On the second day after their seven‑day march, the world still reeled from the Hero’s rebellion, like a bell left ringing.

Three failed heroes reached Takinia, dust on their cloaks, and met Maki, chief of the Heretic Inquisition.

The late heroes arrived again only when the ink had already dried to stone.

Night Watcher’s face was paper‑white, as if drained of blood.

He slumped on a bench along the temple corridor, a toppled shadow under cold stone light.

“Late.” The word bit him like a curse.

Holy Knight was still questioning the Divine Healer, combing through every thread.

He looked born for aftermath, calm hands and meticulous methods.

Like someone trained to work ruins once fate had fallen.

More like someone fluent in failure.

As he says himself, he treats failure as the default.

A pessimist who fights hard with failure as premise.

“Such a man barely feels guilt for losing,” the maid’s voice carried like silk over steel. “To him, failure is normal.”

“My master admires his courage—knowing defeat, knowing weakness, yet still moving.”

“But truth is, courage barely correlates with strength or achievement.”

“Maid…”

The maid drifted in, her gait as poised as at the Time Ruins front a few days ago.

No one felt anything off, and no one told her to leave.

“Was it all you?”

“What do you mean?”

“The Hero’s rebellion, the Time Ruins disaster, the delays that tripped us. Was all that your scheme?”

“You may be misreading us.”

“I hear malice in your phrasing—parts of which we’ll admit.”

“Got any pretty excuse that sounds good to the ear?”

“Unexpected, truly.”

The maid stopped by the bench and looked down on the Holy Knight, eyes heavy with pity and hauteur.

“I thought you’d stay true to your character.”

“Play the taciturn, fate‑laden, tragic grand hero.”

“Never thought you’d learn sarcasm.”

Night Watcher exhaled, a soft breath like mist, and turned.

He stared at the blue beyond the temple skylight, sorrow pooling like a winter lake.

His fingers fell to the ruby set in his cross‑sword’s hilt.

He stroked the smooth gem, gentle as soothing a wound.

“I know you’ve let go of the urge to kill.”

“In truth, you’ve no reason to attack me.”

“I don’t get it—most of all, why you still dare show up before me!”

“What we weave isn’t quite a ‘conspiracy,’ at least not the ugly kind you name.”

“We consider ourselves fair and just.”

“You? Fair and just?”

Even the greatest savior’s tone went cold, like frost on iron, because her theory sounded absurd to him.

“Your fairness is corrupting the Hero’s friend,”

“then dragging the Hero down through Catherine?”

“Are you mocking my intelligence?”

“No. I’m scorning your savior’s arrogance.”

“You—too strong, too great—how long has it been since you lived like a human,”

“plain and fragile?”

“That’s why you can’t understand. That’s why a hero blazing like a sun keeps complaining.”

“Arrogance? I personally killed the King of Pride!”

“You killed a king, not the concept.”

“My master’s script treats everyone equally and justly.”

“Maki saw a fallen hero and, without hesitation, chose to execute Catherine.”

“Raven saw her friend harmed and, after turmoil, chose rebellion.”

“The Holy Knight saw the Time Ruins front in crisis and joined the defense without a second thought.”

“Natural choices, yes.”

“Everyone—Vangibia, Elina, the Assassin, and you—did the ‘natural’ thing.”

“We hid nothing from anyone’s eyes.”

“We only offered a spark, not strings to pull the plot.”

“A spark that could blow up the world?”

“That’s prejudice.”

“I admit we pushed too hard in places, rushed and rough at times.”

“But as villains, we act within the range a mind can still understand.”

“No matter how painful the outcomes, how sad the endings, they come from each participant’s own reasons.”

“Our nudge only moved the story forward.”

“Even without us, today’s events would arrive later all the same.”

“Every choice springs from the person’s own heart.”

“Monster, do you know where the word tragedy comes from?”

“Crushing something beautiful to brew that intoxicating ache.”

“Spare me that textbook tone.”

“Even if you’re not villains in the usual sense, I’ve never seen villains respect performance and free will.”

“Yet you’re still tugging details.”

“You stalled us from reaching the Hero.”

“Maki got dragged off by some unknown assassin.”

“Easy fixes got displaced, mis‑timed, twisted, tainted.”

“You call that fair and just?”

“First, don’t paint the Demon King Army with ‘goodwill.’”

“It disgusts us both.”

“We don’t beg for human kindness.”

“Keep us marked as enemies.”

“From an enemy’s stance, we’re already very gentle.”

Silence hung like a gray veil.

“Second, when did you decide you were the great, fair one?”

“Does urging people toward good automatically replace urging them toward evil?”

“We won’t even try to persuade the Hero.”

“We won’t feed her hints.”

“Her basis for decisions is fact, only fact—facts no one can deny.”

“At least on this point, we’re fairer than you.”

Another hush, thin as ash.

“We can’t reach perfection.”

“But to weave a story that grows freely, where thought births one’s own answer—we’re fairer than anyone.”

“So we have no reason to let an unfair man like you break into the field.”

Night Watcher fell silent.

In the maid’s boast, he glimpsed something from his memories.

Like the demon he once debated—twisted in thought, yet beautiful in logic and rigor.

He never answered the Holy Knight’s question about that demon.

He refuses to recall that mind, so warped yet crystalline.

Or like the archangel he once fought—the King of Pride.

Proud, yet righteous, undeniably so.

Not bowing to God, resisting Him, yet holding a complete, coherent justice.

He rejects those twisted reason and justice.

But if they stand equal to his own grand justice—

A fair and just duel—

Maybe he’d lose.

Of course. He has lost before.

His fist on the sword’s grip had gone slack without him noticing.

He tried to ready himself, to seize vigilance again.

No matter how he clenched, strength wouldn’t bite.

“Maki, as a Heretic Inquisitor, only kills and seizes.”

“He doesn’t sort causes from effects.”

“The Heretic Inquisitor exists to make the world fear evil.”

“He speaks not a word and brings terror with silence.”

“So he won’t warn Stini in any way beyond his role—even if he feels the plot is warped.”

“Gloria’s status and role, I don’t know.”

“She took a step back, far from the story’s eye, from the storm’s eye.”

“As if it didn’t concern her.”

“She acted slow and passive, following what her ‘role’ should do—though she knows who I am and what I do.”

“Vangibia’s tale is unrelated to our meddling.”

“Elina differs from Gloria inwardly.”

“She won’t go against the temple, won’t betray Stini.”

“Yet she acts similarly—she casts an abstention.”

“Raven waits and supports Stini’s choice.”

“Andor and Nivifar are filming a documentary in Helena’s capital, Saigebaru.”

“They know nothing of this.”

“Everyone moves by her own will.”

“They near the story’s center—where we spent most of our craft.”

“They don’t know this timing isn’t chance.”

“As for the key one, Miss Hero, Stini.”

“Her instinct sensed something wrong.”

“But instinct can’t help her this time.”

“She only needs to do what the situation demands—make a choice.”

“In truth, we, the Demon King Army, have won.”

“Our bet landed.”

“On fair and just grounds, we—”

“Let me guess. You plan to talk us out of chasing the Hero.”

“Right? Because that’s our last chance to claw back.”

The Holy Knight’s spiked boots rang on marble, notes like struck steel.

He made no effort to hide his arrival.

“We just finished an intel brainstorm, and ran into the one who keeps making us eat pain.”

“Haah, unlucky.”

“One, two, three. Okay, lament finished.”

“Now let’s start with ‘even if’ and ‘however.’”

“Night Watcher, you’re a great hero, undeniably.”

“But here, in a tale that isn’t yours alone, do you need to force perfection?”

“Even if we can’t refute the enemy’s logic—”

“We take ourselves as the measure of reason and justice, and carry it through.”

“That’s enough. Enough to satisfy ourselves.”

“Alright, savior—get up for this mortal.”

“Ignore the annoying maid. We chase the rebellious Hero and punch her back onto the path!”

The Holy Knight grabbed Night Watcher by the collar.

He yanked the taller man off the bench and hustled toward the temple doors.

“The Assassin’s waiting for us. Move!”

“I asked the Divine Healer and mapped probable escape routes.”

“I know which way to run—”

“You’ll die.”

The maid’s voice came from behind them.

A clear girl’s note, cold as air beyond a border.

The Holy Knight halted and turned.

“I’ll warn you once.”

“My master currently needs to kill.”

“If you go, you’ll die—though I hate handing that sad ending to those who shielded me for six days.”

“We could almost call you ‘companions.’”

“That counts as your fair and just? A threat that lethal?”

The maid tilted her head, thinking.

“It counts. Fair and just.”

“Night Watcher.”

“Mm… do we fight?”

“No. I’m asking—are you afraid to die?”

“To die again?”

“…Not afraid.”

“Then let’s go.”

“She can’t strike here. Maki’s above us.”

“And we can’t kill her anyway.”

“I’ve met many monsters who think they’re special—and they are.”

“They arrive with grace, and depart with grace.”

“Next time we meet—Night Watcher, if I die, carve a deep line across that pretty face!”

“Is that your final choice?”

“Hmph. Of course.”

“Then, ‘companion,’ farewell.”