—

Bang!

I drew my pistol and shot him dead.

“.......”

The corpse, its head burst open, slumped beneath the table. Red blood soaked into the carpet, but I silently picked up my fork and knife.

Slice—

I cut off a piece of steak and put it in my mouth. The texture and flavor of the meat were quite excellent.

Creeeak─

Perhaps it was the gunshot. Soldiers rushed over in a hurry and opened the door.

“Huh......!”

What greeted them was a corpse with a hole through its head and an interior drenched in blood. Shock flooded their eyes.

I merely chewed the steak in my mouth, slowly, and swallowed.

Wiping my lips with a napkin, I gave the order.

“Clean it up.”

* * *

Maximilian had departed first, and now it was time for the Eastern Alliance soldiers to board the train and return to Robrus.

“Wait a moment.”

Zerov, wiping the blood from his hands, walked off somewhere for a moment. He was approaching the group of Adversaries standing guard for him at a distance.

─Until we arrive...... the Technicians......

Zerov's instructions trickled faintly into the adjutants' ears.

Technicians.

A code word the Commissar was fond of using.

The adjutants exchanged glances.

“Let's g⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠o.”

Zerov, having returned, boarded the train first, and the adjutants climbed aboard after him.

“Move out.”

The train clattered into motion. A thick stench of blood and a heavy silence settled over the interior.

Zerov stared out the window, then abruptly turned his head to look at his adjutants.

“......Today.”

At the voice, thick with bloody phlegm, their shoulders stiffened.

“Did you see?”

At Zerov's words, Maximilian flashed through their minds. The advice the Imperial knight had left them.

One of the adjutants swallowed dryly.

“Yes. I saw.”

Word for word, exactly as Maximilian had instructed──

“The sight of you striking down the traitors to the nation...... was truly, utterly graceful.”

“.......”

Zerov's eyes narrowed. He bored into the adjutant's eyes and asked again.

“......Exactly what did it look like?”

The adjutant steadied his trembling breath. Betraying nothing, he answered with nothing but admiration in his voice.

“The entire sequence, from drawing the gun to pulling the trigger...... was like a scene from a ballet.”

Ballet. The moment he heard that word, Zerov's face quivered. Soon, a faint, hollow laugh spread across it.

“Hmm, yes. A ballet, is it. So you men have eyes that know how to see.”

No longer able to hold back his laughter, he laughed out loud and sank back against his seat.

“......A ballet. Of course. It must have been. Hahaha.”

Zerov gazed peacefully out the window until the train arrived.

Screeeech——

Dawn was already breaking.

The train touched the platform. Zerov and his adjutants stepped off together.

“Commissar.”

A man already dressed in plain clothes—the so-called 'Technician' was waiting there.

Zerov looked back and forth between him and his two adjutants, then said.

“Ah, it's fine. It was nothing. You may head back.”

“.......”

The Technician left the platform without a word.

“Well then, let us be off as well.”

“......Yes, sir.”

The adjutants followed Zerov amid a strange, dizzy sensation.

......Most likely.

Today, we owe our lives to that knight of the Empire.

* * *

On a nameless mountain in the heart of the Empire, I stood alone atop its silent peak.

“Perceive.”

Freya's low voice seeped into my ears on the mountain wind.

“From now on, you place your heart out into the world.”

I place my heart outside of myself.

Heard in passing, it sounded like a Zen riddle whose meaning could not be grasped.

But this was why Freya had stressed meditation so relentlessly.

To order and empty the mind, to bring the stillness within into perfect alignment with the world outside.

Just as the Mana of the northern 'Finnomia' holds bitter cold within it,

it was training meant to let me dwell within my own Mana.

“The swords of Ebenholtz are not all alike. Just as no two people are alike.”

Freya circled around me, hands clasped behind her back, and continued.

“How does Sebestian use his Mana? He may be called the completion of Ebenholtz, but the family's secret arts are not all cut from that same cloth.”

Whoooooosh.......

A fierce mountain wind brushed past my cheeks.

“Will you wield your Mana as a keen blade of moonlight?”

Sebestian's longsword splinters like light itself. His Mana sprouts into countless flashes, cutting down every enemy on the ground without exception.

“Or will you wield it as the night sky that embraces all things?”

At Freya's question, I lifted my head and looked up at the distant sky.

“The moon....... in the end, belongs to the sky.”

“Good. Then what is your identity?”

My identity.

As the knight called Maximilian, or as a human being.

I am......

“The wind.”

When I am in the sky, when I give my body to the wind.

That is when I am most free.

“Then do exactly that. You are capable of it.”

I closed my eyes. Silver Mana rose from beneath my feet like a shimmering haze.

The heart within flowed outward, and the Mana condensed into a gentle current of air.

The slope I stood on was not high. Not steep enough to leap from. As a runway for flight, the terrain fell hopelessly short.

But it didn't matter.

The path I would tread, the wind I would ride, I needed only to create them with Mana.

“Go.”

At Freya's signal,

──Hup!

I kicked off the wind of Mana and leapt into the empty air.

As if casting off gravity itself, my body rose weightlessly, riding the grain of the mountain wind and soaring skyward.

I did not slam into the earth. I did not topple.

Whoooooosh──!

The wind I had raised, and I, became one, cleaving through the air. And in that moment.

At the edge of my vision, another shadow appeared, tracing a silver arc as it drew near.

“.......”

Leo. My shepherd, clad in armor, falling in beside me.

“......Look at you, you little cutie.”

I smiled, and Leo solemnly maintained his flight.

Together, we swam through the night sky.

.......

[ Maximilian : Look at you, you little cutie ]

Filty was hard at work on her manuscript even at home. Her house stood in the finest residential complex in the Underground City. Her manager Yam had wanted an upscale district in the heart of the Empire outright, but Filty had flatly refused, and so she had come to stay here.

It was the city where she had lived alongside her Outcast comrades, after all.

[ Maximilian : The moon....... in the end, belongs to the sky. ]

She gazed quietly down at the bundle of manuscript pages scattered across her desk.

The dog-loving Maximilian's surprisingly human side. An ambition that resembled the wind.

Page by page, she rewound in reverse order the fragmented facts that existed nowhere in her own memory, drawn only through her Clairvoyance.

[ Maximilian : Clean it up ]

Maximilian, cutting into a steak in a blood-drenched room, a corpse with one side of its head caved in right in front of him.

A depiction far too savage even to look at as a drawing.

“Bleugh.”

Filty quickly turned her eyes to the previous page.

[ Prisoner : ......We are guilty of no crime. We are guilty of no crime. We are guilty of no crime. ]

The prisoner muttering, as if out of his mind, that his people were guilty of no crime, and Maximilian glaring coldly down at him.

Rustle.

She turned the pages back, to before Maximilian shot the prisoner dead.

“......”

For a moment, Filty's hand froze. Her eyes wavered.

[Maximilian : ———]

Maximilian's mouth was open, saying something to the prisoner.

A scene where they were unmistakably conversing. Yet the speech bubble was completely empty.

Her Clairvoyance had failed entirely, by sight or by sound, to perceive the 'things' Maximilian was uttering.

And immediately after— the prisoner's reaction was stranger still.

[ Prisoner : ......! ]

The prisoner's eyes had gone wide, as if he had actually understood that 'something' Maximilian had conveyed.

[ Maximilian : I know what your kind wants. ]

[ Maxi⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠milian : ──── ]

“What on earth.......”

is he saying?

Filty's brow furrowed deeply.

[ Maximilian : I promise you, on my soul. Your kind, who seek to shatter us, I will, without fail....... ]

The⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠n, the cut that followed.

[ Prisoner : ——— ]

The depiction of the prisoner's face filled an entire page.

“.......”

For a moment, she lost her words.

Her gaze, on the contrary, sharpened.

Her face sank down into the drawing.

[ Prisoner : ──── ]

A massive pupil in full close-up. The unknowable abyss unfolding within that pitch-black eye pressed in on her, as if stabbing at her optic nerve.

Goosebumps prickled across Filty's entire body.

“......That's not a Mana effect.”

Whenever Filty depicted the flow or collision of Mana, she normally used a nearly fixed set of effects and patterns.

But this black mass drawn here was not the shape of Mana, nor was it anything like the killing intent or force of spirit a human gives off.

“.......”

A bizarre development spinning itself out from the tip of her pen, unbidden, without her even realizing.

Filty was frightened by these situations she could make no sense of at all, but......

Suddenly, she remembered the conviction Maximilian had once revealed to her.

'I want you to keep watching me.'

She t⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠hought about the race called Ezenheim, the one he so despised.

Slowly, she raised her head and looked at the books filling one entire side of her study.

Hundreds of thick volumes, scraped together from every corner of the continent through her manager Yam.

Documents and research materials describing the origins of the Ezenheim, their culture and religion, and the peculiar 'gaps' unique to the people who never mixed with any other race on the continent.

“Oh, come on.......”

Filty shook her head hard, trying to brush it off, and yet one fact still hovered faintly within her.

Just as certain Imperial scholars claimed─ the Ezenheim were a race without history, a people 'whose origins could not be clearly traced'.

“.......”

Filty stood stock-still, moving only her eyes.

[ Prisoner : ──── ]

The prisoner's face depicted on the page. For a long, long while, she stared at the inexplicable dread seeping from the drawing......

~~~

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