I don’t know.
My chest keeps feeling damp and aching.
It has never actually been struck.
And yet it feels as though that enormous spear has pierced straight through my chest.
It throbs. It hurts.
Every time Ian takes a spear that was flying toward me,
my chest starts aching again.
Why?
What is making it throb like this?
And why is Ian trying so desperately to protect me?
The masked man fighting Ian would target me whenever he saw an opening.
And Ian desperately stopped him.
That repeated over and over.
The masked man leveled his golden spear.
Ian blocked it with his shield.
Then Ian told me not to run away.
Iris was the same.
They could have just told me to run.
Then Ian would have been able to fight more easily.
But Ian’s expression whenever he said it was so desperate that I could not question how strange it was.
Unable to run or even move my legs,
I could do nothing but become dead weight for Ian and interfere with his fight.
I could only keep up appearances
and comfort Ris beside me.
And the battle clashed on without end.
Lady Isabella’s lightning crashed down.
Sir Kyle’s golden sword aura swept across the field.
When Kafka guarded their rear and Ian held the golden spear back from the front,
I heard something.
Or perhaps I had not heard it at all, and it was only a faint remnant lodged in my memories.
But somehow, the conversation between Ian and the mask reached me.
Ris was a saint, and if she awakened as one, she could end this battle.
But that was precisely what the mask wanted—and what Ian did not want.
The reason was
that, for Ris to become a saint, I had to die right before her eyes.
That was why the mask was trying to kill me by any means necessary, and why Ian was stopping him by any means necessary.
But...
He kept fighting for that.
And he kept getting hurt.
Rather than trying to win, he fought as though protecting me was his true objective. Whenever the golden spear came near me, even in the midst of their clash, he immediately stepped in front of me.
So I really am just dead weight.
More than pathetic, though,
I simply could not understand.
Why was Ian trying so desperately to protect me?
Even throwing his own body in harm’s way.
Was I worth protecting like that?
I am not as amazing as Ris.
I am not as pretty as Ris, either.
I do not have the qualities of a saint like she does. I am just a narrow-minded person who puts on airs in front of Iris
because I want to seem impressive in front of her.
Ian, what did you see
that has made you so desperate?
As I watched Kafka bite Ian by the scruff of his neck and send him flying,
as I watched him fly through the air with eyes that had gone beyond obsession and into madness,
I found myself laughing.
"Ede...?"
I looked briefly at Ris, who was watching me in concern.
As I gently stroked her blond hair,
I made up my mind.
For Ris to awaken, I had to die.
But Ian did not want that.
Maybe...
Maybe Ian was this desperate because he knew Ris would be sad if I died.
Ian was the type to stake his life on strange things.
I hugged her for a moment.
For quite a while.
Long enough for the noise around us to gradually fade away.
I’m sorry.
I wanted to show Ris only my best side.
And then—
"Ede?!"
I ran forward just like that.
Yes, it might be a stupid method.
But...
If Ian and Ris were not going to die, this was the only way.
If
I pretended to be hit by that golden spear, and Ris believed that I had died,
perhaps she would awaken as a saint.
When I ran toward the mask, the mask spotted me as well.
He cast everyone else aside and began charging at me with his golden spear leveled.
It would hurt.
It was going to hurt.
But...
I had always done this, hadn’t I?
I was more confident than anyone when it came to acting cool in front of Ris.
And deceiving innocent Ris was very easy for me.
"Ede——!!"
I heard someone call my name.
It was probably Ris.
Looking at the golden spear that seemed as though it would reach me with just a few more steps,
a thought suddenly occurred to me.
Would Ris be sad if I died?
"If you die, Iris will be sad. Never do something like that again."
She probably would cry.
And not just a little.
Ris was soft-hearted enough to shed tears whenever anyone died.
If she became a saint, she would surely become amazing, wouldn’t she?
Her status would rise, too.
And she could marry someone important.
Perhaps Prince Charles or Prince Ars.
Or maybe even Asdel.
I would not be there by her side.
But Ris would be fine without me.
She was a crybaby, but she was warm.
She was strong, and she was an amazing person who could become a saint.
With that thought,
I layered the mana barrier we had learned at school over my body.
Of course, it would be torn apart like paper.
Still, it was better than having nothing...
At that moment,
someone seized the collar at the back of my neck.
I was lifted into the air, and by a hair’s breadth, the golden spear brushed past me.
Of course, even that glancing blow tore apart both my mana barrier and my academy uniform like paper.
It hurt.
I had not known that merely grazing a spear would hurt this much.
And yet you...
"You’ve finally lost your mind."
You had taken this hit over and over?
That was what I thought as I looked at Ian’s face, twisted as he glared at me.
He looked incredibly fierce.
Like he was about to demand to know why I had rushed in.
But
I had no intention of listening to Ian.
"Why did you save me?"
At those words, Ian looked ready to get very angry.
I did not know whether he was merely irritated
or truly furious at what I had done.
But I needed to hear this.
"Is that really what you’re saying right now—?!"
"You said that if Ris awakens as a saint, we can win."
At that, Ian shut his mouth as if he had swallowed honey.
The man’s golden spear flew toward him from behind.
"No."
A crimson sword aura blocked it.
At the sight, the mask frowned and stopped his attack on Ian.
Come to think of it, it had been like that earlier, too.
I had not been able to see clearly, but
the mask seemed particularly wary of Angelica’s attacks and had not truly gone after her with everything he had.
Even though he could have attacked more.
It was as though he was hesitating.
Well, that was not what mattered.
"You said that if I die, Ris will become a saint. And then we can win this battle."
I did not know what he was thinking,
but Ian kept his mouth tightly shut.
"Then you wouldn’t have to go through all this hell, Ian."
After taking a moment to catch his breath, he said,
"What about Iris?"
He said Ris’s name.
"I told you that Iris would definitely be sad if you died."
"I know."
"Then..."
"Then why are you trying so hard to save me, Ian?"
What did you stand to gain from it?
If you had just let me die, you would not have needed to suffer so much.
Of course, I am not some selfless saint.
If someone suddenly told me I had to sacrifice myself so we could win, I would refuse.
But...
Why, when Ian knew we could win this battle if I alone were sacrificed,
even if that was not actually true,
did he not even ask me once?
I did not understand why he was trying to save me even at the cost of throwing away his own body.
Ian
was not some selfless saint.
"You like Ris after all, don’t you?"
"No."
He did not like Ris.
Nor did he like me.
Then why was he trying to save me?
"Then why?"
"I just don’t want to hear it."
That was what Ian said.
"What don’t you want to hear?"
"Iris crying. How many times do you think I’ve heard it?"
I did not understand what he meant.
Had Ris ever cried in front of Ian?
"Did you make Ris cry?"
"More precisely, you made her cry."
That was ridiculous.
When had I ever made Ris cry?
"What? I would never—"
"Eleven times, I saw her holding you after a hole had been punched through you."
A hole?
"Eleven times, I saw her crying as she poured holy power into you, even knowing the hole would not close."
When I heard that,
my chest started throbbing again.
Why?
My chest hurt again.
The pain in my chest was so vivid
that I forced myself to ignore it and pretended to smile at Ian.
"What, did you have some sort of dream?"
"A dream? Maybe it was."
After that, Ian did not particularly respond to what I said.
He simply brought me back to Iris
and watched the mask brawl with the others.
As I hugged Iris, who clung to me in tears,
"Haede."
"Yes."
I looked at Ian when he called my name.
Ian was riding on the wolf, gripping its fur as he prepared to charge forward.
"You told me not to die because there was one more person who would cry for me."
"But you’re different. You have one more person who would cry for you."
That was what I had said in the dungeon back then,
trying, in my own way, to put on a show.
"Yes, I certainly did."
"And you said Iris would not want to see anyone die before her, and that she would be equally sad no matter who died."
"Ah, yes..."
"That wasn’t true."
What?
Still riding the wolf,
Ian looked down at me as he spoke.
"When you die, Iris cries ten times harder. You said she would be equally sad no matter who died. But you were different."
He was scolding me.
He was scolding me for trying to die on my own and making Ris cry.
So that was really the only reason?
He had saved me so desperately because he did not want to see Ris cry?
What kind of...
"And."
Ian paused briefly after saying that.
"If there is someone else who would cry for you, will you not die?"
"What?"
Ian was suddenly saying something I could not understand.
"I’ll cry for you."
"What?"
"If you die, I’ll cry beside Iris, too."
Then,
"Because if I can’t save you, I think I’ll cry from the sheer injustice of it."
He leveled his sword and charged forward.
And then—
"So don’t die."
With those words,
something warm began to spread from Iris’s embrace.
#
I continued charging ahead.
Still, I had no idea how Haede knew Iris’s awakening condition.
I had not brought it up in this loop.
Was Haede affected by the loops, too?
No, that did not matter anymore.
It was time to end this loop.
I leveled my sword.
The strongest secret technique I could currently use,
the one I had intended to use in our first battle.
"Ian, that’s...!"
Kafka tried to stop me through telepathy.
It made sense. This was a technique Scaramuccia had naturally blocked before.
But
I was not aiming for his golden spear.
Nor was I aiming for his body.
So I kept charging.
I pulled Prydwen from my inventory and equipped it.
Scaramuccia also shook off the party members blocking him.
"A lance, is it?"
He leveled his golden spear and charged at me.
The same words as before.
The same situation as before.
"But."
"As long as you have that golden spear, I can’t win on horseback?"
But this time, something was different.
Back then it had been a normal attack, while this time I had used a skill.
But more importantly, I knew the hidden option of that magical lance.
Since I had been thrown from Kafka the instant it touched my body, the golden spear’s dismounting condition most likely required it to make contact with the body.
In that case,
I simply had to avoid being touched.
I charged straight at Scaramuccia, who was thrown off by having the line he intended to say stolen from him.
[The opponent and user are both mounted.]
[You have fulfilled the condition.]
I charged onward.
[The tale of the peerless knight settles into your sword.]
I intended to block the golden spear’s attack with Prydwen and drive Blancart into him.
At that moment,
something warmly golden struck Scaramuccia’s golden spear.
His golden spear was knocked away by that blow.
Who had deflected a Sword Master’s attack?
And it was a Sword Master’s skill, at that.
Even an ordinary superhuman could not have deflected it so easily.
I was briefly puzzled, but I forced the question from my mind.
It was not what mattered right now.
What mattered was that Scaramuccia had an opening.
I—
———!!!!
drove the secret technique into the horse he was riding.
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