Chapter 145

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 right—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, and—” “Jeanne, that’s enough! Please don’t say any more. You’re making your wound worse. You—” “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.