"Four aces?"

At the instant that gust of wind blew past, Margarita and Anne both froze at the same time.

"ace?"

What four aces?

They had seldom dealt with those vulgar games of gambling, so for a moment they didn’t register what Moen’s words meant.

It wasn’t until the two of them, whose hearts had still been swelling with valor a moment ago, subconsciously met each other’s gaze, then let their eyes drift down and saw the other’s...

Mm, smaller than mine after all.

The same gratifying thought surfaced in both their minds, but very quickly, the faint smile at the corner of their lips froze.

...

"Five seconds... feels like I bragged a bit too hard."

In his deep azure eyes was reflected the scene of the group struggling to suppress the prisoner, and Moen couldn’t help letting out a long sigh in his heart.

He’d gotten hot-headed just now and shot his mouth off like that.

Showing off in front of others wasn’t really his thing; if he could help it, he preferred to keep as low-profile as ever.

Though, as handsome as he was, it was hard to be completely low-key.

"However... saying it and doing it is an essential quality of an excellent knight."

Moen gripped his twin blades; at this moment, he could clearly feel the excited hum of the living spirit within Elizabeth.

Battle aura and mana raced through his limbs and bones; at the same time, from the alchemical core on his back came the searing hum of full-power operation.

First second.

Dong.

The others, who likewise knew time was short and were doing their utmost to pin the prisoner, all had their expressions change slightly—everyone except the not-too-bright Reta.

Because in a daze, they seemed to hear, from the distant reaches of the endless void, a vast, ethereal bell toll.

Next, a golden-haired figure abruptly burst into their sight before their warnings even arrived.

And along with it came a peal of thunder.

A strange thunder.

As if thunder had been sealed in a vessel that could store sound, then played back at dozens of times slower speed—sluggish peals coming one after another, stacking and stacking.

At the same time, another normal, deep male voice, moving very fast, arrived in their ears.

"Attack together; hold nothing back."

Second.

Bearded Paul’s eyes lit up; he was the first to react. The brute-force move he had been about to resort to—short weapon against long, relying on the raw strength that couldn’t even beat Margarita—suddenly shifted. A razor edge of sword energy coiled in an instant around his black longsword.

"Divine Will Style: Heaven’s Bane."

Sword light cleaved the darkness, bursting dazzling sparks from the prisoner’s body.

The not-low-grade alchemical longsword did not break through the prisoner’s extremely tough flesh, but under Paul’s consummate technique, the prisoner’s body suddenly lurched.

Slightly off balance.

At the same time, the howling wind all but tore at their eardrums as a long spear swept down hard, pressing onto the prisoner’s shoulder.

The Thunder Spear, her neat short hair whipping in the gale, wore a blank face; her long sleeves billowed, and the spear bent slightly in her seemingly slender hands as unimaginable force erupted.

Creak.

One of the prisoner’s knees, as if unable to bear the force, buckled violently.

Third second.

"Roar!"

The hulking, hill-like figure let out a bestial bellow as scalding torrents of steam erupted from the vents on the mechanical arm of the oddball called Reta.

The bone blade taller than a man was like a child’s toy in his hands; when it came down, everyone felt as if the whole ground trembled.

Creak.

The second knee buckled as well, and the prisoner went down on his knees again.

Almost simultaneously, the gravity magic and shadow magic weighing on the prisoner seemed to intensify in an instant.

The hurricane lamp swung violently; the prisoner’s body suddenly bore an immense weight. Black shadow swallowed him like a mire, and massive suction and gravity bound his frame, bending it bit by bit, forcing it to crouch, then prostrate...

Fourth second.

"Please... forgive me..."

In the prisoner’s hollow sockets, the flames of wrath flared again. Fetid miasma swept out, turning into a billowing cloak.

Countless tadpole-like golden runes trembled violently, racing across the surface of that withered frame.

Jingle-jingle.

The hurricane lamp was slowly raised again. Accompanied by a teeth-aching grind of joints, the prisoner—like dry kindling, tottering under the stormlike onslaught—actually braced himself... and rose.

It made hearts clench.

"No."

Paul’s brows, rarely, furrowed.

At this rate, it would just be a repeat of before.

This damn thing was even tougher than he’d thought. With just their current group, they could indeed suppress it in the end—but the problem was time.

Time, time—time was the most important... What were the others doing, spectating? And that Bryan—he was obviously a martialist; why had he used only magic since just now? In circumstances like this, a martialist worked better than a mage...

Paul’s mind raced, and then he suddenly remembered.

It was that duke’s son who’d told them to attack together—and then? What was he doing?

...

In the next instant, thunder roared.

Fifth second.

Those peals of thunder that had been condensed, compressed, stretched to the limit over these several whole seconds suddenly, at this moment, were released.

Even though countless currents of magic still blazed and roared, the space around them seemed to dim.

At this moment, light rose in everyone’s slightly dazed eyes.

One thing: blade-light.

As if the world held nothing but that gleam.

Shiiiing—

The blade sang; a blinding arc, like the Milky Way come hanging down, in an instant cleaved across the prisoner’s body.

Sixtyfold time dilation.

Twenty stacks.

Five seconds of charge.

One slash.

Sever.

The prisoner’s body bent in an instant. He had already been bearing their terrifying suppression, and Moen’s slash was the last weight that broke the camel’s back, making him finally... utterly prostrate on the ground.

Just as the five seconds ended.

After the slash, Moen drove both blades into the prisoner’s palms and planted his boot on the prisoner’s head.

The wild wind tousled his short golden hair; in this moment, his expression was gentle.

"Lea."

He called softly.

And then holy radiance bloomed at once.

While everyone was still stunned, scarcely believing this scene could come so quickly, that holy light—long since gathered and ready—rose without the slightest delay.

She believed in him.

Just as he believed in her.

So he said five seconds.

Then five seconds later, the light of purification would answer.

"[Purification]"

Sacred light fell upon the prisoner.

Lea pressed her hands together, devoutly praying to the Goddess.

"Ah... Goddess..."

The prisoner trembled violently in pain as a hoarse roar was torn from his throat.

"Goddess... forgive me..."

"Forgive the sinner..."

"Goddess..."

He repeated his delirium again and again, trying to resist, yet within that withered body there seemed to be an ethereal shadow struggling incessantly.

As Lea had said, the soul imprisoned within was longing for redemption.

"Goddess..."

"Goddess..."

"Goddess..."

Bathed in holy radiance, the wraith finally stepped out of the dead husk, came before Lea, and slowly knelt.

"Thank you."

On that indistinct face, crystalline tears seemed to fall.

As if released.

"Thank you... and also..."

Before it vanished, the wraith murmured in a dreamlike, indistinct voice:

"Be careful... nv"

Within Lea’s crystal, another wisp of radiance was added.